Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTRK963S6HBFK679R6G0ZZH

Detective Harlow Quinn swung through the torn metal turnstile, her boots echoing on cracked tile. Fluorescent bulbs overhead pulsed once, then died, leaving the platform half in shadow. A smear of dark red ran along the edge of the platform—fresh blood, stark against the grime. She crouched, tracing a jagged shard of glass embedded in the streak. A woman knelt nearby, head inches from the floor, chin tucked behind a knuckled fist. Curly red hair fell over round glasses. Eva Kowalski looked up, lips parted. “Ritual binding,” Eva said, pointing to a series of looped symbols scrawled in charcoal across the far wall. “Classic protection ward. Someone tried to lock something in.” Quinn’s gaze flicked from the charcoal lines to the platform’s exit, barred by a fallen gate. “Or keep people out,” she said. She slid a fresh glove over her fingers and stood. “Blood all one shade. No coagulation. Someone dumped it after.” Eva pushed hair behind her left ear. Freckles danced across her cheeks. “It’s too uniform for dumping. See how it pools in those grooves? Intentional.” Quinn crouched again. The blood pooled like ink, sharp edges, no drips. “Motive?” “Sealing a breach.” Eva pressed a fingertip to the charcoal. Soot flaked. “Or covering a portal already open.” She tapped a tablet. “Transparent to cameras. No CCTV here for weeks—some maintenance cover.” The detective swept her flashlight across the platform. Rotted benches, chipped advertisements, stray shopping trolley wheels. Nothing obvious. “When did this happen?” Eva checked her watch. “Under an hour ago. I got the tip at half past two. You?” “Twenty minutes.” Quinn studied the dark mouth of the tunnel beyond the barrier. “No body.” Eva’s eyes narrowed. “No need. Whatever they bound is gone. They’re gone too.” Quinn’s shoulder tapped metal. She turned. A brass glint lay among the wires and trash. She fished it out. A small compass, casing stained with verdigris. Protective sigils etched around the face. The needle spun fast, then stilled, pointing toward the tunnel’s yawning mouth. “Where did you get this?” Eva asked, rising. Quinn turned the compass over in her palm. “Scene.” She flicked a smudge of congealed blood from the edge. “From the killer, I’d wager.” Eva pressed closer. “That’s a Veil Compass. Attuned to supernatural rifts. Shadow compass.” She tapped the glass. “It points toward portals. If they used it here—” “—They expected something to open.” Quinn slid the compass into an evidence bag. “But they never lit the candles. No remnants. No charred wicks. No ash. No incense.” She crouched, inspecting the gutter along the platform lip. “Only this.” She picked up a small bone fragment, yellowed, smooth. A twisted canine tooth, sharpened at the tip. A bone token. Eva’s breath caught. “They left their token behind.” Eva snatched a glove, scooped the piece. “They always burn or bury them.” Quinn straightened. Her jacket brushed the barrier’s broken hinge. She pressed her palm against cold steel. “They wanted us here.” She scanned the charcoal sigils. “To find this compass. To think magic. To waste time chasing spirits.” Eva folded her arms. “Why waste time? They could just slip through the rift.” Quinn stared at the compass face. “They’re hiding something bigger. Smuggling. Contraband. Something that doesn’t gleam in moonlight or rustle with ghosts.” She picked at the grout. A thin, oily trail snaked toward the maintenance door. “Look.” Eva crouched again. The oil shimmered under flashlight. “Hydraulic fluid. The gate was greased after they slammed it open.” “A forced exit.” Quinn rose. Her watch glowed faintly in the low light. She flicked on the torch. “They anchored from the other side, then pulled through. Blood here to distract. Charcoal sigils to spook the night watch. Bone token to signal the buyer.” She tucked the compass into her inner pocket. “Then left by the service tunnel.” Eva pressed her lips in a thin line. “You’re saying they faked a ritual?” Quinn kicked at a loose brick. It fell away, revealing a narrow crawl space. A faint draft whispered from the darkness beyond. “No ritual. Illusion.” She bent, slipped her shoulder into the tunnel mouth. “And someone good with stagecraft.” Eva dropped to one knee. “That crawl space leads to the junction box. Behind there, a shutter drop into the Market.” Quinn nodded, stepping in. Dirt scraped her coat. The tunnel sloped downward. Damp air filled her lungs. “So this abandoned Tube station is more than an entry point. It’s a hub.” Eva peered after her. “You think the Veil Market springs from here?” Quinn pulled up short under a low beam. Rust flakes rattled overhead. She set her flashlight on the beam’s joint. “Not the Market itself. A backdoor. A shortcut for high-ticket goods. They don’t want random buyers seeing the real entrance.” Eva frowned. “And the compass?” “A distraction, yes. But whoever dropped it uses it too. We bag it, run it through labs, see whose prints stick.” Quinn rubbed at a smear of grime on her glove. “And then we trace their network.” Eva tapped the beam. Dust fell. “You’re sure there’s no portal?” Quinn ran a thumb over the chipped paint. “No. But there’s something I did find. Look.” She lifted a speckled circle on the beam—a scorch, not from fire. Chemical stain, like acid. She traced the outline with her fingertip. “A single flake of basement paint. They transported something here, not through space but through lockboxes.” Eva’s eyes widened. “Boxes sealed with acid.” “A local contractor probably hauled them in during the station’s restoration last year. Hidden compartments.” Quinn glanced at the charred remains of a service ladder. “They moved in at night, mailed in old tokens, and sold whatever’s inside those boxes.” She turned toward the crawl. “I want forensic to sweep it. Then explosives experts to open that shutter you mentioned. And I want surveillance pulled from the Camden junction.” Eva tucked the bone token into her satchel. “I’ll pull your squad. Notify the Museum—maybe someone reported missing artefacts.” Quinn paused in the crawl entrance. She snapped on her radio. “Quinn to base. Found staged crime scene beneath Camden. No body, no ritual. Evidence of cargo smuggling via Veil Market backdoor. Send forensics, SWAT, explosives. On my say-so.” She switched off the radio. Darkness swallowed the tunnel mouth behind her. Eva slid in beside her, satchel bumping her hip. Eva whispered, “You think this ties to Morris’s disappearance?” Quinn’s hand brushed the tunnel wall. Her jaw clenched. “Not sure yet. But where there’s a backdoor, someone’s watching. And they’re waiting for the compass to point them home.” She kicked a rock deeper into the shaft. “Let’s find out what they’re hiding.”