Run: 2026-03-18-01KM09BS4M8MGTCFR77V3DTQNV

Rain stitched the manor windows shut, while guests whispered over silverware and secrets, unaware that someone had already arranged death. Inspector Vale arrived late, carrying a damp coat, a notebook, and the tired expression of someone expecting lies tonight. In the ballroom, Lady Merrow lay beside the piano, her pearl necklace snapped, her hand still clutching a burned match. No one screamed immediately; first came silence, then the careful shifting of suspects, each remembering something inconvenient about the victim. Vale knelt, studying the carpet, where muddy prints led nowhere and a faint scent of lavender masked something sharper. The butler insisted the doors stayed locked, though his trembling fingers suggested he had unlocked them for someone after midnight. Above the storm, a clock struck once, and every guest turned toward the sound, as if hearing a verdict.