Run: 2026-02-19-01KHSYYZG1XT0KZCE134JM69FR

Detective Harlow Quinn crouched beside the chalk outline, her knees creaking against the damp tiles of the abandoned Underground platform. The body had been removed hours ago, but the scene remained untouched - a mosaic of evidence markers dotting the grimy floor like fluorescent bread crumbs. The platform lights flickered, casting unstable shadows across the walls of the old Camden station. Three floors below street level, the air hung thick with the copper tang of blood mixed with decades of stale underground air. Quinn traced her finger along the edge of a strange marking scorched into the tiles. The pattern formed an incomplete circle, its lines jagged and deep, as if carved by lightning. Her worn leather watch ticked in the silence, marking time as she committed every detail to memory. "Looks like a standard robbery gone wrong to me." Detective Sanders shuffled closer, his shoes scuffing against the platform edge. "Victim probably stumbled onto someone's drug den. Wrong place, wrong time." Quinn's jaw tightened. "Then explain the lack of drug paraphernalia. No needles, no residue, nothing that suggests regular occupation." She stood with military precision, her movements economical. "And these marks - they're not from any tool I recognize." "Could be ritual stuff. Some kids playing with occult nonsense." Sanders shrugged, already reaching for his notebook to close the case. "The victim's possessions were untouched. Phone, wallet, jewelry - all still on the body." Quinn pulled out her phone, illuminating a small brass object half-hidden beneath a bench. "But this wasn't logged in evidence." She slipped on a latex glove and retrieved what appeared to be an antique compass, its case etched with intricate patterns that matched the scorched tiles. A patina of verdigris coated its surface, but the needle spun freely when she opened it. "Must've missed that in the initial sweep." Sanders peered over her shoulder. "Probably belonged to the victim." Quinn shook her head. "The victim was a twenty-year-old barista. This is something else." The compass needle whirred and settled, pointing not north, but directly at the wall behind them. A familiar voice cut through the gloom. "Detective Quinn?" Eva Kowalski stood at the far end of the platform, her round glasses reflecting the stuttering lights. Her curly red hair was pulled back, revealing a freckled face pinched with concern. She clutched her worn leather satchel close. "Ms. Kowalski. This is an active crime scene." Quinn straightened, slipping the compass into her pocket. "How did you get past the cordon?" Eva tucked a strand of hair behind her left ear. "I have clearance from the British Museum. We received an alert about potential historical artifacts in the area." She approached, her eyes darting to the scorched markings. "Though I suspect that's not why you're here." Sanders cleared his throat. "I'll go check the perimeter again." He retreated toward the escalators, leaving Quinn alone with the researcher. "Those markings," Eva said, crouching to examine them. "They're not random. They're part of a containment circle, but it's been broken." She traced the air above the scorched lines, careful not to touch them. Quinn crossed her arms. "Like the ones in the restricted archives you work with?" "Similar, but these are older. Much older." Eva pulled a leather-bound book from her satchel. "And they shouldn't be here. This station was supposed to be sealed decades ago, after the incident of '89." "What incident?" Eva's green eyes met Quinn's. "The one that was conveniently struck from all official records. The same year they supposedly closed this station for structural repairs." She glanced at Quinn's pocket, where the compass lay hidden. "I see you found the Veil Compass. It's pointing to something, isn't it?" Quinn's hand instinctively touched her pocket. The pieces began shifting in her mind, forming a picture she wasn't sure she wanted to see. It was the same feeling she'd had three years ago, the night she lost DS Morris. The platform lights flickered again, and in that moment of darkness, both women heard it - a sound like stone grinding against stone, coming from the wall where the compass pointed.