Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCPR47X1Z9Y0XT45W3K8NX5

The rain had stopped by the time Inspector Halloway arrived, leaving the gravel drive slick and glittering under weak lamplight. Blackthorn House loomed above him, its seventeen windows dark except one, where a curtain twitched and then fell perfectly still. He climbed the steps slowly, counting them out of habit, and found the front door standing open exactly four inches. Inside, the hall smelled of beeswax, wet wool, and something faintly metallic that made the back of his throat tighten. A grandfather clock ticked in the corner, and beside it a woman sat rigid on a chair, holding someone's gloves. "You'll be the detective," she said, not looking up, her voice as flat and gray as the flagstones beneath them. "He's in the library, and I want it understood that nobody here has touched anything at all since half-past nine." Halloway removed his hat, noting the mud on her hem, the tremor in her hands, the absence of any tears. "And you would be?" he asked, though he already suspected, from the ring she kept turning, exactly who she was. She raised her eyes then, pale as winter water, and answered, "I'm his wife, Inspector. I'm the one who found him."