Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTXE72AKCEQ80P1Y46BEWJQ

The abandoned Tube station beneath Camden reeked of decay and something else—something that made Quinn's skin crawl. Her torch beam cut through the darkness, revealing graffiti-covered walls and rusted rails that hadn't seen a train in decades. The Metropolitan Police had cordoned off the entrance three hours ago, but Quinn still couldn't shake the feeling that this place wanted to remain hidden. "Victim's name is Marcus Webb, forty-three, works in finance." Detective Sergeant Mills flipped through his notepad, his voice echoing off the curved tunnel walls. "Found by urban explorers around midnight. Blunt force trauma to the skull, but here's the odd bit—no blood spatter patterns match the scene." Quinn crouched beside the body, her worn leather watch catching the torchlight as she examined the corpse. Webb's expensive suit was pristine except for the massive head wound, yet the concrete beneath him showed only a few drops of blood. The impact should have painted the walls crimson. "What do you make of that, Mills?" "Could've been moved post-mortem. Someone cleaned up, repositioned the body to throw us off." She stood, brushing dust from her knees. Webb lay sprawled near what appeared to be market stalls—makeshift wooden tables covered in moth-eaten cloth. Candle wax pooled on the surfaces, still soft to the touch. Recent activity. "Urban explorers find bodies in active markets often, do they?" Mills shifted uncomfortably. "Well, no, but—" "And they just happened to stumble across the one abandoned station that's been sealed for forty years?" Quinn's torch swept across the scene again. "Look at these stalls, Mills. Fresh wax. Recent foot traffic in the dust. This wasn't some derelict tunnel." The sergeant's brow furrowed. "You think Webb was here for the market?" Quinn didn't answer immediately. Something glinted near Webb's outstretched hand—a small brass object partially hidden beneath fallen debris. She knelt again, using her pen to nudge it into view. A compass, though unlike any she'd seen. The brass casing bore strange markings etched deep into the metal, and a green patina covered most of the surface. "Bag this." She handed the compass to Mills. "And run it for prints." "Bit fancy for urban exploration." "Webb wasn't exploring." Quinn examined the market stalls more closely. Residue caked the wooden surfaces—powders in colours that had no business existing. One table held what looked like dried herbs, but the smell was all wrong. Acidic. Chemical. "He was shopping." Mills bagged the compass, shaking his head. "Shopping for what? Place has been empty for decades." Quinn's torch beam found something else—boot prints in the grime, far too many for a handful of explorers. The patterns suggested dozens of people had walked these tunnels recently. She followed the prints away from the body, noting how they converged near a section of wall where the brickwork looked newer than the rest. "Mills, when did the Transport Authority seal this station?" "Files say 1982. Structural damage from a gas leak." "Then explain the fresh mortar." She pointed to the wall. "And the fact that someone's been using this as a meeting place." The sergeant joined her, running his fingers along the brickwork. The mortar crumbled at his touch, white dust coating his fingertips. "Could be squatters." "Squatters who sell exotic herbs and carry antique compasses?" Quinn turned back toward the body. "Webb came here for something specific. Question is, did he find it before someone caved his skull in?" She retraced her steps, this time focusing on Webb's positioning. The body faced away from the market stalls, toward the tunnel's deeper recesses. His right hand was clenched, the left splayed open where the compass had fallen. "Check his pockets again." Mills complied, producing Webb's wallet, mobile phone, and a small object wrapped in black cloth. He unwrapped it carefully, revealing what appeared to be a piece of bone carved with symbols. "Christ, what is this?" Quinn took the wrapped bone, studying the intricate carvings. The symbols matched some of the markings on the compass. "Looks like a token of some kind." "Token for what?" She pocketed the bone before Mills could object. "That's what we're going to find out." Her torch found more details now that she knew what to look for—scorch marks on the tunnel walls, the faint outline of chalk circles swept clean, and strangest of all, patches where the dust seemed to have been disturbed by something heavy being dragged. "Mills, I want you to canvas the area above ground. Check with the local businesses, see if anyone noticed unusual foot traffic around the old station entrance." "What about you?" Quinn's beam followed the drag marks deeper into the tunnel. "I'm going to see where our market leads." "Shouldn't we wait for the Scene of Crime Officers?" "SOCO can process what's here. I want to know what's not here." She paused at the tunnel mouth, the darkness beyond swallowing her torchlight. "Webb wasn't killed for his wallet, Mills. Someone wanted him dead because of what he knew or what he'd seen." The sergeant's radio crackled to life—dispatch calling about another case across town. He looked torn between following orders and following Quinn into the tunnel's depths. "Go." Quinn waved him toward the station exit. "I'll catch up." Mills hesitated. "Guv, this doesn't feel right. The whole scene's off." "Everything about this case is off." Quinn checked her own radio, ensuring it worked despite the underground location. "That's why we're going to solve it properly." As Mills' footsteps faded, Quinn ventured deeper into the tunnel. The drag marks led her past rusted maintenance doors and forgotten alcoves, toward what her torch revealed as a junction where three tunnels met. Here, the disturbances in the dust were more pronounced—wheel ruts from something heavy, the remnants of more chalk circles, and burn marks on the walls that seemed too precise to be accidental. Webb's compass hadn't been dropped by accident. The way it lay, partially concealed but still visible, suggested someone wanted it found. The bone token in his pocket told the same story—evidence planted for the investigating team to discover. Quinn pulled out her mobile phone, photographing everything before the crime scene team arrived to trample the details. The images would help her piece together what really happened in the hours before Marcus Webb died, and more importantly, what kind of business he'd been conducting in London's forgotten underground. The tunnel ahead stretched into darkness, but Quinn had seen enough to know that Camden's abandoned Tube station harboured secrets far more dangerous than illegal markets.