Run: 2026-02-17-01KHNF5P2HFST1NMVVDNKJ8YVH

The abandoned Tube station beneath Camden smelled of damp concrete and something metallic, like old blood. Detective Harlow Quinn stepped carefully over the threshold, her boots crunching on broken tiles. The dim emergency lighting cast long shadows across the platform, illuminating patches of graffiti and the occasional discarded bone token—proof this place had once been the infamous Veil Market. Eva Kowalski stood near the edge of the platform, her round glasses reflecting the flickering light as she scribbled notes in a battered journal. Her satchel slumped against her hip, stuffed with books and loose papers. She tucked a curl of red hair behind her ear—twice—before noticing Quinn’s arrival. "You’re late," Eva said, not looking up. Quinn checked her worn leather watch. "Traffic." Eva snorted. "Traffic. Right." Quinn ignored the jab, scanning the scene. The body lay sprawled near the tracks, limbs twisted at unnatural angles. Male, mid-forties, dressed in what looked like a tailor-made suit—expensive, but rumpled now, stained with something dark and viscous. Not blood. Something thicker. "Who found him?" Quinn crouched beside the corpse, careful not to disturb the chalk sigils someone had hastily drawn around it. "Market security," Eva said. "If you can call it that. They don’t exactly file incident reports." Quinn frowned. The Veil Market moved locations every full moon, and its patrons weren’t the type to cooperate with the Met. "What do we know?" Eva hesitated, then flipped her journal around to show Quinn a sketch of the sigils. "These are containment marks. Someone was trying to keep something *in*." Quinn’s jaw tightened. Three years ago, she’d seen marks like these at another crime scene—one that had ended with her partner dead and no answers. She forced herself to focus. "Cause of death?" Eva adjusted her glasses. "No visible wounds. No signs of struggle. But look at his hands." Quinn did. The man’s fingers were curled inward, nails blackened as if scorched. She reached for her flashlight, clicking it on. The beam illuminated something glinting near his throat—a small brass compass, its verdigris patina catching the light. "That wasn’t in the initial report," Eva said sharply. Quinn picked it up carefully. The needle spun wildly before settling, pointing not north, but toward the tunnel’s dark mouth. The casing was etched with sigils—protective ones, if she remembered Eva’s ramblings correctly. "Veil Compass," Eva breathed. "They’re rare. Only a Shade could’ve made this." Quinn turned it over in her palm. "So our victim was looking for something supernatural." Eva shook her head. "Or running from it." The air in the station shifted—a whisper of movement in the shadows. Quinn’s hand went to her sidearm on instinct, but there was nothing there. Just the flicker of the lights, the distant drip of water. Eva didn’t seem to notice. She was too busy flipping through her journal, muttering under her breath. "The containment marks… they’re not just for keeping things in. They’re for keeping things *out*." Quinn stood, pocketing the compass. "Meaning?" Eva looked up, her green eyes wide behind her glasses. "Meaning whatever killed him wasn’t human. And it might still be here." A cold draft snaked through the station, carrying the scent of ozone and something older, darker. Quinn’s watch ticked loudly against her wrist. She exhaled. "We need to seal this place. Now." Eva opened her mouth to argue, but the lights flickered again—this time, they didn’t come back on. In the sudden dark, something moved. Quinn drew her weapon. "Eva. *Move.*" The shadows answered.