Run: 2026-03-09-01KKACB2T1Q64STXDY16922ABW

Rain hammered Blackthorn Hall as Inspector Vale arrived, his lantern trembling, while somewhere above, a woman screamed once, then stopped. The butler opened the door already gloved in blood, whispering that dinner had ended abruptly when Lady Harrow died tonight. Inside, twelve guests stood motionless around silver candlesticks, their faces pale masks reflecting lightning and the accusing portrait's stare above. Lady Harrow lay beneath the grandfather clock, emerald necklace broken, one slipper missing, and a chess queen clenched tightly there. Vale noted the locked windows, the undisturbed dust, and the smell of lilacs drifting strangely from the library door nearby. When the clock began striking thirteen, every mourner flinched except the vicar, who smiled as though recognizing fate at once.