With a final bow to Lady Whiskerton, you quietly exit her chambers and make your way through the grand hallway towards the garden. Your polished shoes click softly against the marble floors as you pass towering portraits of feline ancestors, their jeweled collars glinting in the morning light.

The French doors open to reveal the sprawling garden, a paradise of manicured hedges and winding stone paths. The morning mist clings to the rose bushes, each bloom a perfect jewel of crimson and ivory. Your trained eyes immediately scan for disturbances - a crushed petal here, an unusual paw print there.

Near the gazebo, you spot fresh tracks in the dewy grass. They're too large to belong to any respectable housecat. Following them leads you to the wrought iron fence where the tracks abruptly end. Someone - or something - had climbed over during the night. A single claw mark mars the otherwise pristine paint.

As you lean closer to inspect the mark, a rustling comes from the hydrangea bushes. A pair of glowing eyes peers out at you, then disappears with a hiss. The garden falls silent again, but the hair on your neck remains raised. Whatever visited the garden last night could still be nearby.