Run: 2026-02-17-01KHNFTBE8RGHY1MD6JYPNPT3E

Detective Harlow Quinn stepped off the last metal rung of the maintenance ladder and onto the cracked concrete platform of the abandoned Tube station. Her boots scuffed the grimy floor, disturbing a fine layer of dust that hadn’t been touched in years. The air was thick with the scent of mildew and something metallic, like old pennies. Her flashlight cut through the gloom, revealing faded advertisements peeling off the tiled walls. The station was a relic of another era, its once-bustling platforms now silent and eerie. She adjusted her jacket, her sharp jaw tightening as she surveyed the scene. A handful of uniformed officers stood near the far end of the platform, their voices hushed but carrying in the cavernous space. Eva Kowalski stood apart from them, her curly red hair catching the faint light as she perched on the edge of an overturned bench. Her round glasses gleamed as she looked up from the worn leather satchel on her lap, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Detective Quinn,” Eva greeted, her voice soft but steady. She closed the satchel and stood, brushing dust off her skirt. “I wasn’t expecting you to come down here.” Harlow’s brown eyes flicked over the scene, noting the yellow tape cordoning off a section of the platform. “Neither was I,” she said, her tone clipped. “But when I heard the Veil Market was involved, I thought I’d take a look.” Eva hesitated, her green eyes narrowing slightly. “The Market’s been cleared out for days. Nothing to see here.” Harlow didn’t reply, her military-precision stride carrying her past Eva toward the taped-off area. The officers moved aside, recognizing her authority. Beneath their feet, faint chalk lines outlined the remnants of a ritual circle, its symbols smudged but still legible. Harlow crouched, her flashlight beam tracing the arcane markings. They were precise, deliberate—not the work of amateurs. “When did this happen?” she asked, her voice low. “Two nights ago,” Eva said from behind her. “We think it was a summoning gone wrong. Someone tried to call something they couldn’t control.” Harlow’s gaze lingered on the scorch marks radiating outward from the circle. “And the body?” Eva hesitated again, her freckled complexion paling slightly. “There wasn’t one.” Harlow stood, brushing dust off her slacks. “No body? Just a summoning circle and a lot of scorch marks?” “Right.” Eva shifted her satchel on her shoulder, her fingers tightening on the strap. “We think whatever they summoned took them. Or... obliterated them.” Harlow’s sharp jaw tightened as she studied the scene again. Something was off. The scorch marks were too uniform, too symmetrical. If something had gone wrong, the damage would’ve been chaotic. “And you’re sure this was a summoning?” Eva nodded. “The symbols match known summoning rituals. And...” She hesitated, then reached into her satchel, pulling out a small brass compass. Its surface was darkened with verdigris, the face etched with intricate sigils. “The Veil Compass points straight to this spot. It’s definitely a supernatural hotspot.” Harlow took the compass, feeling its weight in her hand. The needle quivered slightly before settling, pointing directly at the circle. Her brow furrowed. She’d seen enough strange things in her career to know better than to dismiss it outright, but this still didn’t feel right. “Who reported this?” Eva glanced at the officers, who were now absorbed in their own conversation. “An anonymous tip,” she said quietly. “Someone claimed they heard screams coming from the station.” “Screams,” Harlow repeated, her tone skeptical. “And no one thought to investigate until two days later?” Eva shrugged, her nervous habit returning as she tucked her hair behind her ear. “It’s Camden. People hear screams all the time down here.” Harlow handed the compass back, her gaze lingering on the scorch marks. “You said the Market’s been cleared out. Where did the compass come from?” Eva hesitated, her grip tightening on the compass. “It was... left behind. Probably by whoever tried the summoning.” Harlow’s eyes narrowed. “Convenient.” Eva met her gaze, her expression unreadable. “I know what you’re thinking, Detective. But I’m just here to help.” Harlow didn’t reply, turning instead to inspect the edges of the platform. Her flashlight beam caught on something glinting near the tracks. She crouched again, her worn leather watch brushing against the ground as she reached for it. It was a bone token, the kind used to gain entry to the Veil Market. She turned it over in her hand, noting the faint etching of a crescent moon. “This yours?” she asked, holding it up. Eva’s eyes widened slightly, but she shook her head. “No. I’ve never seen it before.” Harlow pocketed the token, her mind racing. If the Market had been cleared out, why was a token left behind? And why here, of all places? She stood, her flashlight beam sweeping the platform again. Her eyes caught on something else—a faint smear of red near the wall. She stepped closer, crouching to examine it. It wasn’t blood; it was paint. Or something like it. She reached out, touching it lightly with her fingertips. It was dry, but the color was fresh. “What is it?” Eva asked, her voice tense. Harlow didn’t answer, her gaze fixed on the smear. It was small, barely noticeable, but it didn’t belong. She straightened, her flashlight beam tracing the wall upward. There, near the ceiling, was another mark—a symbol, hastily painted but unmistakable. It wasn’t part of the summoning circle. It was something else entirely. “Eva,” she said, her voice low. “What’s this?” Eva stepped closer, her breath catching as she saw the symbol. Her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes widening behind her glasses. “That’s... that’s a warding sigil. But it’s not for summoning. It’s for containment.” Harlow’s brow furrowed. “Containment? Of what?” Eva hesitated, her fingers tightening around the compass again. “Of something already here.” The words hung in the air, heavy and ominous. Harlow’s gaze swept the platform again, her mind piecing together the fragments of the scene. The scorch marks, the token, the warding sigil—none of it added up to a botched summoning. It was something else. Something deliberate. Her sharp jaw tightened as she turned to Eva. “You’re holding something back.” Eva’s eyes flickered, but she didn’t deny it. “I’m not,” she said softly. “But... I think we’re missing something.” Harlow stepped closer, her tone firm. “What aren’t you telling me?” Eva hesitated, her fingers brushing the compass again. “There’s... there’s a pattern. Rituals like this, they’ve been happening all over the city. Small, unnoticed. But this is the first time there’s been evidence.” Harlow’s eyes narrowed. “Evidence of what?” Eva’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Of someone trying to control something. Something dangerous.” Harlow’s pulse quickened, her mind flashing back to three years ago—to Morris, to the case that had ended in tragedy. She clenched her fists, forcing the memory away. “Who?” Eva shook her head, her green eyes clouded with uncertainty. “I don’t know. But whatever they’re doing, they’re close. And we’re running out of time.” Harlow’s gaze flickered to the warding sigil, then back to Eva. “Close to what?” Eva hesitated, her fingers tightening on the compass. “Close to opening something. Something we can’t close.” The words settled over the platform like a shadow, heavy and unspoken. Harlow’s jaw tightened as she turned back to the scene, her mind racing. Whoever was behind this, they weren’t amateurs. They were organized, methodical. And they were hiding in plain sight. She glanced at Eva, her tone firm. “We need to find them. Before it’s too late.” Eva nodded, her expression grim. “I’ll help. But we need to be careful. Whatever they’re doing, they’re dangerous.” Harlow’s gaze lingered on the warding sigil, her sharp jaw set in determination. “So are we.” The platform was silent once more, the weight of their discovery hanging in the air. Somewhere in the darkness, something stirred—a presence unseen but felt. Harlow’s hand tightened on her flashlight as she stepped forward, her resolve hardening. Whatever was coming, she’d be ready.