Run: 2026-02-19-01KHSYYZG0BCDEV47R9JF34J4G

The rain drummed a relentless tattoo against the old subway platform as Detective Harlow Quinn crouched beside the body, her brow furrowed in concentration. This was no ordinary crime scene. The victim, a young woman in her mid-twenties, lay sprawled amid discarded newspapers and the detritus of the abandoned station. Quinn brushed a lock of her salt-and-pepper hair back from her face as she examined the body, her sharp jaw set in a grim line. Something wasn't right. "What have we got, Parson?" she asked, glancing up at the junior detective standing a few paces away. Parson consulted his notes, his brow creased with uncertainty. "Victim's name is Abigail Hensley, 26 years old. Cause of death appears to be blunt force trauma to the head." He hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "But, uh, that's not all. There's something... strange about the scene." Quinn arched a single eyebrow, her gaze sweeping the platform. "Strange how?" Parson cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. "Well, for one thing, there are no signs of a struggle. No defensive wounds, no signs of a fight. And the victim's personal effects—wallet, phone, jewelry—are all still on her." Quinn nodded, her eyes narrowing. "Robbery wasn't the motive, then." She gestured to the body. "What about the wound? Is it consistent with a beating?" Parson shook his head. "Not exactly. The trauma to the head is... unusual. Almost surgical, in a way." He paused, worrying his lower lip. "And there's something else. The victim's eyes are open, but..." Quinn leaned closer, and her breath caught in her throat. Abigail Hensley's eyes were open, but they were not the unseeing gaze of the dead. They were fixed, unblinking, and glowing with an unearthly light. "What the hell?" Quinn muttered, reaching out to gently close the young woman's eyes. As her fingertips brushed Abigail's skin, she felt a strange tingling sensation, like static electricity. "I, uh, I called in the forensics team," Parson said, his voice wavering slightly. "They should be here soon." Quinn nodded absently, her mind racing. This was no ordinary murder. The evidence simply didn't add up. She rose to her feet, her worn leather watch catching the dim light as she tugged at the sleeve of her coat. "Parson, I want you to canvas the area, see if you can find any witnesses. And keep an eye out for anything... unusual." "Unusual?" Parson echoed, his eyes wide. Quinn fixed him with a stern look. "Trust me, you'll know it when you see it." As Parson hurried off, Quinn turned her attention back to the body, her keen eyes scanning every detail. There had to be something she was missing, some clue that would unlock the mystery of Abigail Hensley's death. A soft scuffing sound behind her made Quinn whirl around, her hand instinctively reaching for the pistol at her hip. But she relaxed when she saw a familiar figure emerge from the shadows. "Eva," she said, acknowledging the young woman with a nod. "I should have known you'd turn up." Eva Kowalski, Quinn's long-time friend and occasional partner in the occult, offered a sheepish smile. "I, uh, heard about the body. Thought you might need some... specialized assistance." Quinn eyed her skeptically. "And how, pray tell, did you 'hear' about this?" Eva's freckled cheeks flushed slightly as she adjusted the strap of her worn leather satchel. "I have my sources," she said evasively. "Anyway, I figured you could use a fresh pair of eyes." Quinn considered this for a moment, then sighed. "Fine. But stay out of the way of the forensics team, will you?" Eva nodded eagerly, her green eyes alight with curiosity as she moved closer to the body. She knelt beside Abigail Hensley, her gaze sweeping over the young woman's features. Suddenly, her hand shot out, and she grasped the victim's wrist, her fingers probing for a pulse. Quinn watched, her brow furrowed, as Eva's expression shifted from one of curiosity to one of growing alarm. "What is it?" Quinn asked, her voice low. Eva looked up, her eyes wide behind her round glasses. "She's... she's not dead." Quinn's eyes widened in disbelief. "What are you talking about? Parson said the cause of death was blunt force trauma." "I know, I know," Eva said, her words tumbling out in a rush. "But there's a pulse, however faint. And her eyes..." She gestured to Abigail's face. "They're not the eyes of the dead. There's something... else going on here." Quinn stared at the body, her mind racing. If Abigail Hensley wasn't dead, then what the hell had happened to her? And where did that unearthly light in her eyes come from? "Alright," Quinn said, her voice clipped. "We need to get her to a hospital, immediately." She turned to Parson, who had just returned from his canvassing. "Parson, call for an ambulance. Tell them we have a possible... unusual situation." Parson's eyes widened, but he nodded and hurried off to make the call. Quinn turned back to Eva, her expression grim. "I don't know what's going on here, but I intend to find out. And I'll need your help." Eva nodded, her own expression serious. "Of course. I'm with you, Harlow." As the sound of the approaching ambulance echoed through the abandoned station, Quinn couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of a much larger mystery. And she had a sinking suspicion that the answers she sought would lead her down a path she wasn't entirely prepared for.