Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCRHV47GESHW62GC4XQZPN6

The rain had stopped early. Detective Mara Voss hated Tuesdays. The greenhouse door stood open. Glass crunched beneath her boots. Orchids bloomed in obscene colors. A man lay among them. His white shirt held roses. They were not real flowers. Blood had painted them there. Mara counted three deep wounds. Someone had arranged his hands. They folded across his chest. A single tulip rested between. Tulips did not grow here. She wrote that down twice. Behind her, a throat cleared. The gardener stood there shaking. His gloves were still wet. Mara asked for his name. He said, "Which one, ma'am?"