Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMMDM1G8GPXWK5SSKFX066T

Detective Harlow Quinn stepped off the last rung of the rusted ladder and into the dimly lit expanse of the abandoned Tube station beneath Camden. Her boots echoed against the cracked tiles, the sound swallowed by the oppressive silence of the underground. She adjusted the worn leather watch on her left wrist, a habit she had developed over years of service, and scanned the area with sharp, brown eyes. The Veil Market, a place she had only heard whispers about, lay before her. Stalls, now empty, lined the walls, their wares packed away or abandoned in haste. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and something metallic, like old blood. Harlow's jaw tightened as she took in the scene, her military precision guiding her every movement. "Quinn, over here," called a voice from the shadows. Detective Inspector Jameson, a tall man with a perpetually rumpled appearance, emerged from behind a stack of crates. His eyes, a pale blue that always seemed to be searching for something, met hers with a mix of relief and frustration. "Jameson," Harlow acknowledged, striding over to him. "What have we got?" "Body was found about an hour ago," he said, leading her to the center of the market. "No ID, no obvious cause of death. Just... this." Harlow's eyes followed his gesture to the body lying on the ground. A young woman, no older than twenty-five, with curly red hair and a freckled complexion. Her round glasses lay shattered beside her, and a worn leather satchel was clutched in her hand. Harlow's heart skipped a beat. "Eva Kowalski," she murmured, recognizing Aurora's childhood friend. She had met Eva a few times, always with her nose buried in a book or her fingers tracing ancient symbols. "What was she doing here?" "That's the question, isn't it?" Jameson replied, scratching his head. "No signs of a struggle, no defensive wounds. It's like she just... dropped dead." Harlow knelt beside the body, her eyes narrowing as she examined the scene. Eva's left hand was tucked behind her ear, a nervous habit Harlow had noticed before. But it was the satchel that drew her attention. Carefully, she pried it open and pulled out a small brass compass, its casing covered in a patina of verdigris. "What's that?" Jameson asked, peering over her shoulder. "A Veil Compass," Harlow said, recognizing the protective sigils etched on its face. "It points to the nearest supernatural rift or portal." Jameson frowned. "What would she need that for?" "Research, maybe," Harlow mused, her mind racing. "But why here, and why now?" She stood up, her eyes scanning the market once more. Something was off, but she couldn't put her finger on it. The evidence didn't add up. Eva was an occult researcher, not a criminal. And yet, here she was, dead in the middle of a supernatural black market. "There's more," Jameson said, pulling her from her thoughts. "We found this near the body." He handed her a bone token, the entry requirement for the Veil Market. Harlow turned it over in her hand, feeling the smooth, cool surface. It was unmarked, unlike the ones she had seen before. "An unmarked token," she said, her brow furrowing. "That's unusual." "Tell me about it," Jameson replied. "Nothing about this case makes sense." Harlow's mind raced as she pieced together the fragments of information. Eva had come here for a reason, and whatever it was, it had cost her her life. But what had she found? And who had she met? "Jameson, I need you to check the market's schedule," she said, her voice steady. "Find out where it was last month and who was here." "On it," he said, pulling out his phone and stepping away to make the call. Harlow turned back to the body, her eyes narrowing as she noticed something she had missed before. A faint, almost imperceptible mark on Eva's wrist. She leaned in closer, her breath catching as she recognized the symbol. A sigil of protection, one that Eva had likely drawn herself. But it was incomplete, the final stroke missing. Harlow's mind raced as she considered the implications. Eva had been trying to protect herself, but from what? "Quinn," Jameson called, returning with a grim expression. "The market was in Paris last month. And get this, there was a similar death. Young woman, same MO. No cause of death, no signs of struggle." Harlow's eyes widened. "A pattern." "Looks like it," he said. "But what does it mean?" "It means we're dealing with something bigger than we thought," Harlow replied, her mind racing. "Eva was onto something, and whatever it was, it got her killed." She stood up, her jaw set with determination. "We need to find out what she was researching and who she was meeting. And we need to do it fast." Jameson nodded, his expression serious. "I'll get on it." As he walked away, Harlow turned back to the body, her mind racing with possibilities. Eva had been a friend, and now she was a victim. Harlow owed it to her to find out the truth, no matter where it led. She glanced at the Veil Compass in her hand, its needle pointing steadily to the north. Whatever lay beyond that rift, Harlow knew it held the answers she sought. And she would stop at nothing to uncover them.