Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ95Y6BZ9XR8FG7KTEEAA4G4

Rain lashed against the grimy windowpanes of the old mansion. Wind howled, a mournful dirge through the skeletal ancient trees. Inside, the silence felt heavy, thick, profoundly unsettling now. Detective Miles Corbin pulled his trench coat tighter for warmth. His breath plumed white in the grand, drafty, cavernous hall. Sergeant Davies stood grimly near the ornate double mahogany doors. "We have a serious situation, Detective," Davies stated, voice low. Corbin nodded, his keen eyes scanning the opulent, dusty foyer. A faint, metallic scent lingered subtly in the stagnant air. He knew that smell well: the unmistakable, chilling odor of blood. Corbin moved slowly, deliberately, towards the draped entranceway ahead. The crime scene tape glowed yellow against the dim, fading light. Forensics technicians worked quietly, meticulously under the portable floodlights there. Then he saw it: a figure sprawled grotesquely upon the floor. A pool of dark crimson stained the expensive Persian rug deeply. The victim was an elderly man, clad in fine silk pajamas. His wide eyes stared blankly upward, reflecting no light, no life. "Cause of death confirmed?" Corbin asked, not breaking his gaze. Davies swallowed hard, adjusting his cap, "Blunt force trauma, sir." A heavy brass candelabra lay discarded nearby, ominously on the ground. Corbin felt the familiar cold dread settle deep within his bones. Another puzzle began, shrouded in shadow and the pouring rain.