Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTREFD68EG3BYGXZ08F158V

Detective Harlow Quinn stepped off the dimly lit platform and onto the dusty tracks of the abandoned Tube station. The air was thick with the scent of decay and forgotten memories. She adjusted her worn leather watch, a habit she'd developed over the years, and surveyed the scene before her. A makeshift barrier, constructed from rusty old railings and yellow caution tape, cordoned off a section of the platform. Beyond it, a cluster of uniformed officers and forensic specialists in white jumpsuits buzzed around a figure lying on the ground. Quinn's eyes narrowed as she took in the scene. "What do we have?" she asked, approaching a colleague, Detective Inspector James, who was studying a notebook. James looked up, his eyes squinting slightly behind his wire-rimmed glasses. "Victim's a young woman, early twenties. No ID on her, but she's got a... unique tattoo on her left wrist." He held up his notebook, displaying a sketch of the tattoo – an intricate, swirling pattern that seemed to shift and writhe on the page. Quinn's gaze lingered on the tattoo before she turned her attention to the body. The woman lay on her side, her eyes frozen in a permanent stare. Quinn's sharp jaw clenched as she noticed the lack of visible trauma or signs of struggle. "What's the story?" Quinn asked, her voice low and even. James shrugged. "Looks like a robbery gone wrong. The victim was found with a small pouch of silver dust and a vial of... something. Our experts are still trying to identify it." Quinn's eyes scanned the surrounding area, taking in the scattered debris and discarded trash. Something didn't add up. She walked over to the barrier and examined the railing more closely. A small, almost imperceptible scratch on the metal caught her attention. "What do you make of this?" she asked James, pointing to the scratch. James peered at the mark, his expression puzzled. "Looks like a scrape from a piece of metal, maybe a tool or a –" Quinn's eyes snapped back to the body, her mind racing with connections. "Get forensics to take a closer look at the railing. I want to know what made that scratch." As James nodded and began to relay Quinn's instructions to the forensic team, Quinn turned her attention to the victim's tattoo. She recalled a similar design from a case a few years ago, one that had left her partner, DS Morris, dead under circumstances that still haunted her. Quinn's thoughts were interrupted by James, who was studying the scratch on the railing. "You know, Harlow, I think I see what you're getting at. This scratch... it looks almost like a –" Quinn's eyes met James', a silent understanding passing between them. "A bone token," Quinn finished, her voice barely above a whisper. James' expression turned serious. "You think this is connected to the Veil Market?" Quinn nodded, her mind racing with possibilities. "I do. Get the victim's fingerprints and DNA to the lab. I want to know if she's in the system, and if she's connected to anyone... unusual." As the forensic team began to process the scene, Quinn's eyes wandered back to the victim. She felt a shiver run down her spine as she noticed something she had missed earlier – a small, delicate compass pendant clutched in the victim's hand. The compass casing was made of brass, with a patina of verdigris that seemed to glow in the dim light. Quinn's grip on her own watch tightened as she realized that this was no ordinary crime scene. Something was very wrong, and she was determined to uncover the truth, no matter how strange it might be. She reached out a gloved hand and gently pried the compass from the victim's grasp. The needle trembled, as if sensing her presence, before pointing toward the far end of the platform. Quinn's eyes followed the direction, her gaze lingering on the dark tunnel that seemed to swallow the light whole. "What are we dealing with here?" James asked, his voice low and concerned. Quinn's eyes never left the tunnel. "I'm not sure, but I think we're just scratching the surface." The silence that followed was oppressive, punctuated only by the faint hum of the forensic equipment and the soft scratching of the compass needle as it continued to point toward the unknown.