Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMMC98B066YFRC4ET985EVW

The Veil Market, with its pulsating energy, had settled into the shadows of the abandoned Camden Tube station. The ancient platform, usually deserted, buzzed with a different kind of life tonight. The air crackled with whispers, negotiations, and the clatter of coins as deals were made and secrets exchanged. Amongst this clandestine gathering, a body lay still, the sole silent occupant in a place where even silence had a price. Detective Harlow Quinn made her way through the maze of stalls and makeshift shops with the sure-footedness of a seasoned veteran. Her sharp eyes, accustomed to noticing every detail, scanned the scene, taking in the grotesque contrast between the bustling market and the lifeless form at its center. The victim was a young man, no older than thirty, his body contorted in an unnatural position, as if some unseen force had wrenched him from his core. Quinn knelt down, pulling on a pair of latex gloves as she did so, and began her initial examination. The man's eyes were open, fixed in a perpetual state of horrified realization. A thin line of drool had dried at the corner of his mouth, adding a touch of pathos to the grim scene. Harlow gingerly checked his pockets, finding a wallet with a few crisp pounds, a token with an intricate bone design, and a small brass compass she instantly recognized as a Veil Compass. Stuffing the evidence bags into the pocket of her coat, she pulled out her phone, taking care not to disturb any latent prints, and snapped a few photos of the body in situ. Her sharp jaw clenched as she noted the position of the body and the clear signs of struggle on the victim's face. This was no simple mugging or accident. "What's your take on this, Quinn?" She hadn't heard him approach, but the gruff voice of her colleague, DCI Sinclair, pulled her from her observations. Sinclair, a burly man with a rumpled suit and a perpetually dissatisfied air, stood over her, his bulk blocking the ambient glow of the market. He was a good cop, she knew, just one who preferred desk work to field investigations. "Too soon to tell, sir," she replied, standing up to face him. She was as tall as many men, and her military bearing and cropped salt-and-pepper hair gave her a no-nonsense air that commanded respect. "But something's off. It's hard to say just yet, but this doesn't feel like a natural death to me." Sinclair huffed, his breath clouding in the cool underground air. "Come on, Quinn, you know as well as I do that this is a black market. People get hurt here. It's the nature of the beast. He probably got in a fight over a deal gone bad and took a beating he couldn't walk away from. End of story." She shook her head, her eyes narrowing. Her years as a detective had honed her instincts, and her gut was sending up flares of warning. "There's more to it than that. Look at the position of the body. It's staged, like he's reaching for something." Sinclair squinted, his skepticism plain in his frown. "Reaching for his wallet, maybe. More likely, his throat was just too swollen to let him breathe after some muscle smashed it in." A voice, high and nervous, called out from the crowd. "Actually, he was choking on his own tongue. I tried to help him. Tried to perform the Heimlich maneuver, but..." A pale young man with a nervous twitch stepped forward, pushing up his glasses as he did. His voice was filled with the helpless horror of someone who had just witnessed a tragedy. Quinn turned, her keen interest piqued. "Were you here when it happened?" He nodded vigorously, sending his glasses sliding down his nose. "Yeah, I... uh, saw it all. It was horrible. One second he was haggling with a vendor over some... stuff, and the next, he was on the ground, convulsing. His eyes were rolling back in his head. He started foaming at the mouth." His voice cracked, and his words trailed off as he shoved his hands into his pockets, his eyes darting around as if he were reliving the horror. "And you?" Quinn turned her keen eyes on the vendor being referenced. "What do you have to say?" The vendor, a broad-shouldered man in an oil-stained apron, shrugged with practiced nonchalance. "He came to me wanting some Dark Moon Elixir. I sell charms, my own blends, nothing illegal." "Elixirs are unregulated potions," DCI Sinclair chimed in. "Could have caused some adverse effects." The vendor held up his hands. "Hey, I warned him. These things are powerful. Not meant for amateurs. Always tell them to go slow, but they never listen." Quinn's gaze flicked between the nervous bystander and the defensive vendor, her mind working through the puzzle. "What were his last words?" The young man's face crumpled with the memory. "He kept saying 'Vale - something,' I think. Or 'veil' maybe?" Quinn's eyes narrowed as the pieces began to fall into place. "Veil. He meant the Veil." She pulled out the compass, its verdigris patina gleaming in the low light. "He was lost, trying to find his way home, and this was his guide. It's a Veil Compass, attuned to supernatural energy, crafted by Shade artisans. Very rare and expensive. Not the sort of thing you just drop." Sinclair grunted, crossing his arms. "So, you're saying a monster popped through an interdimensional portal and killed him? Come on, Quinn, let's not get carried away. This is likely a smuggling deal turned sour. Occam's razor, Quinn. Let's not make this more complicated than it is." Quinn, ever precise, noted the time on her worn leather watch. "Sunrise is in an hour. If you're right, then this market will disappear, and these folk with it. If I'm right, then we have an interdimensional homicide on our hands. And this entire market is our crime scene. Let's get everyone's details and start some serious questioning." Sinclair sighed, the weight of the investigation evident on his face. "Fine, have your fun. But let me know if you find this monster of yours. Might just need to lock you up for hallucinating him on duty." Ignoring Sinclair's barbs, Quinn set to work with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine, interviewing the nervous bystander, the skeptical vendor, and everyone else she could find connected to the incident. She left no clue unturned, no lead unfollowed. As the sun peeked over the horizon, signaling the market's impending disappearance, Detective Harlow Quinn found herself just where she knew she'd be—one step closer to the truth and always ready for the next piece of the puzzle.