Run: 2026-03-06-01KK1GVEVP9729N2RZMQZC0HFP

Rain glazed Blackthorn Manor as mourners gathered beneath iron skies. Inside, candles trembled, painting long shadows across ancestral portraits. Lady Wren greeted guests with smiles brittle as winter glass. At midnight, the clock groaned, and someone screamed upstairs suddenly. They found Lord Ashcombe sprawled beside shattered decanter shards there. Blood darkened the Persian rug like spilled sacramental wine. His signet ring was missing, though windows remained latched. No servant admitted hearing footsteps, yet mud marked corridors. Detective Hale arrived before dawn, carrying silence like judgment. He studied every face, and one face studied back.