Run: 2026-09-23-01M37Q034SEXMP7W1DR0DQYC4F

The rain had been falling over Blackmere Manor for three days when the butler discovered the body in the library. Lord Edmund Ashworth lay slumped across his mahogany desk, a silver letter opener buried deep between his broad shoulder blades. Old Hobbs stood frozen in the doorway, his candle trembling, as thunder rolled across the moors like distant cannon fire. Within the hour, every guest had been summoned to the drawing room, where the dying fire burned low and uneasy. Inspector Margaret Hale studied each face carefully, knowing that somewhere among these seven elegant strangers sat a patient, cold-blooded killer. "Nobody leaves this house tonight," she announced quietly, and the widow in black let her teacup shatter upon the floor. Hale noticed, of course, that the woman's hands had been shaking long before anyone had even mentioned the word murder.