Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCPVHD975PGQYJW3DJ6JXBJ

The rain hammered the tin roof of Ashcombe Manor's conservatory. Inspector Halloran removed her hat and shook water from it. Inside, seven guests sat frozen around a long oak table. Between them lay Sir Edmund Thorne, quite thoroughly and finally dead. A silver letter opener protruded from beneath his starched collar. Nobody spoke, though somebody had certainly screamed twenty minutes prior. "Which of you found him?" Halloran asked the pale room. Six hands rose slowly, hesitantly, then lowered again in confusion. The seventh guest kept both hands hidden beneath the tablecloth. Halloran noted this carefully and said absolutely nothing about it. Lightning flashed, illuminating the wine glasses, each one drained empty. Except one, which remained full, untouched, waiting for someone else. "Nobody leaves this house tonight," she said, closing the door. Somewhere upstairs, a floorboard creaked beneath the weight of secrets.