Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMPF65RF0VRQ4JX1AZEWBBD

In the belly of London, where the stench of the Thames mingled with the earth's damp breath, Detective Harlow Quinn descended into the abandoned Tube station of Camden. Her boots echoed on the worn steps, each footfall a metronome counting off the seconds until she reached the platform's edge. The station, long forgotten by the city's pulse, now served as a stage for the macabre dance of crime and investigation. The platform was a tableau of chaos, a stark contrast to the usual order Quinn maintained. Yellow tape fluttered like a wounded bird, cordoning off the scene from the curious and the uninitiated. Uniformed officers milled about, their faces pale in the harsh glare of the portable lights. At the center stood DCI Thompson, Quinn's colleague and occasional adversary, his bulk silhouetted against the carnival of crime scene techs. Quinn approached, her salt-and-pepper hair brushing her collar, her sharp jaw set in a grim line. Her eyes, brown as London's soot, swept the scene, taking in every detail. The victim lay sprawled on the platform, a young woman with curly red hair and round glasses, her freckled complexion pale as moonlight. Beside her, a worn leather satchel spilled books like entrails. Quinn's gaze lingered on the girl's left ear, where a tuft of hair was tucked neatly behind, a nervous habit preserved in death. "Quinn," Thompson greeted, his voice a rumble like distant thunder. "Thought you'd be interested in this one. Victim's ID'd as Eva Kowalski. Works at the British Museum. Occult researcher." Quinn nodded, her eyes never leaving the body. "Cause of death?" "Strangulation," Thompson replied, pointing to the livid marks on Eva's neck. "But here's where it gets interesting." He stepped aside, revealing a symbol carved into the platform's concrete. It was a circle with three wavy lines radiating out, like a stylized sun or a triskelion. "We found this at the scene. No sign of forced entry, no struggle, no weapon. Just this... mark." Quinn crouched down, her worn leather watch catching the light. She traced the symbol with her gloved fingers, feeling the rough edges where the concrete had been scored. "What's your take, Thompson?" Thompson shrugged his massive shoulders. "Gang initiation, maybe? Some sort of cult ritual? Either way, it's out of our league. I've already called for backup from the Met's Occult Crimes Unit." Quinn stood, her military precision evident in her every movement. "And what do you think, Thompson?" she pressed, her eyes meeting his. "What's your gut telling you?" Thompson hesitated, then leaned in, lowering his voice. "I think we've got a supernatural killing on our hands, Quinn. And I think you know it too." Quinn's gaze flicked back to the body, to the symbol, then to the darkness that seemed to cling to the edges of the platform. She remembered Morris, her partner lost three years ago in a case that had twisted and turned until it led them to the supernatural's doorstep. She remembered the unexplained, the inexplicable, the things that defied logic and reason. And she remembered the fear that had gripped her then, the fear that still gripped her now. She pulled out her phone, navigating to a photo she'd taken months ago at another crime scene. Another symbol, another victim. She held it out to Thompson. "I've seen this before. Two years ago, another victim. Same MO, same symbol." Thompson took the phone, his brows furrowing as he studied the image. "Why didn't you say anything?" "I didn't have proof," Quinn replied, taking the phone back. "I still don't. But I intend to find it." Thompson looked at her, then at the body, then back at her. "You're not going to report this, are you?" Quinn met his gaze, unflinching. "Not yet. Not until I have something concrete. I need to investigate this my way, Thompson. Off the books." Thompson sighed, running a hand over his bald head. "I should report you, you know. Interfering with an investigation, withholding evidence..." "But you won't," Quinn finished for him. "Because you know something's off here, Thompson. And because you trust me." Thompson looked away, his jaw working. "Be careful, Quinn. This isn't like the old days. This is... something else." Quinn nodded, her eyes already scanning the scene again. "I know. But I've dealt with 'something else' before. And I've come out on top." She stepped away from Thompson, her boots echoing on the platform as she moved towards the edge, towards the darkness. She pulled out her Veil Compass, the small brass instrument glowing softly in her hand. The needle spun, then pointed towards the darkness, towards the unknown. Towards the truth. Quinn took a deep breath, her eyes on the needle. Then, with a determination that was almost palpable, she stepped off the platform and into the darkness, leaving Thompson and the crime scene behind. She was going to find out what had really happened to Eva Kowalski. She was going to find out who, or what, had killed her. And she was going to bring them to justice, no matter what it took. Even if it meant walking into the heart of the supernatural world. Even if it meant confronting the fears that still haunted her from Morris's death. Even if it meant risking everything she held dear. Because that was what Detective Harlow Quinn did. She sought the truth, no matter where it led her. And she never, ever gave up.