Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMPF6JV1PEH53241Q5E5DQZ

Detective Harlow Quinn surveyed the dilapidated underground chamber, her sharp jaw tensed in a grimace. The dangling light fixtures flickered, casting eerie shadows across peeling murous walls. Muddy water seeped from cracks, pooling atop crumbling stone. The dank air was thick with the bite of coppery blood. She shook her head, jaw clenched. This abandoned Tube station beneath Camden was the last place she expected to find a body. Especially one in such...unnatural condition. The victim lay sprawled on the cracked tile floor, throat torn out, body riddled with stab wounds. But what made Harlow's pulse quicken was the glowing purple sigil etched into the blood-slick surface directly above. It reeked of dark magic. "Somebody caught a bad dose of tainted coke, yeah?" offered her partner DC Sadie Patel, lighting up a cigarette. She puffed out smoke rings, wrinkling her nose. "What a dump. How many pools can one place have?" Harlow shot her an annoyed glare, flicking her wrist to check the time on her worn leather watch. "Beaux Arts vibrams aren't a valid cause of death, Patel. There's something off about this...and these." She knelt down, gloved fingers brushing over scattered bone fragments scattered around the body like morbid confetti. They were Lombok sugarcube dice, engraved with eldritch sigils that made her stomach churn. As she rose, her eyes fell on glistening drops sliding down the walls. Not water. Blood. Spatters of crimson stains led away into the darkness. Victim's blood trail. Harlow's instincts screamed to follow it. A sudden gust extinguished Patel's cigarette, tousling her messy bob. She shuddered, clutching her bomber jacket. "Something's not right here, Detective Quinn." Harlow fixed her junior detective a warning look. "Florence is the circle divider. Stay within it." Patel gulped, nodding jerkily. Careful steps carried the detective into the shadows, torchlight cutting through them. The tunnel's floor was slick with more blood. Arcane sigils were scrawled across walls here too, each one making her skin prickle. Protection seals. Ancient and powerful. She followed the trail into a junction of abandoned subway lines. Fresh corpse odor hung thick, making her gag. Scanning the darkness, her hawk eyes caught a glint. Something tucked behind a wall of ancient piped emitted flickers of moonlight. Steel fingers closed around the object. Cold metal meet hers - a brass compass, a sigil-etched face, verdigris patina maring its casing. Veil compass. Crafted by Shades, used to track metaphysical portals and rifts to the Supernatural. Top tier black market item. Suddenly, an icy breeze gusted. Blunt pain exploded in the back of Harlow's skull. She crumpled to the ground, cracking her brow - but her fingers still closed tight around the compass. Groaning, Harlow wiped the blood from her face and cracked one eye open to the darkened subway tunnel above. Shapes moved in the shadows ahead - silhouettes of people. The flash from Patel's baton lit their faces. A dark man in an expensive suit...and a curly-haired girl with round glasses, clutching a leather satchel. The two exchanged words before parting ways down different tunnels. Harlow climbed up the access ladder, feet thudding on concrete as she tried to get the lay of the scene with Patel still down below. Met her partner's eyes. In a low voice, she asked, "What do you make of that, Sadie?" The junior officer's face pale. "I've seen that guy. From the Apothecary." Apothecary. Bad news black market. So it was true then. "The girl though." Patel bit down. "Familiar face. Reminds me of that cop that went missing. What was his name?" "Morris." Quinn and Patel exchanged sober looks, her jaw working. Three years had passed since her former partner Andrew had vanished. An investigation into his disappearance gave rise to dark, supernatural theories she was still struggling to believe. Now this...it seemed impossible yet undeniable. Inspirited by some hidden connection to her past. Harlow rubbed the back of her head and met Patel's worried expression. In a hushed voice, she said, "Sadie, I need you to be ready for anything. This one might get dark." The two exchanged a long look before developing their move in silence. Harlow's nostrils flared as she took in the tunnel vista before her: Fishy stink of piss and guts. Fusty miasma of stale tobacco. And medicinal musk of mullock brews permeated the chamber. They materialized into a subterranean clearing, cramped with stalls and tarp-tents with makeshift wooden signage advertising various supernatural wares. Quinn and Patel moved through the active market, eyes scanning the scene. Harlow's finger tapped the desk phone tucked in the watch of her wrist, feeling for reassurance. Old habits die hard. Kiosks abounded peddling black books, fortune telling curves, tawdry love potions, constructs. Alchemical wares too in vials and polyhedrons...expletives in compulsive sequence. Harlow spotted a booth selling Metatarsus Artifacts. "That there," she gestured, "see the lotus cup." Raised pointing finger. "That's a Basil Cup. An ancient cup in the shape of purple lotus flower, you use it in Persephone incantations communicate with the dead." Voice lowered, leaning in. "Making a trade like that, getting someone connected with a basil cup...I can't imagine that's for benevolent purposes."