Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMMGRFZ35S4VJQ8DAD5RARJ

Detective Harlow Quinn ducked under the yellow police tape stretched across the entrance to the abandoned Tube station, her sharp jaw clenched tight. The air hung heavy with the stench of stale urine and rotting garbage, but an unnatural stillness overlay the usual bustle of a crime scene. No sirens, no crackling radios, just the soft murmurs of the forensics team echoing off the tiled walls. "Detective Quinn." A young constable approached, his face pale beneath a mop of ginger hair. "The, ah, the victim is just down the tracks, about twenty meters. It's..." He swallowed hard. "It's not pretty." "It never is, son." Harlow's leather watch creaked as she adjusted it on her wrist, the military precision of her movements betraying none of her unease. She'd seen plenty of gruesome things in her eighteen years on the force, but something felt different this time. Wrong. "Let's have a look then." The constable led her along the tracks, their footsteps crunching on the gravel. Up ahead, a circle of portable lights illuminated a crumpled form sprawled across the rails. Shadows leaped and danced against the soot-stained tiles as Harlow approached, her eyes narrowing as she took in the scene. The victim looked to be in his mid-twenties, with shaggy blond hair and a patchy attempt at a beard. His body lay twisted at an unnatural angle, one arm thrown out as if reaching for something. Dark stains spread out beneath him, glistening wetly in the harsh light. "What do we know so far?" Harlow asked, crouching down beside the body. The coppery tang of blood mixed with the reek of loosened bowels. As she spoke, she held her hand over her nose to keep from gagging. "Caucasian male, mid-twenties, multiple stab wounds to the chest and abdomen," the constable recited, his voice shaky. "No ID on the body, but we found this near his hand." He held out an evidence bag containing a small brass compass, its face etched with strange, swirling sigils. Harlow took the bag, turning it over in her gloved hands. The needle spun lazily, pointing not north, but southeast. Something tugged at the edge of her mind, a whisper of memory that slipped away when she tried to grasp it. "Bag it and tag it," she said finally, handing the compass back. "And get me a full report on the victim's wounds. Something doesn't add up here." As she straightened up, a ripple of unease ran through the assembled officers. Harlow followed their gazes to a woman pushing her way through the crowd, a worn leather satchel slung across her chest. She was short and curvy, with a freckled complexion and a mass of curly red hair escaping from a messy bun. Eva Kowalski, research assistant at the British Museum and Harlow's sometime consultant on occult cases. "I heard the call on the scanner," Eva said, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her left ear. Her round glasses flashed in the portable lights. "Thought you might need an extra set of eyes on this one." "Miss Kowalski." Harlow inclined her head in greeting. "Your timing is impeccable. I've got a dead body and a compass that doesn't point north. Care to take a look?" Eva pulled a pair of latex gloves from her satchel and snapped them on, bending over the body with a grunt. She examined the wounds clinically, poking and prodding with precise, almost mechanical movements. When she straightened up, her expression was thoughtful. "The wounds are odd," she said, tilting her head to the side. "They're not consistent with a typical knife attack. Too jagged, almost like they were made by something with multiple points or blades." Her gaze dropped to the compass, still spinning lazily in its bag. "And that... that's no ordinary compass." Harlow raised an eyebrow. "Enlighten me." "It's a Veil Compass," Eva explained, pushing her glasses up her nose. "Used for navigating the hidden supernatural black market that moves around London. The Veil Market sells all sorts of illicit goods - enchanted items, alchemical substances, information. If your victim had this on him, it's likely he was involved in something arcane." The detective's eyes narrowed. "And let me guess, you think his death is connected to this Market somehow?" "It's a possibility," Eva said, shrugging. "But without more evidence, it's just a theory." She turned back to the body, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Wait a moment..." She reached out with gloved fingers, gently turning the victim's head to reveal a small, circular wound at the base of his skull. "There. See that? It looks like a puncture wound, almost like something was injected into his brain stem." Harlow leaned in, her own brow furrowing. "A murder weapon we haven't found yet, then. But what was it? Some sort of poison?" "Maybe," Eva murmured. "Or something worse. Something supernatural." She straightened up, fixing Harlow with a serious look. "I think we need to find the Veil Market, Detective. And soon. Before whoever did this has a chance to strike again." Harlow nodded slowly, her eyes distant as she turned the new information over in her mind. She didn't like it - any of it - but she couldn't deny the evidence staring her in the face. "Alright," she said finally, her voice grim. "Let's see where this compass leads us. But be careful, Eva. We're dealing with forces we don't understand here. And I don't want to lose another partner to the unknown."