Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ95H7A8BZSDEHY16SB4DR47

The ancient grandfather clock chimed midnight, its mournful resonance echoing through the deserted, dusty halls of Blackwood Manor. Detective Miles Corbin, draped in his usual trench coat, tiptoed cautiously across the Persian rug towards the darkened study door. A faint, metallic scent, distinctly out of place, pricked his nostrils as he slowly pushed the heavy oak inward. The flickering gaslight cast long, dancing shadows across the room, grotesquely distorting familiar objects into monstrous shapes before his eyes. There upon the ornate mahogany desk, slumped amidst scattered papers, lay the lifeless form of Lord Harrington, terribly still. His eyes, wide with a silent, unseeing terror, stared blankly at the intricately carved cherubs adorning the ceiling above. A single crimson stain bloomed upon the front of his crisp, white evening shirt, a starkly obvious wound now. No signs of struggle were immediately apparent, making the sudden, violent end profoundly puzzling for the seasoned detective. The room itself held its breath, guarding secrets whispered only within its opulent, unforgiving, silent walls.