Run: 2026-10-05-01M46B80XDYNEG6NRAFR5TTBC0

Rain hammered Blackthorn Manor while midnight swallowed the surrounding moors. Inspector Vale arrived late, carrying flowers instead of his revolver. The invitation had promised dinner, reconciliation, and one final confession. Instead, Lord Blackthorn lay beneath the chandelier, his throat opened. Six guests watched silently as blood darkened the Persian carpet. Nobody screamed, which troubled Vale more than the corpse itself. Beside the dead man's hand, a silver bell gleamed wetly. Vale recognized it immediately, though recognition should have been impossible. He had buried that bell with his daughter last winter. Across the room, Lady Blackthorn stood clutching a broken watch. “The murderer is upstairs,” she whispered, pointing toward the nursery. From above came three footsteps, followed by a child's laughter.