Run: 2026-03-09-01KKAC2BDXA49S4E29556CHCY2

Rain worried the stained windows of Blackthorn Hall as guests gathered beneath chandeliers, pretending the storm outside was merely atmospheric. At the stroke of eleven, Lady Winterrose raised her glass, smiling too brightly, while the butler locked every door himself. No one noticed the violinist stop playing until a single scream severed the toast and sent crystal trembling on tables. Lady Winterrose lay across the Persian carpet, throat opened neatly, her ruby necklace broken like punctuation marking some terrible secret. Inspector Vale, arriving late and soaked through, removed his gloves, surveyed the silent room, and asked who had left first.