Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMPE8X106YA34JXPJEFPH3M

The damp air of the abandoned Tube station clung to Detective Harlow Quinn’s skin as she stepped into the inky shadow of the long-forgotten platform. Flickering fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a sickly glow that barely illuminated the scene before her. The smell of mildew mixed with something metallic — blood, perhaps. She inhaled deeply, forcing herself to focus through the remnants of her late lunch that threatened to rise. At the far end of the platform, her colleague, Detective Leo Parker, squatted over something on the ground, his face scrunched in concentration. The flicker of his flashlight danced across the concrete, illuminating a series of strange markings etched into the walls, like runes lost to time. Quinn wiped a bead of sweat from her brow, her gaze darting around the station. The air pulsed with an energy that was out of place, sparking a nagging sensation in her gut. Something was very wrong. “Over here, Quinn,” Leo called, drawing her closer. As she approached, he gestured at a pool of dark fluid pooling around an object that had no business being here—an old leather satchel, crumpled and half-hidden beneath a tangle of discarded newspapers. Quinn rose to her full height, her jaw tightening. She scanned the area, recognizing the signature of someone who had made a hurried departure. “What do you make of this?” Leo asked, his voice hushed, a mix of awe and apprehension. Quinn crouched beside the satchel and plucked it from the ground with dry fingers, feeling the weight of it against her palm. “Someone didn’t want to be found.” She opened it, the zipper barely budging against the rust that clung to it like a bad habit. Inside were scraps of parchment, hastily scribbled notes, and torn pages from old tomes. “Looks like someone was doing a little light reading in the occult,” Leo said, trying to lighten the mood, but Quinn merely frowned as she sifted through the contents. “Or trying to hide something much worse.” As she removed a thick, yellowed page, the symbols she recognized from her years of experience with magical anomalies screamed out: binding rituals. The ink was dark, flowing like blood in intricate patterns across the paper. “This isn’t just any old research, Leo. These pages are a map. A guide.” “And the blood?” he asked, eyebrows raised as he nodded toward the growing puddle beneath the satchel. Quinn stood, eyeing the markings. “It doesn’t fit. Blood usually speaks of a struggle or desperation, but there’s no sign of forced entry or anything disturbed other than this.” She pointed at the satchel, frowning. “And what’s a satchel doing down here? This station hasn't seen foot traffic in years.” Leo followed her gaze, his confidence faltering. “You think someone intentionally left it? To lead us somewhere?” “Or to cover their tracks,” she replied, her brow furrowing. “I need to talk to someone who knows the area better — maybe find out if any missing persons align with this spot.” “You could call Eva,” Leo suggested, pulling out his phone. “She knows everything about the subcultures in this city. If there’s anything to be found, she’ll know.” Quinn hesitated. Eva Kowalski was friendly, trusted; she was also an occult researcher burdened by a fascination with the very things Quinn had distanced herself from since the loss of her partner, DS Morris. “I think it’s too dangerous to involve her,” Quinn said finally, shoving the satchel back to the ground. “If whatever took Morris is responsible for this, I wouldn’t put her at risk.” But the pleading in Leo’s eyes made Quinn relent. “Alright. Call her. But keep it to the facts. We can't risk scaring her off.” Leo nodded, tapping furiously on the screen. The silence between them thickened as Quinn’s mind buzzed with possibilities, piecing together the fragments of information like a misaligned puzzle. Was the blood here a lure? Had the bodies been taken elsewhere? Without realizing she was moving, Quinn stepped toward the edge of the platform, the light from her flashlight sweeping the deserted tunnel that yawned in the dark, eager to swallow the secrets hidden within. Each step forward sent tendrils of anxiety gracing her spine. Leo’s voice pulled her back. “Quinn!” She turned sharply. He was pointing up at the wall behind the satchel. “Look!” Drawing her flashlight toward the markings, she stepped closer and felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. These weren't just random symbols; they were protective sigils — the type used by those who dabbled in supernatural craft to guard against breaches. “Someone may have intended for whatever happened here to be hidden,” Quinn murmured, recognizing the faint signs of a rift. “Or to contain something. But it’s been broken. That’s where the blood comes in.” “Broken?” Leo echoed, sounding faintly incredulous. “You mean there’s an actual... rift?” “Yeah, a portal,” she replied, casting a quick look down the tunnel again. “But that doesn’t explain why we’d find human blood and these notes.” Her fingers danced over the leather of the satchel. “Something or someone used this passage. This leads somewhere larger.” “Larger?” Leo stepped back slightly. “So, what, you think they’re going to come back here?” Quinn could feel the weight of the unsettling atmosphere pushing down on her, squeezing out any bravado she was trying to maintain. “Maybe. If their plan disrupted, they might. It’s worth investigating. The Veil Market has been rumored to shift locations, and it’s about time for a full moon … This could be linked.” “Then we should definitely call in the cavalry,” Leo said, scratching his head. “We can't go in without backup, right?” Before Quinn could respond, a flickering light caught her eye deep within the tunnel. A pinpoint of illumination danced as if beckoning her forward, subsections of the darkness writhing like spirits beneath the surface. Instinct kicked in, compelling her to move, the pulse of a detective's intuition pushing her toward the unknown. The shadows shifted as she approached, her heart racing, blood rushing in her ears. “Forget backup,” she said, her voice low and fierce. “We need to see this for ourselves.” “Quinn—” Ignoring Leo, she stepped into the tunnel, drawn deeper into the whispers of the dark, where the rift lay waiting, its secrets open and inviting. A new thread of determination wove through her; the quiet, desperate promise to uncover the truth for Morris and anyone lost in the abyss that this mystery held. The riddle of the Veil, the truth veiled in shadows, lay just ahead, and she would not turn back now.