Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMMGKJQNBAPNJCQ918CQ5BC

Harlow stepped off the broken escalator and into the forgotten warren of the abandoned Tube station. The air was stale, thick with the burnt umber of old track rust and mouse droppings. A miasma like wet wool clung to walls still plastered with adverts faded to foggy impressions. Sticking to the deeper shadows, moving with military precision, she let a gloved hand brush the flaking paint, the chips crunching softly under her fingertips. Nearby, water seeped from the tunnel's curve in a wet rhythm: plink, plip, plink. Ahead, past the tumbled piles of steel wool and concrete dust, a strange market huddled. The Veil Market. Stalls of mossy brickwork and scavenged wood. It leant on itself, a patchwork of hustling oddity beneath the city where both treasures and curses hustled shoulder to trembling shoulder. At first glance, chaos. But Harlow spied the sense inside the hurricane. The Veil had been the epicenter of her investigation into a clique of occult enthusiasts she suspected of criminal activity. Recent whispers of a stolen artifact had led her here, to the bitter underground. She slipped in unseen with the help of an informer's pilfered bone token. As Harlow walked the crowded aisles, her sharp jaw clenched with tension, a figure detached from the barter of voices. She recognized the satchel slung across the woman's freckled shoulder; she recognized the red frizz of disorderly curls. Eva Kowalski, a longtime fixture in the shadowed shelves of the British Museum's occult archival wing. Curious, Harlow kept her distance, pretending to inspect the shimmering bolts of enchanted spider silk displayed on one rotting stall. Eva approached a vendor hunkered behind teetering stacks of proscribed texts, and Harlow watched as the researcher leaned forward, nodding sagely. Eva's head tilted, her round glasses catching the flicker of a wavering enchantment overhead, masking her expression. She sighed. Without warning, she spun on her heel and strode deliberately towards the abandoned ticket hall. Harlow decided to follow, and she tucked into a side lane littered with spilled matches that crunched under her boots. She stalked through the murk, her breaths smothered in the predatory hush. Still, Eva seemed to sense her. The researcher waited in the darkness, arms crossed, her leeriness evident even in silhouette. "I see you, detective," she said softly, but her voice carried in the quiet. "Are you here for the compass as well?" Harlow bit off a huff. Of course this woman would know her. After all, her investigations were anything but subtle. She stepped out of the shadows, brushing past Eva into the ticket hall's moldy confines. "The Veil has objects of interest," she replied, keeping her voice controlled, "for this case." Eva cocked an eyebrow. "Are you sure about that?" The detective turned then, fixing Eva with a narrow stare. "Sure about what?" "This case of yours. The missing Shade compass. Are you sure it's not... mislaid rather than stolen?" "Mislaid?" Harlow huffed. "Enchanted items wielded by non-guild members. Reports of rifts. No, this is deliberate. Organized." Eva shrugged, not so much in indifference but resignation. "It's easy to miss things down here, detective. Even the odd supernatural tempest in a teacup." She tugged her frizzing hair, twirling it about a finger. Her nervous habit. Harlow's frown deepened, her eyes flicking over Eva's face, seeking deceit. But she detected only the twitchy brilliance beneath the nerves. Eva Kowalski was notorious for her meticulous research into areas that would make even seasoned veterans balk. If she was asking Harlow to reconsider, perhaps there was a thread to tug. "Alright," Harlow said, softening slightly. "Show me what you think I've missed." The relief was immediate. Eva's shoulders sagged, worn satchel slipping, as she exhaled. "Over here," she said, leading Harlow past the debris-strewn mouth of the station. "In the cracks." Harlow followed, eyes narrowed as she scanned the cobble grid. Scrabbling down to her knees, she pressed her cheek to the pitted ground and squinted. In the narrow crevasse writhed spiders scuttling over something so burnished it glinted like fractured suns. A compass. And not just any compass. "How did you..." Harlow began, but Eva interrupted with a jolt. "It's not quite what you think," she said, almost apologetic. "Look again, Harlow." Confused and more than a little begrimed, the detective did as Eva suggested and looked again, her breath held. And there, etched upon the needle's base, barely discernible through the scrim of old muck, the true sigil glimmered. Not just for detecting rifts. This compass was key to entering them. A shiver recoiled through her spine. "You see it, don't you?" Eva whispered, her cheeks sallow in the sickly light. "That's not just any compass. It can't be taken by just anyone." Harlow rose unsteadily, brushing brick dust from her knees. She tasted wet pennies, felt the press of old, feral magic scurry over her nape. She forced herself to nod. "I see it. You're right, Eva," she said finally. "I missed something. Maybe this clique... maybe they didn't take the compass. Maybe they were trying to protect it." Eva's smile was unexpected, a sudden bright surprise between them in the murk. "Not the conclusion I would have jumped to," she said, "but you carry the weight, detective. Not me. I just... I wanted to help. Morris was my friend too." The ghost of Harlow's fallen partner lingered on the air a moment, and Harlow's jaw worked as she let the words sink in. "Thank you, Eva," she said at last. "I might have lost more than my way down here. I owe you." Eva shook her head. "You don't owe me anything. Let's just say we watched out for each other today, yeah? And maybe... maybe don't be a stranger to the archives." Harlow, detecting no guile, found herself smiling in return. It stretched unfamiliar muscles, but it felt right. So did the clasp of Eva's warm hand in her cold one. They stood a moment in the shattered dark, unlikely allies amid moldering brick and the knot of secretive traders. "Time's up," Eva said at last. "I gotta go. But... take care of yourself, detective." With a wink and a wave, she was off. Harlow stood alone in the shadows, the Veil Compass cradled in her hand, considering. The evidence told a different story, and she needed to listen—really listen this time. She tucked the compass deep into her worn leather watch pocket and set her feet toward the surface. Perhaps there were solutions yet to find. perhaps a new way forward. And maybe, just maybe, DS Morris' ghost could sleep a little easier.