Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTRJ7NXA90M9B5ZZ0NSW8D8

The abandoned Tube station reeked of damp stone and something sharper—ozone, maybe, or the metallic tang of old blood. Detective Quinn’s boots crunched over broken glass as she stepped over the yellow tape, her sharp jaw set in a line of disapproval. The scene wasn’t just messy; it was *wrong*. “You sure this is the right place?” DS Carter’s voice cut through the silence, his breath fogging in the cold air. He adjusted his cap, the brim casting a shadow over his face. “No signs of forced entry, no signs of struggle—just a body.” Quinn didn’t look at him. Her gaze locked onto the figure sprawled on the tracks, arms splayed like a starfish, fingers twitching. The man’s skin had that unnatural pallor, the kind that didn’t fade even in the dim emergency lights. His eyes were open, glassy, staring at nothing. “He’s been dead a while,” Carter murmured, crouching beside the body. “But not long enough to explain this.” Quinn crouched too, her gloved fingers brushing the man’s wrist. No pulse. No rigor. Just the faintest hint of warmth, like embers in ash. She lifted his sleeve, exposing a thin, jagged scar along his forearm—too precise to be accidental. A ritual mark, maybe. Or a brand. “You think it’s supernatural?” Carter asked, his voice careful. Quinn didn’t answer. She knelt closer, her sharp eyes tracing the edges of the body. The man’s clothes were torn, but not by struggle. They were *cut*—neat, surgical slits along the seams, as if someone had been inside him before he died. Her stomach twisted. “Look at his hands,” she said, her voice low. Carter leaned in. The man’s fingers were splayed wide, nails blackened at the tips, as if he’d been holding something small and dark when he died. Something that had burned away. “Like he was holding a candle,” Carter said slowly. Quinn didn’t agree or disagree. She stood, her boots crunching again as she moved to the far wall, where a single bone token lay half-buried in the dirt. The kind that got you into the Veil Market. “You ever hear of that place?” she asked, not waiting for an answer. Carter shook his head. “Should I have?” “No.” Quinn’s voice was sharp. She crouched beside the token, her fingers hovering. The bone was smooth, almost too perfect, like it had been carved from something alive. “This isn’t just a crime scene. This is a message.” She stood, her gaze sweeping over the tracks. The body wasn’t the only thing out of place. The air hummed with something—static, like a radio caught between stations. Quinn pulled her watch from her wrist, the leather strap worn smooth from years of service. The timepiece glowed faintly, the face etched with sigils she didn’t recognise. “What the hell is that?” Carter asked, following her gaze. Quinn didn’t look away from the watch. “Not mine.” A shadow moved at the edge of her vision. She turned just in time to see a figure slip into the station, their silhouette too tall, too lean. The person wore a long coat, the collar turned up against the cold, their face obscured by the brim of a hat. “You shouldn’t be here,” Quinn called, her voice cutting through the silence. The figure didn’t stop. They moved with purpose, their boots silent on the broken glass. Quinn’s hand twitched toward her sidearm, but she hesitated. Something about the way they moved—too precise, too *controlled*. Carter must have seen it too. “Quinn—” “Stay back,” she ordered, her voice low. The figure reached the body, crouching beside it with the same careful precision as Quinn had. They didn’t touch the man. Instead, they reached into their coat and pulled out a small brass compass, its casing etched with sigils. The needle spun wildly before settling, pointing not at the body, but at the far wall—a place where the stone had been disturbed, where something dark and pulsing seeped through the cracks. Quinn’s breath caught. She knew that compass. “You’ve got three seconds to explain yourself,” she said, her voice dangerously calm. The figure didn’t turn. “I’m here to help.” “Bullshit.” Quinn’s hand found her gun, her finger tightening around the grip. “Who are you?” The figure finally looked up, their face half-hidden in shadow. “Eva Kowalski,” they said. “And you’re about to get a lot more than you bargained for.” The needle on the compass spun again, faster this time, the brass casing glowing faintly in the dark. The air around them thickened, the static growing louder, the body on the tracks beginning to *shift*, the skin peeling back like wet paper to reveal something beneath—something that wasn’t human. Quinn’s finger tightened on the trigger. “Run,” Eva said, her voice urgent. Carter didn’t wait. He bolted for the exit, his boots pounding against the stone. Quinn didn’t move. She kept her gun trained on the figure, her sharp eyes locked on the compass, the sigils glowing brighter, the air around them warping like heat off pavement. “You’re going to regret that,” she said, her voice a low growl. Eva didn’t flinch. “Maybe. But you’re going to regret not listening.”