Run: 2026-09-23-01M37Q7D2DR4JXGX9STA45ZHRX

The storm had already knocked out the power when Margaret Hale found her husband lying dead beneath the library window. She stood in the doorway holding a trembling candle, watching wax drip slowly onto the old polished oak floorboards below. Edward was sprawled across the Persian rug, one arm outstretched toward the fireplace as if desperately reaching for something important. A stain spread from beneath his head, and beside him lay the brass poker that usually hung by the hearth. Thunder rolled over the moors, rattling the tall windows, and somewhere upstairs a door slammed shut with sudden, terrible violence. Margaret did not scream, because she knew eleven guests were sleeping under this roof tonight, and one was a killer. Instead, she knelt beside Edward and pried open his clenched fist, where she found a torn scrap of yellowed paper. Three words were written there in faded ink, and the handwriting belonged unmistakably to her beloved younger sister, Lydia Ashford. Lydia had drowned in the lake behind this very house exactly twelve years ago, on the night before Margaret's wedding. Holding the scrap closer to the flame, Margaret read the message twice, and her blood ran cold: I remember everything.