Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMPC4N880X40KN1D5EHC3NH

Detective Harlow Quinn stepped off the last rung of the rusted ladder, her boots landing with a soft thud on the damp concrete floor of the abandoned Tube station. The air was thick with the scent of mildew and something else—something metallic and sharp that set her instincts on edge. She adjusted the collar of her coat, the fabric brushing against her sharp jawline, and surveyed the scene with the practiced eye of someone who had seen too much. The Veil Market, hidden beneath the bustling streets of Camden, was a place of whispered legends and shadowy transactions. Tonight, it was a crime scene, cordoned off with yellow tape that fluttered like trapped birds in the drafty tunnels. The usual hum of clandestine activity was absent, replaced by the low murmur of police radios and the occasional clatter of equipment. Harlow's gaze settled on the figure standing near the center of the chaos, a familiar silhouette with curly red hair catching the dim light. Eva Kowalski, her friend and sometimes informant, was speaking animatedly with a uniformed officer, her hands gesturing in wide arcs. Even from a distance, Harlow could see the nervous habit of Eva tucking a stray curl behind her ear, a telltale sign of her agitation. "Detective Quinn," a voice called out, pulling her attention away. It was Sergeant Blake, a solid presence in the department and one of the few who didn't flinch under her scrutiny. "Glad you're here. This one's... different." "Different how?" Harlow asked, her voice steady, though her mind was already racing through possibilities. Blake gestured toward the center of the market, where a makeshift stall had been overturned, its contents scattered across the floor. "Victim's over there. No ID yet, but the way he was found... it's not your usual market dispute." Harlow nodded, her eyes narrowing as she approached the scene. The victim, a middle-aged man with a shock of white hair, lay sprawled on the ground, his limbs at odd angles. His eyes were open, staring blankly at the ceiling, and his mouth was twisted in a silent scream. Around him, the remnants of his stall—a collection of trinkets and oddities—were strewn about, as if caught in a whirlwind. Eva joined her, the familiar weight of her satchel bumping against her hip. "Harlow," she said, her voice low. "This isn't right. I mean, look at him." Harlow crouched beside the body, her eyes tracing the lines of the man's face, the unnatural contortion of his limbs. "What do you see, Eva?" Eva adjusted her glasses, her green eyes sharp behind the lenses. "It's like he was... pulled apart. Not physically, but something else. And there's this." She pointed to a small brass compass clutched in the man's hand, its casing tarnished with verdigris. Harlow recognized it immediately—a Veil Compass, a tool for navigating the supernatural. She reached out, carefully prying it from the man's stiff fingers. The face was etched with protective sigils, the needle quivering slightly as if sensing the energy that lingered in the air. "Crafted by a Shade artisan," Eva murmured, her voice tinged with awe. "These aren't easy to come by." Harlow turned the compass over in her hand, her mind piecing together the fragments of the scene. "He was looking for something," she said, more to herself than to Eva. "Or someone." Blake joined them, his expression grim. "We've got witnesses saying they saw him arguing with someone earlier. A woman, they think. But no one's sure." Harlow's eyes flicked to the shadows that clung to the edges of the station, the places where secrets were traded and lives were bartered. "This market moves every full moon," she said, her voice thoughtful. "Whoever did this knew where to find him." Eva nodded, her fingers brushing against the worn leather of her satchel. "And they knew how to use the market's... resources." Harlow stood, her gaze sweeping the scene once more. The evidence was scattered, like pieces of a puzzle that refused to fit. But there was something here, something she could feel just beyond her reach. She turned to Blake, her decision made. "I want a list of everyone who was here tonight. Vendors, buyers, anyone who might have seen something." Blake nodded, already reaching for his radio. "I'll get on it." As he moved away, Harlow felt Eva's eyes on her, a question unspoken between them. "What are you thinking, Harlow?" Harlow slipped the compass into her pocket, the weight of it a reminder of the mysteries that lay beneath the surface. "I'm thinking," she said slowly, "that this isn't just about a market dispute. There's something bigger at play." Eva's expression was a mix of concern and curiosity. "You think it's connected to... what happened to DS Morris?" Harlow's jaw tightened at the mention of her former partner, the memories still raw despite the years. "I don't know," she admitted. "But I intend to find out." Together, they turned back to the scene, the echoes of the past mingling with the present. In the dim light of the abandoned station, the truth lay hidden, waiting to be uncovered. And Harlow Quinn, with her military precision and unyielding determination, was ready to face whatever shadows lay ahead.