Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXPV50JPXATYZ54E500HNQM

The air in the abandoned Tube tunnel reeked of damp concrete and something sharper—copper, maybe, or the acrid tang of old batteries. Quinn stepped over the police tape, her boots scuffing against the cracked tiles. The beam of her torch carved a path through the gloom, illuminating the graffiti-scarred walls before landing on the body. A man, mid-thirties, sprawled face-down near the edge of the platform. His suit was expensive, the kind that didn’t wrinkle even after a tumble onto unforgiving ground. No blood. No visible wounds. Just a stillness that didn’t belong to the living. DS Patel stood near the body, arms crossed, his breath fogging in the cold. "Jumped," he said, nodding toward the platform’s edge. "No signs of struggle. Wallet’s intact—no robbery. Tox screen’ll probably come back clean." Quinn crouched, her knees popping. She didn’t touch the body, just studied the way the man’s fingers curled into the concrete, as if he’d tried to claw his way back up. "No scuff marks on his shoes. If he jumped, he didn’t hesitate." Patel shrugged. "People do weird shit when they’re about to die." She ignored him, running her torch along the platform’s edge. The beam caught something—a glint, half-buried in the grime. She plucked it out with a gloved hand. A brass button, tarnished green. Not from the victim’s suit. Too ornate. Too old. Patel leaned in. "What’s that?" "Nothing." She pocketed it. "Time of death?" "ME’s on her way. Rigor’s just setting in, so maybe two, three hours." Quinn stood, her gaze drifting to the tunnel’s mouth. The darkness there wasn’t natural. It clung, thick as oil, swallowing the light from her torch. She’d seen it before—three years ago, in the alley where Morris had died. The same unnatural stillness. The same wrongness. Patel followed her gaze. "You seeing something I’m not?" She didn’t answer. Instead, she stepped closer to the tunnel, her boots splashing in a shallow puddle. The water rippled, though there was no breeze. No draft. No reason for it. "Quinn." She turned. Patel’s face was tight, his usual easy confidence fraying at the edges. "You’re staring at that tunnel like it’s gonna bite you." "It already did." She pulled the Veil Compass from her coat pocket. The brass casing was cold against her palm, the needle spinning wildly before locking onto the tunnel’s mouth. Patel exhaled sharply. "What the hell is that?" "Something I shouldn’t have." She snapped the compass shut. "Bag the body. I want a full sweep of this place—fingerprints, fibers, the works. And get me CCTV from the last twenty-four hours. Every camera in a half-mile radius." Patel’s jaw tightened. "You’re not seriously thinking this was—what, some kind of supernatural hit?" Quinn didn’t look at him. "I’m thinking we’re missing something." She turned back to the tunnel. The darkness pulsed, just once, like a held breath. Then it settled, waiting. Patel’s radio crackled. "DS Patel, we’ve got a witness. Says she saw the vic arguing with someone near the entrance about an hour before he died." Quinn’s fingers twitched. "Male or female?" "Didn’t get a good look. Witness said they were wearing a long coat, hood up. But—" A pause. "She said the vic looked scared. Like he’d seen a ghost." Quinn’s pulse kicked. She knew that look. Morris had worn it, right before the end. Patel was watching her. "You’re thinking this is connected to the Morris case." She didn’t answer. The compass in her pocket burned against her thigh. The witness was a kid, no older than twenty, jittery and wide-eyed. He sat on the back of an ambulance, a foil blanket draped over his shoulders. "I didn’t see much, I swear. Just this guy—he was yelling at someone. Then he just... stopped. Like he’d been unplugged." Quinn crouched in front of him. "What did the other person look like?" The kid shook his head. "I dunno. Tall. Hood up. Couldn’t see their face." "Man? Woman?" "Dunno. Maybe both? It was like... like they weren’t really there." Quinn’s stomach twisted. She pulled the brass button from her pocket. "You ever see anything like this?" The kid’s eyes locked onto it. His breath hitched. "Yeah. Yeah, that’s—" He swallowed. "That’s from the coat. The one the other person was wearing." Patel stepped forward. "You sure?" The kid nodded, fast. "Positive. It was hanging open for a second. I saw the buttons. They were all weird, like that one." Quinn stood. The compass in her pocket was vibrating now, the needle twitching like a live wire. Patel caught her arm. "Quinn. What the hell is going on?" She pulled free. "Get the kid’s statement. Then get him out of here." She didn’t wait for an answer. She walked back to the tunnel, the compass burning in her hand. The needle spun, then steadied, pointing straight into the dark. Something was down there. And it was waiting for her.