Run: 2026-10-08-01M4DA1B5WKE9CD0569TGACMT2

The rain hammered relentlessly against the manor windows that night. Inspector Harriet Vance stood motionless in the cold grand foyer. Somewhere high above her, a heavy oak door slammed shut. Lord Ashford lay dead in his locked study before midnight. Nobody had entered or left that room since dinner ended. Harriet pulled on her gloves and stepped over the threshold. The air inside smelled of brandy, wet wool, and fear. Her eyes moved across the scattered papers on the desk. Something about the scene felt utterly staged and deeply wrong. Then the hallway clock stopped ticking abruptly, leaving silence behind.