Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYA3QRQA35W2M6BHGJRN66R

The abandoned Tube station beneath Camden had long since surrendered to the damp, but the air here was thicker than usual—sticky with the scent of wet stone and something else, something metallic and faintly sweet, like old coins left in a rain barrel. Detective Harlow Quinn adjusted the cuffs of her jacket as she stepped over the yellow police tape, her boots squelching in the muck. The fluorescent lights above buzzed weakly, casting long shadows that stretched like skeletal fingers across the cracked concrete. This wasn’t just another crime scene. This was a place where the rules didn’t apply. Eva Kowalski stood near the far wall, her round glasses reflecting the sickly glow of the emergency lights. She tucked a strand of curly red hair behind her ear, her freckled cheeks flushed with tension. “You’re late,” she said without looking up, her voice tight. “They found him an hour ago.” Harlow exhaled through her nose, her sharp jaw clenching. “I was tied up with a report.” She nodded toward the body sprawled on the platform tracks. A man in a rumpled suit, his tie askew, his face frozen in an expression of shock. The coroner’s tape fluttered around his neck like a noose of its own. “Who is he?” “Daniel Mercer,” Eva said, finally meeting her gaze. “Heard of him? Used to work for the Museum’s restricted archives. Disappeared two nights ago. They found him like this.” Harlow crouched beside the body, her gloved fingers brushing the man’s wrist. No pulse. No sign of struggle—just the way he’d been left. She turned her attention to the ground. Scuff marks. A single boot print, half-covered in mud. Too large to be hers. “No defensive wounds,” she murmured. “No signs of a fight.” Eva frowned. “You think he was taken?” “Not taken.” Harlow’s voice was low, precise. “He was *placed* here.” She stood, brushing dirt from her knees. “Look at the tracks. They’re too clean. No drag marks. No resistance.” She gestured to the platform. “And the position—he’s not just lying down. He’s *set* down. Like a statue.” Eva hesitated, then followed her gaze. “You think someone moved him after he died?” “Or before.” Harlow’s eyes flicked to the shadows beneath the platform. “Or neither.” She pulled a small brass compass from her pocket, its casing etched with sigils, the needle twitching restlessly. The Veil Compass. A gift from someone who knew better than to trust the surface world. She flipped it open, the needle spinning wildly before settling on a point just beyond the edge of the platform. “There’s something here,” she said. “Something that doesn’t belong.” Eva’s breath hitched. “You’re not serious.” “Dead serious.” Harlow stepped forward, her boots crunching over something small and brittle beneath her soles. A bone token. The kind used to gain entry to the Veil Market. She pocketed it without a word. “This isn’t a human crime scene. It’s a *supernatural* one.” Eva’s fingers tightened around the strap of her satchel. “You can’t say that.” “Watch me.” Harlow crouched again, this time near the edge of the platform. The tracks curved unnaturally, as if something had dragged itself beneath the surface. “See these marks? They’re not from a body. They’re from *something else*.” She traced a finger along the grooves, feeling the faint impression of claws. “And look at the dirt. It’s not just mud. There’s something in it—something *wrong*.” Eva swallowed hard. “You’re saying he was killed by something from the Veil.” “Or he was *taken* by it.” Harlow stood, her gaze sweeping over the scene. “And then brought back.” She pulled out her phone, snapping photos of the tracks, the body, the strange markings in the dirt. “We need to get this to Forensics. But we also need to get this to *someone* who knows what the hell is happening.” Eva’s voice was barely above a whisper. “You think it’s connected to the clique?” Harlow didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. The clique. The group of occult researchers and collectors who operated in the shadows of London’s elite. The ones who knew too much. The ones who might have known Daniel Mercer. She turned back to the body, her jaw set. “Mercer wasn’t just a researcher. He was digging into something. Something that got him killed.” She crouched beside him again, her fingers brushing the man’s jacket pocket. Her touch lingered. “And whatever it was, it’s still here.” A sharp *click* echoed through the station. Both women froze. The sound came from the shadows beneath the platform. Something shifted. Something moved. Eva’s breath came fast. “Harlow—” “Stay back.” Harlow’s voice was steel. She stepped forward, her hand resting on the grip of her sidearm. “Whatever this is, it’s not alone.” The shadows beneath the platform rippled. A low, guttural sound vibrated through the air—something between a growl and a whisper. The needle on the Veil Compass spun wildly, its sigils glowing faintly in the dark. Harlow didn’t hesitate. She lunged.