Run: 2026-03-25-01KMJ8625QK38B5ZCT6GB7TP0E

The clock tower chimed midnight as fog curled, damp and thick with sea salt, around the cobblestone streets of Blackthorn village. Constable Marlowe adjusted his scarf, the fabric stiff with salt from the sea breeze, and stared at the mayor’s lifeless body. A silver letter opener, glinting under the flickering gaslight, lay buried in the mayor’s chest, its edge pristine and cruel. No one had seen the mayor after dinner, yet half the town had bet on their next scandal, and the crowd now murmured in uneasy hush. The silence of the crows, so often raucous in the oaks, was an omen the townsfolk ignored, as usual.