Run: 2026-10-08-01M4DAKR006B429YPM5SBVCNVK

The rain fell hard on Ashford Manor tonight. Detective Mara Quinn arrived at the gates after midnight. Her flashlight cut through the thick, dripping fog ahead. Somewhere inside, a clock struck twelve, slow and mournful. The butler met her at the door, pale and trembling. "Lord Harrow is dead," he whispered, glancing nervously behind him. Mara stepped across the threshold, boots squelching on marble tiles. The study door stood slightly ajar, spilling dim amber light. Inside, the old man sat slumped over his mahogany desk. A single silver letter opener protruded from his back. Mara knelt beside the body, studying each detail carefully. The ink on his blotter was still wet. Someone had been writing him a letter moments ago. Her eyes drifted toward the open window, where a curtain fluttered. Outside, footsteps crunched quickly across the gravel and vanished. Mara rose slowly, her pulse quickening with dread. Tonight, somebody in this house had lied to her.