Run: 2026-02-19-01KHSZ90NRWETAEA01YMRC2DRZ

The abandoned Tube station smelled of damp concrete and rust. Quinn stepped over the police tape, her boots clicking against the cracked tiles. A uniformed officer nodded at her, flashlight in hand, as she ducked under the sagging barrier. "Evening, Detective. SOCO’s still processing the scene." Quinn adjusted the worn leather watch on her wrist. "Where’s the body?" "Platform three. Watch your step—floor’s uneven." She followed the beam of his torch, the light cutting through the gloom like a blade. The station’s old signs still hung from the ceiling, their paint peeling, the words barely legible. *Camden Town. Mind the gap.* The irony wasn’t lost on her. At the end of the platform, a cluster of figures huddled around something. One of them turned as she approached. "Quinn. Took you long enough." Detective Sergeant Cole, her current partner, stood with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. He jerked his chin toward the body. "Male, mid-thirties. No ID, no wallet. Looks like a mugging gone wrong." Quinn crouched beside the corpse. The man lay sprawled on his back, one arm twisted beneath him, the other flung out as if reaching for something. His face was frozen in a rictus of surprise, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. No visible wounds. No blood. She frowned. "No defensive wounds. No signs of struggle." Cole shrugged. "Maybe he was caught off guard." Quinn’s fingers hovered over the man’s jacket. The fabric was pristine—no tears, no dirt, no scuffs. She unzipped it carefully. The shirt beneath was just as clean. "No wallet, but his watch is still here. Expensive one, too." "Maybe the killer didn’t have time to take it." She stood, brushing her hands on her trousers. "Or maybe this wasn’t a mugging." Cole exhaled through his nose. "You always overcomplicate things." Quinn ignored him, scanning the platform. The walls were covered in graffiti, layers of it, some fresh, some faded. But one symbol stood out—a circle with a jagged line through it, painted in what looked like dried blood. She stepped closer. The edges were precise, deliberate. Cole followed her gaze. "Kids. Probably some gang tag." "Gang tags don’t look like this." She pulled out her phone, snapped a photo. "This is occult." "Occult?" Cole scoffed. "You been watching too many horror films." Quinn turned back to the body. The man’s shoes were polished, the laces neatly tied. His trousers were pressed. Not the kind of man who’d wander into an abandoned Tube station at night. She crouched again, this time examining his hands. The nails were clean, the cuticles trimmed. No calluses. No signs of manual labor. "Who called it in?" she asked. Cole checked his notes. "Anonymous tip. Said there was a disturbance down here." "Disturbance." Quinn stood, her knees popping. "Not a body. Not a crime. A disturbance." She walked to the edge of the platform, peering into the darkness of the tunnel. The air was colder there, unnaturally so. Her breath misted in front of her. Cole joined her. "What are you looking for?" "Something that doesn’t belong." She stepped down onto the tracks, her boots crunching on gravel. The beam of her torch flickered over the rails, the walls, the old posters still clinging to the tiles. Then she saw it—a small, brass object half-buried in the dirt. She picked it up, brushing off the grime. A compass. The casing was etched with strange symbols, the needle spinning wildly before settling on a direction. Cole leaned over her shoulder. "What the hell is that?" Quinn turned it in her hand. The metal was cold, almost humming. "I don’t know. But it’s not standard issue." She slipped it into her pocket, her fingers lingering on the smooth surface. The symbols on the face matched the one on the wall. Cole’s radio crackled. "DS Cole, we’ve got another unit here. They’re saying this might be connected to that string of disappearances last month." Quinn’s head snapped up. "What disappearances?" Cole hesitated. "Three people, all last seen near abandoned Tube stations. No bodies, no leads." She looked back at the corpse on the platform. The man’s face was still frozen in that expression of shock. Like he’d seen something impossible. Quinn pulled out her phone again, scrolling through her contacts. She found the number she was looking for, hit call. A woman’s voice answered on the second ring. "British Museum Archives, Eva Kowalski speaking." "Eva. It’s Quinn. I need to ask you about something." A pause. "Detective Quinn. This isn’t a good time." "I’m at a crime scene. Found a symbol I don’t recognize. And a compass that shouldn’t exist." Eva’s breath hitched. "What kind of compass?" Quinn described it, the symbols, the way the needle had moved. Eva was silent for a long moment. Then, quietly: "Where are you?" "Camden. Abandoned Tube station." Another pause. "Don’t touch anything else. I’ll be there in twenty minutes." The line went dead. Cole raised an eyebrow. "Who was that?" Quinn pocketed her phone. "Someone who might know what the hell is going on." She turned back to the body, her mind racing. The man’s clothes, the lack of wounds, the symbol on the wall, the compass. None of it added up. But one thing was clear—this wasn’t a mugging. And if Eva was right, it wasn’t even human.