Run: 2026-02-17-01KHNF7END6MZMWZMR6T5CFGM7

The abandoned Tube station beneath Camden smelled of damp concrete and something metallic—blood, maybe, or the lingering tang of old magic. Detective Harlow Quinn adjusted her worn leather watch as she descended the crumbling stairs, her boots echoing against the cracked tiles. The flickering emergency lights cast long shadows that seemed to move just beyond her peripheral vision. At the bottom of the stairs, a uniformed officer stood guard beside a rusted turnstile, his face pale under the sickly yellow glow. He nodded at her. "Detective. Scene's just past the old ticket booth." Quinn didn't waste words. She stepped past him, her sharp jaw set, military precision in every movement. The air grew thicker as she moved deeper into the station, the scent of ozone prickling at the back of her throat. The crime scene was cordoned off near what had once been a platform. The body lay sprawled across the tracks, limbs twisted at unnatural angles. A man, mid-thirties, his throat slit clean. But it wasn’t the wound that made Quinn pause—it was the way the blood pooled in perfect, concentric circles around him, as if drawn by an invisible hand. Eva Kowalski stood near the edge of the platform, her round glasses reflecting the dim light as she scribbled notes in a battered notebook. Her curly red hair was tucked nervously behind one ear, her freckled face tight with concentration. She looked up as Quinn approached. "You're late," Eva said, though there was no real accusation in it. "Traffic," Quinn lied. She crouched beside the body, examining the blood patterns. "What do we know?" Eva adjusted her satchel, the worn leather creaking. "Johnathan Mercer. Antiquities dealer. No known enemies, but he had a reputation for dealing in... unusual artifacts." She hesitated. "The blood isn’t behaving normally." Quinn’s fingers hovered over one of the circles. "You think it’s staged?" "No. I think it’s *spelled*." Eva’s voice dropped. "This wasn’t just a murder. Someone was sending a message." Quinn frowned. She’d seen enough crime scenes to know when something was off, but this—this was something else. The blood wasn’t just pooling; it was *moving*, ever so slightly, like liquid caught in a slow current. She pulled back, wiping her fingers against her slacks. "Who called it in?" "A vendor from the market," Eva said. "Anonymous tip. Said they heard a scream." Quinn’s gaze flicked to the shadows beyond the platform. The Veil Market was supposed to be empty by now—its stalls packed up, its vendors gone until the next full moon. But something lingered here. A presence. A weight. She stood, scanning the tracks. "Where’s his bag?" Eva blinked. "What?" "Dealer like this doesn’t walk around without something to sell or trade." Quinn stepped over the tracks, her boots crunching on broken glass. "So where is it?" Eva followed, her satchel bouncing against her hip. "Maybe the killer took it." "Maybe." Quinn’s eyes caught on a glint of brass near the third rail. She knelt, pulling a small object from the grime—a compass, its casing tarnished with verdigris. The face was etched with strange symbols, the needle spinning lazily before settling at a point just past the body. Eva sucked in a breath. "That’s a Veil Compass." Quinn turned it over in her palm. The metal was warm. "What’s it do?" "Points to supernatural rifts. Portals." Eva’s voice was tight. "If Mercer had this on him..." "Then someone didn’t just kill him for his artifacts." Quinn’s pulse kicked up. "They killed him for what he *knew*." A noise echoed from the tunnel—a whisper of movement, too deliberate to be rats. Quinn’s hand went to her sidearm. Eva stiffened beside her. "You hear that?" Quinn murmured. Eva nodded, her fingers tightening around her notebook. "We’re not alone." The shadows at the far end of the platform shifted. A figure stepped into the dim light—tall, hooded, face obscured. The air around them *warped*, like heat rising off pavement. Quinn leveled her gun. "Metropolitan Police. Identify yourself." The figure didn’t speak. They raised a hand, and the blood at their feet *rippled*, responding to some unseen command. Eva grabbed Quinn’s arm. "We need to go. *Now.*" Quinn didn’t argue. She pocketed the compass and backed toward the stairs, her grip steady on her weapon. The figure didn’t follow. They just stood there, watching, as the blood pooled into new, impossible shapes. By the time they reached the surface, Quinn’s mind was already racing. The evidence didn’t add up. The blood. The missing bag. The compass. And most of all—the way the shadows had *moved*. She turned to Eva. "Tell me everything you know about that market." Eva tucked her hair behind her ear, her green eyes wide. "It’s not just a place, Quinn. It’s a *door*." Quinn’s watch ticked loudly in the silence. She had the unsettling feeling that something had just slipped through.