Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMPE18CHP9HQMKKHHRV7JHP

Detective Harlow Quinn stepped off the creaking lift, her worn leather boots echoing in the abandoned Tube station. The air was damp and heavy, laden with the scent of decay and something else—an acrid tang that prickled her nostrils. She adjusted her watch, the worn leather strap familiar under her fingers, and surveyed the scene. The Veil Market, hidden beneath Camden, was a labyrinth of stalls and alleyways, a supernatural black market that moved with the moon. Tonight, it was bathed in the cold glow of emergency lights, casting long, dancing shadows that seemed to writhe with a life of their own. Quinn's partner, Detective Sergeant Thompson, was already there, his lanky frame hunched over a body sprawled on the grimy floor. He looked up as she approached, his glasses reflecting the harsh light. "Quinn," he acknowledged, straightening. "You're late." Quinn ignored the jab. She was never late, not really. But Thompson didn't know about her detour, the whispered conversation with an informant in a back alley, the exchange of a bone token for a tip about a body here. She stepped closer, her sharp jaw set in a grim line. The victim was a woman, her curly red hair fanned out around her like a halo. Her eyes were closed, her face peaceful, almost serene. Too peaceful, given the circumstances. Quinn crouched down, her military precision evident in her movements. She noted the round glasses askew on the bridge of the woman's nose, the worn leather satchel beside her, overflowing with books. She reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind the woman's left ear, revealing a freckled complexion. "Eva Kowalski," Quinn murmured, recognition dawning. "Aurora's friend." Thompson nodded. "Yeah. Know her?" Quinn stood, her gaze sweeping the area. "Not personally. But I've seen her with Aurora. She's a researcher, works at the British Museum." Thompson consulted his notebook. "Evie, according to her ID. Any idea what she was doing here?" Quinn didn't answer, her attention drawn to the woman's hands. They were clean, no signs of struggle. No defensive wounds, no bruising. She looked around again, her brow furrowing. Something was off. She could feel it, like a prickle at the back of her neck. She noticed it then, the faint glow emanating from Eva's satchel. She reached in, her fingers brushing against leather-bound books, a tattered map, and then, a small brass compass. It was old, the casing etched with protective sigils, the needle pointing not north, but towards a dark corner of the market. Towards a rift, according to the whispers she'd heard. "Quinn?" Thompson prompted, following her gaze. "What is it?" Quinn held up the compass, the patina of verdigris glinting under the lights. "This," she said, "is a Veil Compass. It's attuned to supernatural energy." Thompson scoffed. "Supernatural? Quinn, come on. We're talking about a murder here, not some ghost story." Quinn ignored him, her mind racing. She'd seen one of these before, three years ago, during the case that had taken Morris. The one she still couldn't explain. The one that had led her here, to the Veil Market, to Eva Kowalski's body. She stood, her gaze sweeping the area again. This time, she saw it—the faint shimmer in the air, the subtle distortion. A rift, barely visible, pulsating with energy. She stepped closer, the compass needle spinning wildly in her hand. "Quinn, what are you doing?" Thompson asked, concern etched on his face. "We should wait for backup." Quinn didn't respond. She couldn't. Not when she was so close. She reached out, her fingers brushing against the shimmer. It was cold, like ice, and it hummed under her touch. She could feel it, the energy pulsing, the otherworldly power. She looked back at Eva, her serene face, her unmarked body. She didn't struggle, Quinn thought. Because she didn't have to. Because she'd gone through the rift willingly. Quinn stepped back, her mind made up. "We're not dealing with a murder here, Thompson," she said, her voice steady. "We're dealing with a disappearance." Thompson stared at her, disbelief written all over his face. "A disappearance? Quinn, she's dead. We have a body." Quinn shook her head. "No, we don't. Not really. Not in the way you think." She looked at Eva again, her heart heavy. "She's not here, Thompson. She's gone. Through the rift." Thompson opened his mouth to argue, then closed it, his gaze flicking between Quinn and the rift. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Alright, Quinn. Let's say you're right. Let's say she went through willingly. Why? What's on the other side?" Quinn looked at the compass, the needle still spinning wildly. "I don't know," she admitted. "But I intend to find out." She took a deep breath, steeling herself. Then, before Thompson could protest, she stepped forward, into the shimmer. Into the rift. Into the unknown. The world around her shifted, the market dissolving into a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes. She felt a tug, a pull, like she was being stretched thin. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it ended. Quinn stumbled, her boots sinking into soft earth. She looked around, her breath catching in her throat. She was in a forest, the trees ancient, their branches heavy with leaves that seemed to absorb the light. The air was thick with humidity, the scent of earth and something else—something sweet, almost intoxicating. She heard a rustle, a soft footstep. She turned, her hand going to her gun. But it wasn't Eva. It was a man, tall, his skin the color of moonlight. His eyes were black, bottomless, and he smiled at her, his teeth sharp. "Welcome, Detective," he said, his voice like velvet. "I've been waiting for you." Quinn's hand tightened on her gun, her heart pounding in her chest. "Where's Eva?" she demanded, her voice steady despite the fear coiling in her gut. The man's smile widened. "Eva?" he echoed. "Ah, yes. The researcher. She's here, Detective. She's waiting for you." Quinn's heart pounded louder. She could feel it now, the energy pulsing around her, through her. She could feel Eva, too, her presence like a beacon. She took a step forward, then another, her gaze locked on the man. "Quinn," he warned, his smile fading. "You shouldn't—" But Quinn didn't stop. She couldn't. Not when she was so close. Not when she could feel Eva, so near, yet so far. She stepped forward, into the light. Into the unknown. Into the mystery that had led her here, to this place, to this moment. And she knew, as she took that final step, that her life would never be the same.