Run: 2026-09-03-01M1KBQR7CV2K4RMS302Y560YN

The manor's grandfather clock struck midnight, its hollow chime swallowed by the storm's relentless howl and the frozen dark outside. Eleanor Vance stood alone in the library doorway, her trembling fingers clutching the brass handle as lightning split the sky. The room behind her was a wreck of overturned chairs, shattered glass, and scattered papers soaking in spilled crimson wine. A single candle guttered on the mantelpiece, casting long wavering shadows over the body slumped beneath the broken bay window. Inspector Hale knelt beside the dead man, noting the ornate silver dagger still buried deep between his left shoulder blades. No one had heard a scream above the thunder, and no servant could explain why the front door stood open. The victim was Lord Reginald Ashworth, a man whose enemies were as numerous as the rain-soaked miles surrounding his estate. Eleanor finally released the handle and stepped into the chaos, then whispered something that made the inspector turn around sharply. "He told me this morning," she said, her voice shaking, "that someone in this house would not survive the night." The inspector studied her face, then finally asked quietly if she had seen anyone enter before the body was found. Her eyes flicked toward the shattered window, and a strange smile slowly crossed her lips before she finally answered him. "No one entered," Eleanor whispered, "but I have known since tea that Lord Ashworth was already dead long before midnight."