Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMQMBNH8XZGQW57ZYS291KB

The entrance to the abandoned Tube station yawned before Detective Harlow Quinn like a maw of forgotten secrets. The damp chill that clung to the air buzzed faintly with something else—something offset from the ordinary London fog. Her boots echoed sharply on cracked tiles mottled with grime and graffiti, each step measured and precise. The metallic clang of her worn leather watch brushing against her wrist was steady, a metronome against the unsettled silence. "This is where they found her," said DC Marcus Lyle, crouched near the far wall by the victim’s body, his pale face illuminated only by the weak glow of a handheld torch. "No witnesses, no surveillance. Just… this." He gestured toward the ground rimmed with streaks of dried blood and an arrangement of strange symbols scrawled in what looked like white chalk. Quinn’s sharp brown eyes narrowed. “In an abandoned station? Not even listed on any current routes,” she said. “How did she end up here?” The body—female, mid-twenties, red curls splayed like a fiery halo—lay unnaturally still, her eyes wide open and unseeing. Around her neck, a curious brass object caught the faint light: a small compass, its casing mottled with a verdigris patina. Quinn crouched to examine it close. “A Veil Compass,” she muttered, recognition steadying her voice. “Crafted by a Shade artisan, if this is authentic.” Lyle frowned. “Do you think someone planted it?” Quinn’s gaze drifted from the compass face—intricate sigils etched delicately on its surface—to the surrounding glyphs on the floor. She leaned forward, fingertips brushing the faded chalk lines that still radiated an almost imperceptible warmth. There was a resonance here, something unseen beneath the tangible evidence. “You said no surveillance,” Quinn asked, glancing toward the entrance where the rusted turnstile stood locked, a pile of bone tokens strewn nearby. “And no witnesses. No signs forced entry?” “We checked four adjacent streets,” Lyle replied. “Nothing. Just this place—this old station.” Quinn exhaled slowly. “There’s something off.” From the shadows near the platform edge, footsteps approached. Eva Kowalski emerged—her vibrant curly hair caught in the weak light, round glasses reflecting the scene. The green in her eyes was wide with nerviness as she tucked a stray curl behind one freckled ear. “You're here,” Eva said softly, her voice tight but determined. She paused beside Quinn, pulling a small leather satchel closer. “I heard about the compass. This place… it has layers.” “I doubt the usual.” Quinn’s gaze sharpened. “This isn’t just a mundane murder scene.” Eva nodded. “The Veil Market moves with the full moon. Beneath this very station used to be a nexus point—one that connected to other realms,” she said, brushing ash from the chalk lines with tentative fingers. Lyle’s brow furrowed. “Realms? You mean… supernatural?” Eva glanced at Quinn. “Yes. And that compass is key. It points toward the nearest rift or portal. This victim might have been involved in crossing over, or maybe they were forced back here.” Quinn’s pulse ticked faster. Three years ago, DS Morris was lost under strange circumstances involving a similar rift. The memory tightened a fist in her chest. “Why leave clues that point here?” she asked, voice low. Eva bit her lip, then pulled a folded piece of parchment from her satchel and laid it beside the body. Maps and notes covered in arcane symbols. “This victim was researching something. She left traces in the archives—ancient history tied to this station. Something she found threatened the balance.” Quinn scanned the parchment quickly, glimpsing references to a convergence of energies at the site. Then it clicked: the chalk glyphs weren’t random—they were binding circles. “Containment,” Quinn muttered. “Or a ward of some kind.” “Exactly. But someone overwrote them,” Eva said, pointing. The symbols within the circles were smeared, hastily altered. Lyle raised a hand. “So this wasn’t just a murder. It was a breached ritual?” Quinn’s eyes flicked back to the compass. The needle quivered erratically, pointing at angles that shouldn’t be possible. It tugged toward a thin crack in the tiled wall near the platform’s end. “This compass is drawn to supernatural energy,” she said. “If there’s a rift here, it’s close.” Eva stepped carefully toward the crack, peering inside. “It’s narrow, but I can see movement—shadows flickering beyond the stone.” Quinn stood and pulled her jacket tighter. “Tell me—why would someone lure a victim here and then try to cover it up as just another crime scene?” Lyle shrugged uncertainly. Quinn paced slowly past the body, eyes sweeping every detail. Then, something caught the corner of her vision—a faint shimmer trailing from the victim’s neck chain. A whisper barely audible beneath the thrum of the city above. “The victim wasn’t just here,” Quinn said, voice low and steady. “She tried to cross over—or escape something on the other side.” Eva swallowed. “But she was caught.” Quinn knelt again, running her fingers along the victim’s wrist. There was a subtle burn beneath the skin, like energy seeping out. Not natural—no killer’s wound matched it. “She was exposed to supernatural forces,” Quinn concluded. “Morris’s case wasn’t an isolated incident. This…” She tapped the compass. “…is a breadcrumb, a warning.” Lyle exhaled sharply. “You think the clique’s involved—the supernatural network?” “Yes.” Quinn’s eyes darkened with resolve. “They’re covering tracks by making this appear like an ordinary crime. But beneath the veil, something far more dangerous hunts in this station’s shadows.” Eva glanced from the cracked wall to the compass. “If we can trace the rift’s origin, maybe we can stop it.” Quinn nodded. “We find the portal, secure it, and then find the killer.” The detective tore her gaze from the body to the fissure ahead, her patience waning with every second spent waiting in this subterranean purgatory. “Lyle,” she said with quiet authority, “secure the perimeter. No one in or out without my say.” She turned to Eva, her voice softer now, tinged with an unspoken weight. “And Evie—stay close. This is the kind of case that will pull us both under if we’re not careful.” The shadows shifted. The compass needle trembled again, pointing steadily straight ahead. Quinn squared her shoulders. This was only the beginning.