Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCRC7JTP80FGCX1YHDVW5S9

Cold rain hammered the greenhouse glass like fingers demanding entry. Inspector Vale counted the orchids before she counted the corpses. There was only one of each, which somehow felt insufficient. The dead man lay among the ferns, wearing evening clothes. His shoes were spotless, though the garden path was mud. Someone had carried him here, or he had never walked. Vale crouched, ignoring the water soaking through her wool coat. A single orchid petal rested inside the victim's open mouth. Death had come near midnight, judging by the stiffened fingers. Behind her, the young constable made a small unprofessional sound. Vale did not turn around; she had expected that much. Every house this large hides something rotting beneath the roses. The family waited inside, drinking sherry, rehearsing their alibis quietly. She would give them nine more minutes of that peace.