Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMMC98ESY6E4FC3JE3S39SG

Detective Harlow Quinn crouched beside the body, ignoring the damp seeping through her trouser knees. The abandoned Tube platform hadn't seen regular commuters in decades, but tonight it hosted a grim tableau. The victim lay spread-eagled on the cracked tiles, limbs arranged with unnatural precision. No blood, no signs of struggle. Just a man in an expensive suit who looked like he'd decided to take a nap in a forgotten corner of London's underground. Except for the expression frozen on his face. Pure terror. Quinn checked her worn leather watch. 3:47 AM. The fluorescent work lights the forensics team had set up cast harsh shadows across the platform, turning the station's Victorian architectural details into leering faces. "Cause of death isn't immediately apparent," said Dr. Chen, the ME, snapping off her latex gloves. "No external trauma, no ligature marks. Tox screen pending, but-" "But you've never seen anything quite like it?" Quinn finished, her jaw tightening. The words were becoming too familiar lately. "Precisely." Chen gathered her equipment, clearly eager to get the body back to the morgue's better lighting and climate control. Quinn stood, her knees protesting, and surveyed the scene again. Something about this place needled at her consciousness. The platform showed signs of recent use - scuff marks on the tiles, modern graffiti layered over decades-old tags. But it wasn't the usual urban explorer territory. The access tunnel they'd used to reach this level had been sealed until someone reported strange noises two days ago. "Detective?" A familiar voice echoed across the platform. Eva Kowalski hurried toward her, red curls bouncing, her ever-present satchel slapping against her hip. The British Museum researcher had been consulting on several of Quinn's recent cases, though Quinn still wasn't entirely sure who had authorized that arrangement. "Ms. Kowalski. This is an active crime scene." Quinn's tone carried a warning, but Eva just pushed her round glasses up her nose and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her left ear. "I know. That's why I'm here. You called about the symbols?" Quinn hadn't called anyone, but she'd learned to pick her battles. She gestured to the far wall where, half-hidden behind a modern advertisement poster, someone had carved an intricate pattern of interlocking circles and angular shapes. Eva's green eyes widened. She fumbled in her satchel, producing a small brass compass that looked antique but somehow wrong - too bright in places, too tarnished in others. Its face was covered in markings similar to the wall carvings. "Interesting," Eva murmured, holding the compass at arm's length. "This station... it's not on any official maps, is it?" "Technically, no." Quinn watched the younger woman carefully. "Care to share your thoughts?" Eva glanced at the body being loaded onto a gurney, then back at Quinn. "You've noticed there's no dust on him? In a sealed station?" Quinn had noticed. Just like she'd noticed how the temperature dropped ten degrees near the platform's north end, how their radio signals got staticky in specific spots, how the victim's expensive watch had stopped at exactly midnight despite the ME estimating time of death closer to 2 AM. "This isn't just any abandoned station," Eva continued, her freckled face intense. "This is one of the Market's old locations. See how the carvings form a perfect circle around the platform? Protection sigils. And these marks here?" She pointed to what Quinn had assumed was wear on the tile edge. "That's from bone tokens. Hundreds of them, over years." "The Market," Quinn repeated flatly. Another term she'd been hearing too often lately, always accompanied by impossible explanations for equally impossible crimes. Like what had happened to Morris three years ago... The compass in Eva's hand suddenly spun wildly, its needle whirling like a deranged weathervane. A cold draft swept the platform, sending paper evidence markers fluttering. "We should go," Eva said, shoving the compass back into her satchel. "The Market moves with the full moon, but it leaves... echoes. Especially when something's gone wrong." Quinn caught her arm. "Ms. Kowalski. I have a dead body and a crime scene that's making less sense by the minute. I need straight answers." "What you need," Eva said quietly, "is to start accepting that some crimes can't be solved with standard forensics and witness statements. Your victim didn't die from any cause Dr. Chen will find in her lab. He died from fear - pure, supernatural terror. And if we don't leave soon, we might find out exactly what scared him to death." The lights flickered. In the darkness between pulses, Quinn could have sworn she saw market stalls shimmer into existence along the platform, translucent figures browsing impossible wares. When the lights stabilized, there was only the empty station - but now she noticed the subtle patterns worn into the floor, exactly the width of vendor booths. "Fine," Quinn said, her military-precise posture tight with tension. "But tomorrow, you're going to explain everything you know about this Market. And Ms. Kowalski?" She fixed the researcher with a hard stare. "No more half-truths. I need to know what really happened to my partner." Eva nodded, already hurrying toward the exit. "Tomorrow. I promise. But Detective?" She paused, looking back. "You might want to start carrying iron. Just in case." Quinn watched her go, then took one last look at the crime scene. In three years of investigating Morris's disappearance, she'd accumulated a file full of similar scenes - unexplainable deaths, impossible evidence, and always these strange symbols lurking at the edges. For the first time, she felt like she might be close to understanding what she was really investigating. She just wasn't sure she was ready for the answers.