Run: 2026-02-19-01KHT087C5HXG6GQSYG5RSX4KC

The cracked pavement glinted faintly under the sickly orange glow of a flickering streetlamp. Detective Harlow Quinn approached the cordoned-off entrance of the abandoned Tube station beneath Camden, her sharp eyes scanning the scene like a hawk. The air smelled wrong, thick with something she couldn’t quite place — stale, metallic, with an undertone of burnt rubber. “Notice anything strange?” she asked as she brushed past a uniformed officer standing guard outside the entryway. Her colleague, Detective Marcus Lang, nodded toward the tunnel’s mouth. He looked tense, shoulders tight, eyes flickering with unease as they fell on the scene inside. “It’s strange all right. No sign of forced entry. No blood splatter, no obvious weapon. Just this,” Lang said, motioning at the ground with a hesitant gesture. Quinn knelt. The pavement was disturbed but neat, no debris, no signs of a struggle. Instead, she spotted a faint circle etched into the concrete, like a ritualistic pattern, partially obscured by fresh dirt. “Did you see the body?” Quinn asked, raising her brow. She pulled on latex gloves, pressing her fingertips gently against the spot. “No sign of a body. No body at all,” Lang said, voice low. She looked closer, searching for a clue. The circle’s edges were clean, not hurried. Whoever made it knew what they were doing. Symbols etched into the concrete, strange to her but familiar enough to make her pause. Not quite the typical gang graffiti, not the crude markings of a vandal. She rose slowly, eyes narrowing. “Did you check the surrounding tunnels?” “Yeah, about fifty yards down. Nothing. No signs of movement, no footprints, no discarded items. It’s like whoever was here vanished into thin air.” Quinn fingered the edges of her leather watch, her mind racing. This was not a typical scene. She looked back toward Lang. “No signs of struggle, no blood trail, no weapon. Someone erased all evidence of violence. That’s odd, right?” He nodded. “And the timing. Just after midnight, almost precisely when I got the call. The forensic team is en route, but they won’t find much.” She tilted her head, scanning the surroundings. The tunnel’s entrance loomed behind the makeshift barrier. Shadows played tricks against the damp brick walls, and faint currents of stale air slipped through cracks in the masonry. “Have a look at this,” Quinn said, crouching again, this time near the edges of the circle. She pointed at faint markings in the dirt: a few symbols, scratched hurriedly, almost like a message. But it was not her area of expertise. Still, fragile as they were, the markings looked deliberate. “Anyone else see these?” she asked, turning. Lang shook his head. “No. Forensics didn’t mention anything like that in the report, but I didn’t see them myself.” Quinn pulled out her Veil Compass, the small brass tool with protective sigils etched into its face. She held it close, watching how the needle quivered toward the tunnel entrance. Something bleeding through the fabric of reality, she suspected. The compass pointed steadily inward, restless. “Could be a portal or a rift,” she muttered, eyes fixed on the needle. Lang scoffed softly. “You really think this is supernatural?” “I don’t discount it, Marcus. Not anymore.” Quinn lowered the compass and looked around again. The underground market’s influence lingered in her mind—stories of black-market goods, forbidden artifacts, shadows spilling into the streets like ink. This was no ordinary crime scene. Then something drew her eyes to the corner of the tunnel, where the wall met the ceiling. A faint shimmer, like heat distortion but more... unnatural. She moved closer, her footsteps silent on the damp floor. “See that?” she pointed. “Magnifies the strange. Something was here. Something otherworldly.” Lang stepped up, eyeing the spot. “Could be residual energy. Or maybe just a trick of the light.” “Not with that compass.” Quinn’s tone sharpened. “Whatever left this mark came through a rift. And whoever was here knew how to cover their tracks.” She crouched again, scanning the symbols in the dirt. Familiar sigils, faint smudges of chalk or ash? She couldn’t tell. Each gave off a faint aura of magic, or at least something beyond ordinary understanding. Her gaze darted between the symbols and the shimmering spot on the wall. Then her eyes caught a faint outline—like a handprint, but not made of skin. Something more translucent, almost like a ghostly imprint pressed onto the brick, too faint for ordinary sight. “Someone was here... recently,” she whispered, standing up. “And they left behind more than just symbols.” “Or maybe something left its mark on them,” Lang said sharply. Quinn’s teeth clenched. “Don’t jump to conclusions, just yet. There’s a pattern here—one we’re missing. The body’s nowhere in sight because it wasn’t ever here to begin with. Or, if it was, it disappeared.” She stepped toward the tunnel’s shadowed maw, the compass in her hand trembling slightly. She peered into the darkness, senses heightened, every nerve alive. The supernatural currents pulsed faintly beneath her fingertips, calling to her. She had stumbled into something she hadn’t expected, and the deeper she looked, the less she understood. “Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing. Clean, precise, avoiding leaving evidence. Just like the circle. Someone with knowledge.” She grimaced, torn between exhaustion and curiosity. “Maybe it’s just some clandestine cult messing around,” Lang offered. “Or a gang throwing around symbols for kicks.” “Maybe,” Quinn replied, voice low. “But in my line of work, symbols don’t just mean gang signs. They whisper secrets.” She stepped back and looked at the scene as a whole. The silence pressed heavy. Shadows clung to every edge of the tunnel’s mouth, and something in the air whispered of secrets buried beneath. Her gaze hardened. She knew the pattern wasn’t accidental — someone was trying to send a message, or hide something. Whatever it was, the scene made one thing clear: this wasn’t a routine crime. She caught Lang’s eye. “Get the forensic team to focus on the symbols. Sand, dirt, anything. And keep the area sealed. I want surveillance footage from the previous night—if there’s any.” He hesitated. “Think we’re dealing with supernatural here?” “Could be. Or someone who’s learned to bend the rules. Either way, I’m about to find out.” Quinn pressed her hand to her leather watch, her gaze fixed on the shadows beyond. The scent of something ancient and dangerous lingered there, curling like smoke around her senses. Someone had come through that hole in the fabric of reality. Someone or something. And she intended to find out why.