Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK97K58D0EW4XX7AZTW3MDF

Rain hammered the station roof as Detective Mara Quinn waited. The last train had departed, leaving platforms slick and deserted. Somewhere downtrack, a maintenance signal blinked like a distant heartbeat. Mara checked her watch again, though time was irrelevant tonight. The anonymous message still glowed on her phone's cracked screen. COME ALONE TO PLATFORM THREE, MIDNIGHT, OR ANOTHER COMMUTER DISAPPEARS. Wind funneled through the underpass, carrying fried onions and smoke. A fluorescent light flickered overhead, buzzing like a wasp nest. Only one other person remained, slumped on a metal bench. He wore a janitor's uniform, cap shadowing his expressionless face. Mara catalogued exits, cameras, mirrors of rain on glass doors. Her partner should have been here, cracking jokes, diffusing nerves. Instead, her messages remained unread, little gray checkmarks accusing her. The station clock clicked over to midnight with mechanical indifference. From the tunnel, a train's horn wailed, wrong and distant. Yet the timetable showed nothing scheduled, no late freight tonight. The janitor stood, stretching slowly, eyes never leaving Mara's silhouette. His mop bucket rolled, wheels rattling like teeth in darkness. You came alone, Detective, he said, voice shredded by cigarettes. Mara's hand brushed her holster, fingers finding only empty leather. Somebody laughed then, hidden among columns, echoing with cruel amusement. The sound bounced wildly, refusing to reveal its true origin. Welcome to the end of the line, Detective Quinn tonight. Behind her, the last exit door clicked shut and locked.