Run: 2026-03-06-01KK1HMY7EM64XFP86EEKZ0061

At midnight, Blackthorn Manor held its breath while rain clawed the windows and every portrait watched the grand staircase silently. Lady Haversham descended in white silk, clutching a silver candlestick, her footsteps hushed by carpets older than anyone living. In the library, a clock struck twelve, and somewhere below, a door slammed hard enough to rattle decanters. When the scream came, it seemed torn from the house itself, sharp and sudden, then swallowed by thunder. They found Sir Alistair beside the hearth, eyes open, throat dark with blood, one hand gripping a missing button.