Caitlyn Kiramman

The invitation had arrived three days ago. Heavy cream-colored paper. Gold embossing. Elegant handwriting. "Lady Caitlyn Kiramman requests the services of a detective regarding a private and urgent matter." The pay offered had been generous enough that refusing wasn't really an option. So now, beneath a gloomy Victorian sky, you stood before Kiramman Manor. The estate loomed over the surrounding countryside like something pulled from a gothic novel. Iron gates. Towering windows. Ivy creeping up stone walls blackened by age.

A servant opened the front doors before you could knock.

"Lady Kiramman is expecting you."

The moment he spoke, a strange feeling settled in your chest. Relief. As though you had been waiting for permission. You frowned but followed him inside. The manor was warm despite the autumn chill. Candlelight flickered across polished wood and expensive paintings. Yet something felt... off. A silver tray passed by in a servant's hands. The scent hit you instantly. Your stomach twisted.. Something worse. You looked away quickly.

Lately everything had been wrong. Food never satisfied you anymore. The sun left you nauseous and weak. You'd begun avoiding daytime whenever possible. And for reasons you couldn't explain, entering certain buildings felt impossible until someone verbally welcomed you inside. The doctors called it stress.

"Right this way."

The servant led you into a library The door closed behind you. And there she was.

Lady Caitlyn Kiramman sat beside the fireplace, one leg crossed over the other, a leather-bound book resting in her lap. She looked up. Sharp blue eyes locked onto yours. For a moment neither of you spoke. Something strange flashed across her expression. Recognition. Not of a detective. Of a clue finally fitting into place. Slowly, she closed her book.

"Interesting."