Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ95NP7H907AQ02R9D3TTH43

The grand old manor stood silent, completely still, cloaked now. Rain lashed the windows, a relentless rhythm against the glass. Inside, the air hung heavy with a strange, metallic scent. Detective Miles Thorne pushed open the ornate, heavy oak door. His breath ghosted white in the unheated, frigid, expansive hall. A uniformed officer met him, face grim, barely speaking words. "Master bedroom, upstairs, sir. A terrible sight awaits you." A silent nod confirmed the worst of Miles's grave expectations. He ascended the grand staircase, each creak echoing loudly now. The oppressive silence spoke volumes, chilling him to the bone. He found her sprawled across a luxurious, crimson Persian rug. Lady Eleanor Blackwood lay lifeless, eyes staring at the ceiling. A single, ornate letter opener pierced her silk evening gown. Crimson bloomed shockingly bright against the pale fabric, clear stain. No signs of forced entry, no struggle, just chilling stillness. The expensive room held secrets, whispering tales of sharp betrayal. Miles knelt, searching her face for any final, silent message. Her expression remained fixed, a mask of serene, cold surprise. This was not a robbery; this felt deeply, personally planned. The killer left no obvious trace, only a lingering, cold dread.