Run: 2026-03-09-01KKACBP7HNZA0SSQCYCRKRP2G

Rain worried the manor windows while guests assembled beneath the chandelier, pretending warmth, though every polished surface reflected suspicion already. At precisely eight, Lady Wren dismissed the musicians, and silence entered first, gloved and smiling, before the body appeared upstairs. No one admitted hearing the scream, yet everyone remembered the clock's bronze raven striking once, then choking mid-note above them. When the butler opened the library door, candlelight revealed Sir Alistair collapsed beside the atlas, one hand blackened with poison. His other hand clutched a torn photograph showing all seven guests, although someone had carefully scratched out one face entirely. Inspector Vale arrived through thunder and mud, surveyed the room once, and remarked that murder had excellent timing tonight indeed. Then he noticed the extinguished fireplace, untouched brandy, and a fresh rose petal hidden inside Alistair's left shoe that night. By the time lightning whitened the hall again, every guest had acquired an alibi, and none had improved one bit.