Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMNFV3VKD3CZAY0ZNSJDCV6

The flickering neon glow of the abandoned Tube station pulsed like a dying heartbeat, casting jagged shadows across the cracked concrete floor. Detective Harlow Quinn adjusted the strap of her leather jacket, her salt-and-pepper hair catching the dim light as she stepped inside the Veil Market’s latest hideaway. The air smelled of damp earth and something older—something *wrong*. The bone token she’d slipped into the lock had been a gamble, but Quinn had no choice. Not when the case demanded answers. She moved through the dim corridor, her boots crunching on broken glass, her sharp jaw set in determination. The station’s doors were sealed shut, the metal rusted through in places. Her watch, worn leather and ticking like a metronome, kept time with the creaking of the station’s skeletal structure. The evidence was there—scattered, but unmistakable. A single silver locket, its clasp broken, lay half-buried in the dirt. Inside, a small black feather had been pressed against the glass. Not human. Not animal. Something else. “Detective Quinn?” Quinn turned at the sound of her name, her military precision sharp despite the unease creeping up her spine. Standing in the dim glow of a flickering lantern was DS Morris, her partner from years gone by. Her eyes were wide, her usual confidence replaced by something raw—fear, maybe, or something deeper. “Morris,” Quinn said, voice low. “What the hell are you doing here?” Morris hesitated, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear, her freckles standing out against her pale skin. “I followed the lead. The locket’s been found in the same district as the other cases. The Veil Market’s always been a hotspot for supernatural activity.” Quinn’s jaw tightened. “And you think this is just another case of stolen heirlooms?” Morris shook her head. “No. Look.” She gestured to the locket. “That feather—it’s not from any bird I’ve seen. And the sigils on the compass around the corner—” “You found a Veil Compass?” Quinn’s voice was a blade. She’d heard rumors, but she’d never seen one up close. The brass casing gleamed faintly under the lantern’s light, its patina dark with age. The needle—if it was a needle—wasn’t pointing north. It was pointing *down*, toward the shadows beneath the station. Morris’s eyes flickered to the compass. “It’s attuned to supernatural energy. That’s why the needle’s acting like this.” Quinn exhaled sharply, her fingers tightening around the handle of her baton. “Then tell me, Morris. What do you think this is?” “A ritual,” Morris said quietly. “Something’s being prepared. And if the Veil Market’s involved, then someone’s pulling the strings.” Quinn’s mind raced. The Veil Market moved every full moon, shifting locations like a ghost. And this time, it had chosen this station—not for the usual reasons of convenience or secrecy, but because of something *else*. Something that pulsed beneath the earth. She knelt, brushing the dirt from the locket’s edge. The black feather was still there, pressed against the glass, as if waiting. She picked it up, running her thumb over its smooth surface. It wasn’t just a feather. It was a key. A key to something buried deep beneath London. “Quinn,” Morris said, her voice urgent. “What are you thinking?” Quinn stood slowly, her gaze fixed on the compass. “I’m thinking we’re not just dealing with a market. We’re dealing with something older. Something that doesn’t play by the rules.” A distant hum vibrated through the station, like the low growl of a storm. The needle on the compass twitched, then pointed straight at her. And for the first time, Quinn saw what was missing. The evidence wasn’t just scattered. It was *hidden*. And it wasn’t for the reasons anyone would expect.