Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMN1772J1RHGRHHKFT4S0WC

The abandoned Tube station smelled of damp stone and something older—something that clung to the air like the scent of old parchment left too long in a damp cellar. Detective Harlow Quinn adjusted the strap of her leather satchel, her sharp jaw set in a line of quiet concentration as she stepped over the jagged remnants of a collapsed support beam. The flickering glow of her flashlight cut through the dark, illuminating the scene before her: a pool of blackened liquid spread across the cracked concrete, its edges sizzling where it touched the metal grates. The air hummed with an unnatural static, like the moment before a storm breaks. Eva Kowalski stood near the edge of the pool, her round glasses reflecting the sickly yellow light of the emergency lanterns. She tucked a strand of curly red hair behind her left ear, her freckled complexion pale beneath the grime. "You’re sure this is the right place?" she asked, her voice tight. "The description said *abandoned*, not *collapsed*." Harlow didn’t look away from the scene. "The description was accurate. Just not recent." She crouched, running her gloved fingers along the edge of the pool. The liquid wasn’t water. It didn’t even look like blood—too thick, too dark, with a sheen that caught the light like oil. "And it’s still moving." Eva exhaled sharply. "Supernatural residue?" "Or something worse." Harlow’s gaze flicked to the scattered debris around them—shattered glass, a half-burned ledger, a single brass compass casing with verdigris creeping up its edges like rust. The Veil Compass. She recognized it instantly, though she’d never seen one in person. "This wasn’t an accident." Eva hesitated. "Then what was it?" Harlow didn’t answer right away. She stood, brushing the dust from her knees, and turned to her colleague, a younger detective named Reece, who stood near the entrance of the station, arms crossed. "You called this in?" Reece shifted uncomfortably. "The body was found in the next district. Thought it might be related." Harlow’s eyes narrowed. "And?" "And the coroner’s already here," Reece said, gesturing toward the distant glow of a vehicle’s headlights. "They’re waiting for us to clear the scene." Harlow ignored him, her focus returning to the compass. She picked it up, turning it over in her palm. The sigils etched into its face were familiar—protective, but not in the way she’d seen before. These weren’t wards meant to keep something *out*. They were meant to keep something *in*. "This wasn’t stolen," she murmured. "It was *taken*." Eva frowned. "By who?" "Someone who knew what it was." Harlow’s mind raced. The Veil Market was a black market, yes, but it wasn’t just about goods. It was about *knowledge*. About things people didn’t want the rest of the world to know. And if someone had taken this compass, they weren’t just looking for a tool. They were looking for a *way in*. Reece cleared his throat. "Detective, we should—" "Watch this." Harlow didn’t wait for permission. She stepped closer to the pool of blackened liquid, her flashlight cutting through the darkness. The liquid rippled, and for a second, she thought she saw something move beneath the surface—something dark, something *wrong*. Then it was gone, swallowed by the shifting darkness. Eva’s breath hitched. "That’s not possible." "Isn’t it?" Harlow’s voice was low, dangerous. She turned to Reece. "You said the body was found in the next district. Show me." Reece led the way, his boots crunching on the broken glass and debris. The body lay on a stretcher, covered in a sheet, but the stench of it was unmistakable—metallic, sickly sweet, like something had been *cooked* in the flesh. Harlow pulled back the sheet. The man’s face was unrecognizable. His skin had been peeled back in places, revealing the pale, glistening tissue beneath. But it wasn’t just that. His eyes were gone. Completely. As if something had *taken* them. Eva gagged, turning away. Harlow’s stomach twisted. She crouched beside the stretcher, her fingers brushing the man’s wrist. No pulse. No breath. But the skin was still warm. Too warm. "He didn’t die here," she said quietly. "He was brought here." Reece swallowed. "Then who—" "Doesn’t matter." Harlow stood, her gaze sweeping over the scene. "What matters is *why*." She turned back to the pool of blackened liquid. The liquid had spread farther now, creeping along the cracks in the concrete like ink in water. And beneath it, just for a second, she saw something else—a shape, dark and shifting, like a shadow given form. Eva’s voice was barely above a whisper. "Detective, what is that?" Harlow didn’t answer. She was already moving, her boots splashing through the liquid as she approached the edge of the pool. The air grew thicker, heavier, like breathing through water. And then she saw it—the entrance to something. A rift, just like the needle of the compass had promised. A gateway to another place, another time. And it was *open*. She reached out, her fingers brushing the air just above the surface. The liquid hissed where it touched her skin, but she didn’t pull away. She could feel it now—the pull of the other side, the whisper of something ancient and hungry. "Detective?" Eva’s voice was urgent, but Harlow barely heard her. She was too busy watching as the rift pulsed, as the darkness within it seemed to *breathe*. Then the lights flickered. The emergency lanterns died, plunging them into darkness. The only light came from the rift itself, a sickly green glow that cast long, shifting shadows across the walls of the abandoned station. Harlow turned to Eva, her eyes wide. "We’re not alone." And then she heard it—the sound of footsteps, slow and deliberate, approaching from the darkness.