Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCRNEGZ25BVYB6K999KH1Q5

Rain hammered the greenhouse glass. Inspector Vale hated wet mornings. This one smelled of lilies. The body lay face down. Orchids crushed beneath both shoulders. Someone had arranged him carefully. His hands cupped one seed. Vale crouched, knees complaining loudly. Six hours dead, she guessed. Constable Prine hovered near tomatoes. "The gardener found him, ma'am." She nodded without looking up. The soil told better stories. Two sets of footprints entered. Only one set walked out. Vale photographed the seed anyway. Lilies grew nowhere in here.