Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTRN801SQ7H63FJT76G2A6P

The orange glow of dawn painted the waking city, but beneath the streets, a chill still hung in the abandoned Tube station. Detective Harlow Quinn strode down the platform, her boot heels echoing in the eerie silence. She shifted the strap of her detective's kit over her shoulder, her gaze tracking every detail. "Morning, Detective," called PC Johnson from beside an unmarked police car. "The body's just over there, next to the stairs down to the tracks." Quinn nodded. Another early call. She'd barely finished her first cup of tea before the word came down - body found in an abandoned station. Probably fare dodgers or drunks, she assumed, taking a shortcut. But her gut twisted as she drew closer. The prone figure was small. Too small to be an adult male. A flash of red caught her eye. Red hair, framing a young face. A girl child, no more than nine or ten, her limbs splayed at strange angles. She squatted beside the body, unintimidated by the pool of blood. Death had many faces. This one was far too young. Quinn focused on the injuries - multiple and severe, but the bruising was faint. Pale bruising around the throat.cellThe girl had been strangled before being dumped here. And if the lividity was any indication, she'd been dead at least eight hours. So why had she only been reported in the past hour? "God, poor wee thing," muttered DS Ramirez from beside her. "What sort of monster--" Quinn held up a hand, cutting him off. Her cop's intuition was screaming at her. Bruising on the face, skin torn around the mouth and nose. Defensive wounds. The girl hadn't gone quietly. She pushed back, examined the desk scratches on the girl's fingers. She'd fought her attacker, likely disfiguring him in the struggle. "Gloves on, Ramirez," she ordered, not taking her eyes off the body. "Bag her hands. I want to see if there's any trace under the nails or under her fingers." "Yes, Guv," he replied, suiting up. With great care, Quinn started to examine the platform around the body, a task clumsier with the gloves on but necessary. She looked like a woman in search of a dropped contact lens. And she was. Searching for the smallest scrap of evidence. Something that would break this case wide open. Her eyes were drawn to scrapes and scuffs on the platform edge. Intermittent, but regular. "That wiring over there," she pointed to Ramirez across the body. "What do you make of it?" "It's possible the body was wrapped or concealed in something insulated, Guv," he replied, frowning. "The platform is concrete docking. It wouldn't take much to damage or gouge the surface." Quinn nodded grimly. "Bag it. We'll need to run a full forensics team over this entire station. I want the widest cordon you can get away with, Ramirez. No one comes or goes until we know everything there is to know about how this child got here and who killed her." "But Guv," protested Ramirez, "with your permission, I mean. Early reports say it was one of those clique members. Someone wearing an aura lapel pin." Quinn's eyes narrowed. The clique. London's elite, the ones with their small groups, their codes and signs. With their weird fashions. Like-making eye contact an invitation for her husband to be propositioned by the clique leader. Fucking creep. "I don't give a damn if she was the bloody Queen of England, Ramirez. We're treating this as an active murder investigation. I want to know every member of the clique with a connection to this station. Every lead on who did this to that innocent girl. And I want to see your notes from the initial call-in. Something isn't adding up here." Ramirez turned to radio back to the station while Quinn swept the abandoned platform more thoroughly. Her gut never lied. Something was very wrong here. But what? She circled the platform where the girl's body had been dumped, studying the scratches. Gouges, bloody pawprints. The child had struggled, fought back. She'd left her mark. Fighting for survival. The poor girl had gotten in at least one good hit. Quinn's cop senses flared - there was something she was missing. Something important. She squatted again, picturing the struggle, the femin in a fantasy world. Someone has died. Someone from the dark group. If the fantasy world can work in this book, it would be pretty cool if you could take that direction. The girl falls off the edge after her attacker. Is still alive. Looks for something to grab onto. Something to pull her up. Her hand touches something. A crack in the wall. Another body. Male. They've been here longer. This person has died first and has been used as tools to pull up the female, or was it the zombies fighting, you could have the girl come to grips and both characters finding themselves in a pitched battle against the undead, canned Hi how can I help this must've all been a part of the attack sequence. She could see it in her mind's eye. The adrenaline, the skyrocketing fear when all the creature's instincts kicked in. Quinn stood, pulling out her torch to shine the light into the crack in the wall that her flashlight had first revealed. It was a vertical crevasse, small but deep enough that a shard of the larder was obstructing the view. "I think I've got something," she called out. Ramirez joined her, but the crack was too narrow for a man of his size. Quinn wasted no time, squeezing and worming into the space headfirst. She heard Ramirez calling out to the officers to hold the line. Her heart began to race as she pulled herself deeper. There was something there in the darkness. A shape, wild eyes staring back at her. Suddenly, all her senses were shockingly alert, the way they always were in moments like this, when she could almost see the connection between the events, the way the pieces fit together... The creature lunged, but she saw it coming. Her training had honed her instincts to a razor's edge. She grabbed for her service weapon, but her fingers closed on her flashlight instead. _Fuck!_ She swung the torch like a club. The creature dodged, teeth snapping inches from her face. Batshit crazy, possibly unarmed. But in this darkness, on its terms... It was deadly. Deadly dangerous. She needed to get out of here. Now. She thrashed for the opening, but the creature was faster. Talons ripped at her back, tearing through her jacket and shirts, scoring crimson lines down her spine. She screamed for Ramirez, for anyone. A flash of silver in the darkness, and the creature was on her. Quinn struggled, found her torch again and smashed it into the thing's skull. Bone crunched, gore sprayed her face. The creature staggered but did not relent. "RAMIREZ!" she roared. Light flooded the crevasse as Ramirez's bulk squeezed into the crack. As if the light was a cue, the creature lunged. Not at her. At Ramirez. With an agonized cry, he went over the edge and down to the tracks below. "No! RAMIREZ!" Smaller now and driven by rage, Quinn scrambled after her partner, dropping into the dark space below. The creature was on him, talons tearing at his sides, his throat. She saw what the creature had done in a flash. She leveled her flashlight, turned it on the creature's head like a burning cross. It screeched in agony, eyes afire, hideous face frozen in a rictus... of hunger? Frantically, she pumped the flashlight's button, its strobing light searing the creature's eyes and flesh. The ground swam up to meet her, and with a final burst of strength, Tottering back, she blinked, shook her head... The creature was gone. Ramirez's broken body lay sprawled at her feet. She reached out and closed his eyes. It had been close. Too close. But something had happened here, something evil woven into the pattern of this crime. Of this death. The creature, whatever it was, had been feasting on Ramirez's memories, his pain. She could feel the malevolent hunger when she looked into its eyes. Ashes, what was that thing? She looked at Ramirez's body again and knew she couldn't leave him here. Not like this. With a heavy heart, she began to drag him into deeper cover. If anyone finds us now... She braced herself. The pain would come later. For now, she needed to protect her fallen partner from prying eyes and questions. And she needed to get answers. Real answers. She glowers at the crack, the scene of the encounter, the one containing the creature, with cold determination. "Fuck." She checked her phone - no signal. Fucking underground. She'd have to go back for help. Pathetically exposed without Ramirez. Against that creature. She shuddered, running her hands over her bleeding back, feeling it sting. She knew it was still out there, watching. Waiting. For what? She had to tread carefully. Don't stumble back into its clutches. She needed to heal, to arm herself better, before engaging it again. But first - answers. Answers to what really happened here. To that girl, that monster, and what it wants. Not that anyone would ever believe a word she said. They'd lock her up and toss away the key. No, she had to figure this shit out herself. And that freak of a girl was the place to start. Someone somewhere - likely one of the clique - was behind this. This murder, and that monster lurking in the dark. She didn't know how, but she was determined to find out. And then, at last, she'd have her pound of flesh... She gathered her strength, drew in a deep breath, and prepared to climb back up to the surface. Carefully, watching for any sign of that creature, ready at any moment to evade and fight. She'd get the truth. No matter the cost. This was her case now. Her partner's death, that poor girl, the creature in the dark. She'd see justice done. Even if it meant delving into the twisted heart of that clique, the sordid underbelly of London's 'high society'. They couldn't hide their secrets forever. Not from her. With grim resolve, she hauled herself up and over the edge of the crevasse, back to the platform, leaving Ramirez's body safely hidden below. She had a job to do.