Run: 2026-02-19-01KHT0ZFPHB3WARY5RD3BNEC1J

The rain had slowed to a dull drizzle as Detective Harlow Quinn pulled her battered sedan into the gravel lot beside the abandoned Tube station. The gates were ajar, casting jagged shadows over the puddles that reflected flickers of sparse, flickering sodium lamps. The red-and-white tape fluttered in the breeze, marking the perimeter of what everyone in the precinct called “the Veil Market,” though no official records held that name—just whispers passed along from officer to officer. Harlow slid out, her boots crunching on gravel. She adjusted her leather watch on her left wrist and took in the scene with a measured gaze. The station looked untouched for decades, windows boarded and graffitied, yet inside, signs of recent disturbance lingered—faint footprints, leftover cigarette butts. Standing near the entrance, her partner, Detective Miles Carter, fidgeted with a battered lighter, his expression tense, a habitual flick of his gaze toward the shadows beyond the tape. He spoke first, voice low. “Seen anything like this before?” Harlow brushed damp hair from her eyes, stepping past the tape. “Never here, not at a place like this. It’s supposed to be empty, sealed tight.” Her eyes scanned the ground. There, faint traces—thin lines in the dirt, almost like a grid. She crouched, inspecting them closely. Smaller footprints crisscrossed—clumsy, quick. Not the usual footsteps from trespassers but too deliberate, too organized. “Any sign of struggle?” she asked, flicking her gaze to the nearby trash bins. Carter shook his head. “No. No screams, no signs of a fight. Whatever went down happened awfully quiet.” Harlow stepped toward the platform entrance, her eyes narrowing. The doors lay ajar, a thin beam of light cutting through the darkness inside. She pushed softly, enough to push the door open without making noise. Dust swirled in the faint glow, and the stale scent of forgotten things pressed against her nostrils. The platform was odd—items strewn about like a hurried escape rather than a planned crime scene. A broken piece of chalk, a torn piece of cloth, a plastic bag half buried in the gravel. Nothing that screamed violence. A few more footprints led deeper into darkness, no clear pattern, just sporadic paces. Carter lingered at the entrance, frowning. “This doesn’t add up. No signs of a regular bust or vandalism. Looks like someone was here, but the place was almost empty when we arrived.” He hesitated. “Or maybe it’s just a distraction. Someone’s trying to throw us off.” Harlow stepped further inside, eyes steady, mind cataloguing everything. Her gaze flicked over the ground again. Small, irregular marks near the edge of the platform, inconsistent with human footsteps—they looked almost like symbols, etched lightly into the dirt, or maybe impressions pressed into the gravel. She crouched, gently brushing away some debris to get a better look. A faint outline caught her eye—the shape of a circle, incomplete, broken by a tiny notch. “Have a look at this,” she called back. Carter approached, leaning over her shoulder. “That's just dirt.” She nodded, her gaze lingering on the shape. “Yeah, but see how it’s circled, irregular. Someone was here, imprinting something. Could be ritualistic, or maybe just messy footprints.” He snorted. “You believe in that stuff?” “Don’t dismiss it outright. The Veil Market’s more than just a black market. It’s got artifacts, artifacts that don’t belong to this world.” She stood, eyes sweeping the area again. Something had shifted—the subtle feeling of being watched, a tug at her instincts. She remembered her last case, how the unexplainable always nestled just indistinct enough to seem unimportant until it was too late. Her gaze caught a flash of movement near the station’s shadows. A flicker, a ripple of dark against dark. She lifted her hand, signaling Carter to stay back. Her fingers brushed against the brass casing of the Veil Compass hanging from her neck—the subtle, weighty comfort of it. “Hold up. Something’s here.” She moved quietly toward the shadows, each step deliberate, eyes peeled. The faint shape of someone crouched behind a collapsed section of wall. “Drop your weapon,” she called softly. The figure froze. A woman. Small, trembling, clutching something tightly in her hand. Carter stepped forward, raising his gun, but Harlow motioned him down with a subtle nod. The woman’s eyes darted between them, a flicker of fear and defiance. “What’s your name?” Harlow asked, voice steady. “Evie. Evie Kowalski.” Her voice cracked, and she tucked her hand behind her back. The detective studied her face—red hair tangled, freckles dark against pale skin. Her glasses slipped low on her nose, and her wide eyes darted around the shadowed space. “Relax, Evie. You’re not in trouble unless you’ve got something to tell us.” “She’s harmless,” Carter murmured, lowering his gun slightly. “Probably a researcher, or someone hiding out. She doesn’t look like she wants trouble.” Harlow hesitated, then knelt. “What’re you doing here?” “Pinch of a mess. I was... looking around for something.” Her voice trailed off. “I think I saw someone go inside earlier. Someone I didn’t recognize.” “Someone else,” Harlow echoed. “And what exactly did you see?” Evie fidgeted, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “A figure. Tall. Hooded. Moving fast. They dropped something, but I couldn't catch what.” Carter raised an eyebrow. “You saw them come in, or just pass by?” “Come in. Or through. I don’t know. The market—” she broke off, swallowing hard. “It’s dangerous. It’s not supposed to be here.” Harlow examined her face carefully, then glanced toward the ground again. The shapes, the impressions, the unset footprints—they all pointed to one thing overtaking the scene. She reached into her coat and retrieved the Veil Compass, its brass gleaming faintly in the shadows. The etched sigils on its face shivered as she turned it over in her palm, the needle quivering slightly as she aimed it toward the deepest part of the station. Carter frowned. “That thing’s just a fancy toy.” “No,” Harlow replied softly. “It’s tuned, just like the stories say.” The needle jerked, pointing unwaveringly toward an offset corner behind the platform’s debris. “Someone’s been here,” she stated quietly. Evie looked at the needle, then at the dark corner, her face paling. “Was it supernatural?” she asked, voice hushed. Harlow nodded slowly. “That’s what I’m figuring. And whoever left that symbol—” she pointed to the imprint on the dirt—“did so for a reason.” The faint glow of the abandoned station seemed to deepen, shadows stretching long and unnatural. A faint whisper tugged at the edges of her mind, like a voice out of reach, urging her to look closer, to keep digging. She shook her head, refocusing. “Carter, keep an eye on her. I’m going inside. Something’s bleeding through here—something hidden, and I need to find it before it vanishes.” Carter nodded, gun lowered but alert. Harlow stepped into the darkness, reaching for her coat pocket where the compass’s face burned faintly, like a warning. Her eyes adjusted, and she moved with precision—aware that what she uncovered might not just be a crime scene but a fragment of something far older, lurking beneath the surface.