Run: 2026-10-05-01M46BAY81XKVY1Q9H1KSSHQJH

By the time Inspector Vale reached Blackthorn House, the rain had washed every footprint from the gravel except one pair. The prints began beneath the library window and ended at the locked front door, where nobody admitted having stood tonight. Inside, Lord Blackthorn sat upright beside the fireplace, his untouched brandy gleaming amber beside the hand resting on his knee. His wife insisted he was sleeping until Vale noticed the silver letter opener protruding neatly from his embroidered silk waistcoat. Beyond the doorway, six dinner guests watched in silence, each wearing the strained expression of someone rehearsing an innocent surprise. Only the youngest daughter looked away, studying a portrait whose painted eyes had been scratched out sometime during the evening. Vale bent toward the corpse and found a folded note tucked beneath its collar, damp with something darker than rainwater. Before he could unfold it, the telephone rang upstairs, and Lady Blackthorn whispered that the line had been disconnected yesterday.