Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMMYQ5WY75XB558QBMVBNH6

The abandoned Camden Tube station seemed to exhale stale, musty air as Detective Harlow Quinn ducked beneath the caution tape. Water dripped somewhere in the darkness, a steady metronome counting seconds in this underground tomb. Her flashlight beam cut through the gloom, illuminating decades of grime and graffiti coating the curved tunnel walls. "Perfect place for a murder," muttered Forensics Technician Davis, hunched over the body. "Homeless bloke probably wandered in, got robbed." Quinn said nothing, taking in the scene with methodical precision. The victim lay sprawled near an ancient ticket booth, blood pooled beneath his head. Mid-fifties, reasonable clothing—worn but clean jeans, decent boots, weathered jacket. Not the typical rough sleeper. "Time of death?" she asked, crouching beside the body. "Between midnight and three AM, preliminary guess." Davis pointed to the victim's temple. "Blunt force trauma. Probably that pipe over there." Quinn's gaze followed his gesture to a length of rusted metal a few feet away. "Prints?" "Wiped clean." Davis shrugged. "Typical." But nothing about this felt typical. Quinn studied the floor around the body, her flashlight beam revealing scuff marks in the thick dust. The pattern didn't match a struggle or a body being dragged. They were... circular. Deliberate. As though someone had carefully swept away evidence in a specific area. Her watch—a gift from her former partner—felt suddenly heavy on her wrist. DS Morris would have noticed the inconsistencies too. Before he disappeared three years ago, leaving behind nothing but his badge and a case file that made no sense. "Detective Quinn?" A familiar voice echoed through the tunnel. Quinn straightened, wincing at the protest in her knees. "Ms. Kowalski. This is an active crime scene." Eva Kowalski approached, her curly red hair bouncing with each step, round glasses reflecting the beam of Quinn's flashlight. Her ever-present leather satchel hung at her side, bulging with what Quinn assumed were more of her peculiar research materials. The young woman's presence at yet another unusual crime scene couldn't be coincidence. "I heard the call on the police scanner." Eva tucked a strand of hair behind her left ear—a nervous tell Quinn had noted in previous encounters. "Civilians don't typically monitor police frequencies," Quinn said dryly. "I was researching nearby locations for... historical documentation." Eva's green eyes darted toward the body, then away. "Have you checked his pockets?" Quinn narrowed her eyes. "Why would you ask that?" "Just curious if you've established identity yet." The freckles across Eva's nose seemed to darken as blood rushed to her face. Quinn turned to Davis. "Give us a minute." When the technician had moved away, Quinn stepped closer to Eva, lowering her voice. "This is the third crime scene you've appeared at in two months. Coincidences like that make my detective brain itch, Ms. Kowalski." Eva clutched her satchel tighter. "I study unusual historical sites around London. Sometimes those overlap with... incidents." "Incidents," Quinn repeated flatly. "Like a man with his head bashed in at an abandoned Tube station that's been sealed for forty years?" Eva's gaze darted to the far wall, where Quinn noticed for the first time a series of symbols etched into the tile. Fresh marks, not decades-old graffiti. "What are those?" Quinn asked sharply. "I couldn't say." Eva's voice pitched higher. Another tell. Quinn moved toward the symbols, training her flashlight on the crude etchings. They reminded her of something she'd seen in DS Morris's personal notes after his disappearance—circular patterns with lines radiating outward, connected by what looked like letters from no alphabet she recognized. "Davis," she called. "Have Forensics document these markings." She turned back to Eva. "These look fresh." "Detective?" Davis called from beside the body. "You should see this." Quinn returned to the corpse, Eva trailing behind. Davis held up a small object between his gloved fingers. "Found it clutched in his hand. Had to pry the fingers open." Quinn leaned closer. A small brass compass with a strange patina of verdigris, its face etched with intricate patterns that mirrored the symbols on the wall. The needle spun lazily, not settling on any direction. "Bag it for evidence," Quinn instructed, but Eva stepped forward. "May I see that?" she asked, an urgency in her voice that caught Quinn's attention. Davis looked to Quinn, who nodded reluctantly. He held it up for Eva to examine without touching it. "It's a Veil Compass," Eva whispered, almost to herself. "A what?" Quinn asked sharply. Eva blinked, as if remembering where she was. "Just a... a collector's term. For an antique compass design." Quinn didn't believe her for a second. "Davis, make sure that compass gets priority testing at the lab." She turned to Eva. "And you're coming to the station to give a statement about your convenient arrival at my crime scene." Eva nodded, but her attention remained fixed on the compass. As Davis bagged it, Quinn could have sworn the needle suddenly moved decisively, pointing directly at the wall with the strange symbols. At the station, Quinn led Eva to an interview room, noting how the young woman's fingers drummed anxiously against her satchel. "Start talking," Quinn said after the recorder was running. "What's a Veil Compass, and why did finding it make you look like you'd seen a ghost?" Eva hesitated, then sighed. "It's an artifact. Rare. Valuable to certain... collectors." "Worth killing for?" "Possibly, but not in the way you think." Eva leaned forward. "Detective, have you noticed anything strange about your recent cases? Patterns that don't make conventional sense?" Quinn's jaw tightened. Since Morris vanished, she'd encountered a series of cases that defied explanation—evidence that disappeared, witness statements that contradicted physical possibility, and crime scenes like today's, where everything looked straightforward until you noticed the details that didn't fit. "What I've noticed," Quinn said carefully, "is that you seem to appear whenever those patterns emerge." "Because I'm looking for them too." Eva opened her satchel and pulled out a photograph. "This was your partner, wasn't it? DS Morris?" Quinn stiffened. "Where did you get that?" "He came to me, before he disappeared. Asking questions about places in London where the boundaries thin." "Boundaries between what?" "Between worlds." Eva's green eyes held a sincerity that was either genuine or the mark of an excellent liar. "Your victim wasn't killed for his wallet, Detective. He was killed because he found something he shouldn't have—an entrance to the Veil Market." Quinn leaned back, crossing her arms. "The Veil Market. Sounds like a boutique clothing shop." "It's an underground market. Literally underground, in abandoned spaces beneath London. It moves locations with each full moon." Eva's voice dropped. "The compass points to the nearest entrance. They're heavily guarded, accessible only with specific tokens." Quinn thought of the circular scuff marks around the body. As though something round had been... removed? "Let me guess," Quinn said. "A token like a coin or medallion?" Eva's eyes widened slightly. "Yes. A bone token, specifically. Did you find one?" "No," Quinn said. "But I think someone took it from the victim." Eva nodded urgently. "The Veil Market deals in items that most people don't believe exist. Enchanted goods, banned substances, information about... things beyond ordinary understanding." "Ms. Kowalski, if you're implying—" "Your partner didn't just disappear, Detective Quinn." Eva pulled another item from her satchel—a worn journal. "He left this with me for safekeeping. Said if anything happened to him, I should find someone trustworthy to continue his work." Quinn stared at the journal, recognizing Morris's handwriting on the cover. Her throat tightened. "He was investigating disappearances connected to the Market," Eva continued. "People who found entrances accidentally and weren't prepared for what they encountered there." Quinn wanted to dismiss it all as fantasy, but the compass, the strange markings, the circular pattern where something had been removed from the victim—it aligned too neatly with the inconsistencies she'd been noticing since Morris vanished. "If," she said carefully, "and this is a massive if—if what you're saying has any basis in reality, why would anyone kill this man instead of simply... turning him away from this market?" "Because he had a Veil Compass," Eva said simply. "Those aren't supposed to exist in the ordinary world. Someone crafted it specifically to find the Market regardless of its location. That makes him either a thief or a spy—neither welcome in a place built on secrecy." Quinn stood, pacing the small room. Her rational mind rebelled against Eva's explanation, but her detective's instinct—the same one that had earned her eighteen years of decorated service—whispered that she was finally approaching the truth about Morris's disappearance. "If I were to... hypothetically... investigate this Market," Quinn said, "how would I find it without getting myself killed?" Eva's expression brightened. "That's why I'm here. I've been researching the Market for years. And with that compass in evidence..." She trailed off meaningfully. Quinn's sharp jaw clenched. Using evidence for an unofficial investigation crossed a line. But for Morris... "I need time to think," she said finally. Eva nodded, sliding Morris's journal across the table. "Read this first. Then decide." As Quinn's fingers touched the worn leather cover, the station lights flickered briefly. For just a moment, she could have sworn she saw symbols like those in the abandoned station appear on the walls of the interview room, glowing faintly before vanishing. Eva noticed her startled expression. "You saw them, didn't you?" she whispered. "That's how it starts. The veil between worlds is thinning, Detective Quinn. And something is coming through."