Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMPCHKPZCGSXT53XP69Z0PG

Detective Harlow Quinn descended into the abandoned Tube station, her eyes adjusting to the dim light that filtered through the makeshift marketplace. The air reeked of damp earth, decay, and the sweet tang of illicit substances. The Veil Market. She'd been trying to infiltrate this supernatural black market for months, and now, it seemed, it had come to her – in the form of a crime scene. As she navigated through the stalls, vendors and patrons alike cast her suspicious glances. Quinn's sharp jaw set in a firm line, her gaze sweeping the area with military precision. Her worn leather watch seemed to tick in time with the thrumming tension. Ahead, a cluster of uniforms and forensic suits surrounded a body. Quinn's stomach tightened – another unexplained death, another potential supernatural link to unravel. She spotted her colleague, Inspector Lee, kneeling beside the victim. "Harlow, glad you're here," Lee said, looking up as Quinn approached. "We've got a real puzzler. Victim's ID says 'Elianore Quasar,' a regular at the Market. No signs of forced entry or struggle. Just...this." Lee gestured to the body. Quinn's eyes narrowed as she took in the scene. Elianore Quasar lay on his back, eyes frozen in a permanent stare. A small, exquisite brass compass (its casing gleaming with a patina of verdigris) rested on his chest, the needle spinning lazily. Quinn's mind whirred – a Veil Compass, crafted by Shade artisans, known to point toward supernatural rifts or portals. What was it doing here? " Cause of death?" Quinn asked, her gaze roving the surrounding area. "Looks like cardiac arrest, but the ME will confirm," Lee replied, "No visible trauma, no toxins in the preliminary sweep. It's as if he just...died." Quinn's attention returned to the compass. She carefully plucked it from the victim's chest, the needle wobbling before settling – pointing toward a nearby stall, draped in tattered velvet. The vendor, a hooded figure, watched Quinn with an unblinking gaze. "I think our key to this case just walked in," Quinn murmured, tucking the compass into her pocket. Lee followed her gaze. "You think the vendor's involved? I've been talking to the other stall owners – they all seem shaken but cooperative. This one's been tight-lipped, though." "I'm not saying they're involved, not yet," Quinn said, her eyes never leaving the hooded figure. "But I do think they might know more than they're letting on. Get a team to canvass the vendors, see if anyone noticed anything unusual. I want to know what Quasar was doing here, and what he was buying." As Lee nodded and moved off to coordinate the canvassing, Quinn approached the velvet-draped stall. The vendor pushed back its hood, revealing a shock of curly red hair – Eva Kowalski, the occult researcher. Quinn's mind racing, she linked this new information to the case. "Eva Kowalski. I wouldn't have pegged you as a Veil Market vendor," Quinn said, her tone neutral. Eva's green eyes darted toward the body before returning to Quinn, a nervous habit kicking in as she tucked a stray curl behind her left ear. "Just helping out a friend, Detective. I don't actually run this stall." Quinn's gaze lingered on Eva's worn leather satchel, overflowing with books. "I see. Well, Miss Kowalski, it seems you're in a unique position to help me. Can you tell me about the victim, Elianore Quasar? What was he doing here tonight?" Eva's freckled complexion paled, but her voice remained steady. "Elianore was a...collector. He sought rare, occult texts. I might have, uh, assisted him in finding a few titles." Quinn's sharp jaw set in a firm line. "I'd like a list of those titles, Miss Kowalski. And any information you can provide about Quasar's activities tonight." As Eva hesitated, Quinn's eyes locked onto hers, her mind working overtime to piece together the evidence. The Veil Compass, the lack of forced entry or struggle, and now, Eva Kowalski's involvement – all hinted at a larger, more complex scenario. One that Quinn was determined to unravel, no matter how deep the supernatural roots might run. "Let's start with the titles, Miss Kowalski," Quinn pressed, her voice firm but controlled. "I'm listening."