Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY99A1HREPEFR1B0RKR2T21

The abandoned Tube station reeked of damp and something older, something that clung to the air like a second skin. Quinn’s boots crunched over broken glass as she stepped over the threshold, her sharp jaw set, her leather watch ticking steady against the chaos. The flickering emergency lights cast jagged shadows across the rusted tracks, their glow barely piercing the gloom. A uniformed officer stood near the entrance, his breath visible in the cold. "Detective Quinn. You’re late." Quinn didn’t look up. "Traffic. And you’re not the one who called this in." The officer shifted, uncomfortable under her gaze. "No, sir. But the scene’s… unusual." Unusual. That was the word. Quinn had heard it too many times before. She moved deeper into the station, her boots sinking slightly into the debris. The air thickened, pressing against her skin. The tracks curved ahead, disappearing into darkness, but the stench of blood—fresh, metallic—cut through the damp. Not just blood. Something else. Something *wrong*. A body lay sprawled near the platform edge, half-hidden beneath a tangle of rusted metal. The uniformed officer stepped forward, his radio crackling. "We’ve got a possible homicide. Victim’s—" Quinn cut him off with a sharp glance. "Who called this in?" "Anonymous tip. Said it was urgent." Quinn’s fingers twitched toward her left wrist, where her watch rested. She didn’t trust anonymous tips. Especially not ones that led her here. She crouched beside the body, her gloved hands brushing aside a loose wire. The victim—a man in his late thirties, dressed in a cheap suit—had a knife wound to the chest, but the blood wasn’t just from the blade. His skin bore strange, raised marks, like something had *bit* him. Not from the inside. From the outside. And yet, the wound didn’t bleed like it should. Quinn’s brow furrowed. "What the hell is that?" A voice cut through the tension. "Detective." She turned. DS Carter stood at the entrance, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. "Thought you’d want to see this before the scene gets contaminated." Quinn exhaled through her nose. "You’re the one who found it?" Carter nodded toward the body. "Found him like this. No signs of struggle. No forced entry." Quinn’s gaze flicked to the tracks. "And the train?" "Never came. Tracks are clear." Quinn stood, brushing dirt from her knees. "No witnesses?" "None reported. Just the anonymous tip." Quinn’s jaw tightened. "And the victim?" "Name’s Daniel Mercer. Works at some private security firm. No known enemies." Quinn’s fingers flexed. "No known enemies, but he’s dead in an abandoned Tube station with bite marks that shouldn’t exist." Carter hesitated. "Maybe it’s a cult thing. Some kind of ritual." Quinn’s laugh was sharp. "Cults don’t leave bite marks like this." She moved closer to the body, her eyes tracing the strange patterns on the victim’s skin. They weren’t teeth marks. They were too precise, too *deliberate*. Like something had been *drawn* into his flesh. Carter followed her gaze. "What the hell is that?" Quinn didn’t answer. She reached into her coat, pulling out a small brass compass. The needle spun wildly before settling, pointing not toward the exit, but deeper into the station, toward the darkness beyond the tracks. Carter’s eyes widened. "What’s that?" Quinn didn’t look up. "A Veil Compass. Points to supernatural rifts." Carter’s face paled. "You think this is—" "Supernatural?" Quinn finished for him. "I think this is exactly what it looks like." She stepped back, her gaze sweeping over the scene. The tracks curved into the dark, leading to a place no one should go. And yet, here they were. Carter swallowed hard. "What do we do?" Quinn’s voice was low, steady. "We follow the compass. And we find out who the hell left these marks."