Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCR2VK4RD02472PY0P2XKMS

Rain hammered the windows of Blackthorn Hall all that night. Margaret Ellis found the body at precisely six that morning. She had come upstairs to light the fires as usual. The heavy library door stood open, which was never allowed. Inside, Sir Edmund Wrayburn lay sprawled across the writing desk. His silver fountain pen had rolled beneath the tall bookcase. A brass letter opener protruded from between his shoulder blades. Two whisky glasses stood upon the side table, both empty. Margaret did not scream, though she wanted to very badly. Instead she noticed the mantel clock had stopped at midnight. Someone had wound it wrong, or else stopped it deliberately. Eight guests slept upstairs, and one of them had lied. Margaret backed out slowly and went downstairs to fetch help. The rain kept falling, washing every footprint from the gravel.