Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMMJR64WVK5SSHFE00BAXVW

The air in the abandoned Tube station was thick with the scent of damp stone and something older—something that clung to the walls like a second skin. Detective Harlow Quinn adjusted the strap of her leather watch, its worn leather creaking softly as she stepped into the dim glow of a flickering neon sign, its blue hue bleeding through the rusted metal grates. The Veil Market had moved again tonight, and Quinn had come prepared, her breath steady despite the chill seeping through her boots. She crouched beside the body, her sharp jaw set in military precision. The man lay sprawled across the platform, his fingers twitching as if still reaching for something. His coat was torn, the pockets ripped open, but nothing inside—no wallet, no phone, no sign of struggle. The only thing left was the way his eyes had been—glassier than usual, the pupils dilated, as if something had burned them from the inside out. “You sure this is right?” DS Morris’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and weary. Quinn looked up to see him leaning against the wall, his own coat buttoned tight against the cold. His face was pale, his usual confidence dulled by the weight of the past three years. Quinn exhaled through her nose, the scent of old blood and something metallic clinging to her uniform. “This isn’t just a murder,” Quinn said, brushing her salt-and-pepper hair back. “It’s something else. Look at the way the light hits his coat. It’s not natural.” Morris followed her gaze. The fabric shimmered faintly, as if the fabric itself was reacting to unseen energy. “You’re talking about the Veil Market again, aren’t you?” Quinn didn’t answer right away. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the Veil Compass, its brass casing catching the dim light. The needle had settled—slowly, deliberately—toward the center of the station. Not north. Not east. Not west. The needle pointed straight at the man’s chest. Morris frowned. “That’s impossible. The compass doesn’t work here.” “Doesn’t it?” Quinn flipped the compass over. The sigils on the face etched into the brass glowed faintly, pulsing like a slow heartbeat. “It’s not just pointing toward a rift. It’s pointing toward *him*.” A beat of silence stretched between them. Morris’s fingers twitched, as if he wanted to touch the compass but didn’t dare. Quinn stood, her boots scuffing against the concrete. “We need to find out what’s happening here. And we need to do it fast.” --- Eva Kowalski’s satchel was packed with books, her red curls bouncing as she adjusted the glasses perched on her nose. She’d been waiting in the shadows of the abandoned station, her freckled complexion pale under the flickering light. The Veil Market was a place of secrets, and she’d come here to uncover one. “You’re sure this is the right place?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Quinn had called her earlier, her urgency cutting through the usual bureaucratic delays. “The last time you mentioned this, it was a dead end.” Quinn didn’t answer. Instead, she gestured toward the body. “We need to talk to the people who run this place. And we need to know what’s happening with the rifts.” Eva’s breath hitched. “The rifts? You’re not just talking about murders anymore.” “No,” Quinn said, her voice low. “I’m talking about something worse.” --- The Veil Market’s entrance was a narrow sliver of light, guarded by a figure who didn’t look human. His skin was too smooth, his movements too precise, like a man who had spent a lifetime learning to disappear. Quinn and Morris stepped forward, their boots crunching on broken glass. “You want to know about the rifts?” the figure asked, his voice like dry leaves skittering across stone. “Then you’ll have to pay.” Quinn didn’t flinch. “We’re not here for money.” The figure tilted his head, his eyes—if they could be called that—glinting with something like amusement. “Then you’re here for the truth. That’s a risk.” Eva stepped forward, her satchel clinking against the stone. “We’re here for answers.” The figure’s gaze flickered to her. “You’re not with them.” Eva’s fingers tightened around the handle of her satchel. “Who?” “Aurora,” Quinn said, her voice cutting through the tension. “She’s involved.” The figure’s expression darkened. “She’s been asking about you.” “Then she knows more than she’s letting on,” Quinn said, her jaw set. “We’re not leaving until we know what’s happening.” --- Back in the station, Quinn and Morris sat in the dim light, the Veil Compass between them. Morris rubbed his temples, his usual sharpness dulled by exhaustion. “This isn’t just a supernatural market. It’s a front. Something’s pulling people in.” Quinn nodded. “And the rifts? They’re not just portals. They’re traps.” Eva’s voice cut through the silence. “You think this is connected to the loss of your partner?” Quinn’s eyes locked onto hers. “I think it’s worse.” Morris exhaled sharply. “Then we need to move. Now.” Quinn stood, her boots making no sound on the concrete. “We go in. We find out what’s happening. And we make sure no one else gets pulled into this.” Eva’s hands trembled slightly. “And if they don’t want to help?” Quinn’s gaze was steady. “Then we find someone who will.” Outside, the wind howled through the station, carrying with it the scent of something ancient and forgotten. Quinn adjusted her watch, its leather creaking softly. The Veil Market had moved again. And this time, she wasn’t leaving without answers.