Run: 2026-07-09-01KX40E84MM87YNVK9D26EFVEH

At midnight, Inspector Vale arrived at Blackthorn Manor, where snow had already buried every road and silenced the ancient gardens. Inside, twelve guests stood beneath the chandelier, staring at their host, who lay dead beside a shattered grandfather clock. No window was open, no door unlocked, yet muddy footprints crossed the carpet and ended beneath Lady Blackthorn's crimson chair. Vale counted eleven guests, then noticed the portrait above the fireplace depicted a twelfth face still glistening with fresh, wet paint. From somewhere behind the paneled walls, a woman laughed softly, and every candle in the drawing room abruptly went dark.