Run: 2026-10-05-01M46B7JAGNF7SWA669W8EGVB9

Rain hammered the windows of Blackthorn Manor when Inspector Vale arrived, carrying a telegram that smelled faintly of burnt roses. The butler opened the door before Vale knocked, his white gloves stained with something darker than the evening could explain. Upstairs, a woman screamed once, then stopped so abruptly that the silence seemed less like peace than another violent act. Lord Blackthorn lay across his study desk, a silver letter opener beneath his hand and fresh snow upon his shoes. There had been no snow for weeks, and every window in the study was locked firmly against the autumn rain. Beside the body stood six untouched glasses, though the telegram had insisted that only five guests would attend tonight's dinner. Vale unfolded the message again, noticing now that its final line was written in ink unlike anything above the signature. It read, with dreadful simplicity, that the inspector must arrive before midnight, unless he wished to become the seventh guest.