The turnstone flips every stone along the shore to see what's hiding. So do we. Each case, each place, is a stone waiting to be turned.
A tech CEO is dead in his own tower. Five people went up there that night, and every one of them tells it differently. You get three rounds of questioning to work out which parts are true.
Each case is set in a real place. Open a file and start digging.
In the shadow of Tenerife's volcano, a game played in silence. Someone planned this — you just have to prove it.
An Indian Ocean beach in Mauritius, and a night the tide tried to bury. No witness can speak, but the water can.
A last meal along Kyoto's Kiyamachi canal. Everyone at the table has an alibi. One of them is lying.
Turnstone Pass began with a real turnstone on a beach in Tenerife, flipping stones to see what was hiding underneath. The name stuck, and so did the habit. Every case is set somewhere these games have actually been: a volcano island, an Indian Ocean beach, a canal in Kyoto. The stories are not about the places; they are postcards from them. Fittingly, the first case returns to Tenerife, where it all began. Best played the way the name was found: lying on a beach, turning stones.
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The turnstone doesn't pick and choose. It turns every stone, because there's always something underneath.