Run: 2026-03-09-01KK9QHWBDFFHAAFG8TXP0X94M

Rain stitched silver needles through Blackmere Hall before dawn arrived. Inside, grandfather clocks argued softly while portraits watched the corridors. Mara Finch unlocked the library and smelled oranges, smoke, fear. A fire guttered low, illuminating boots protruding beyond the desk. She stepped closer, hearing china tremble somewhere above her head. Lord Wren lay crumpled, one cuff soaked darkly, throat open. On the carpet, chess pieces formed a broken white circle. The window stood unlatched, yet rain touched nothing indoors whatsoever. Then the telephone rang once, and everyone downstairs began lying.