Run: 2026-07-07-01KWZ5SQE61K70SQV28KDYCMPP

The grand ballroom's chandelier cast shattered light across a single, still body. A ruby brooch lay near her outstretched hand, reflecting glimmering, cold, accusing fire. Detective Hall observed the silent crowd, their faces masks of identical, brittle shock. "The victim is Celeste Armitage," murmured a uniformed officer, his voice barely a whisper. No one moved except a lone moth, fluttering near the dead woman's tangled, auburn hair. Hall noted the champagne glass, perfect and untouched, on the windowsill behind her. Every guest had a reason to kill, yet every guest stood still, hollow and aloof. The only sound was the ticking clock, counting down the seconds of their fragile alibis. Behind him, a door clicked shut, locking a killer in with the living and the dead.