Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMPE7TE63SXZR8K485BBEEV

The abandoned Tube station beneath Camden smelt of mildew and ancient dust, a stark reminder of its forsaken past. Detective Harlow Quinn stepped off the last rung of the rusted metal ladder that served as the entrance and adjusted the edge of her leather jacket. The air was heavy with moisture, and every breath carried a hint of something more—something that spoke of secrets and darkness. Her worn leather watch caught the dim glow of the emergency lights as she checked the time. One-fifteen in the morning. The Market was abandoned for now, though it would come to life with its illicit trade when the full moon returned. Harlow didn't have the patience to wait that long, especially not with a body demanding her attention. She glanced at the hand-carved bone token that Ewan, an informant quick to disappear whenever she needed him, had slipped into her palm earlier that evening. It granted her entry to the subterranean world of the Veil Market. Tugging it into her jacket pocket, she squared her shoulders and proceeded forward with military precision. Across the platform, Detective Eva Kowalski was already on scene, her freckled face flushed with the stress of the discovery. Eva gave a quick, dismissive wave at the uniformed officers standing by, their presence lingering like nervous shadows. Detective Quinn scanned the surroundings, the gray stone walls pocked and scarred with age. "This doesn't feel right, Harlow," Eva said, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. The movement spoke of her nervous habit, always worse when she found herself deep in thought or uncertainty. "Look at this." Detective Quinn crouched beside the body, her eyes narrowing on the scene before her. A man, mid-thirties, lay spread-eagle on the ground, his face twisted in a grotesque mask of pain and horror. His clothes were torn, and patches of skin were marred with strange splotches—a mix of blue and black. "No signs of a struggle," Harlow murmured, her voice flat as she noted the smooth emptiness around the victim. "No weapons nearby, no usual bruising around the neck or wrists." She turned her head slightly, catching the glint of something on the opposite wall. The beam of her flashlight fell across the strange reflective shimmer and settled on an ancient brass compass, its casing patinated with verdigris. Eva followed her gaze. "Found it when I was cataloging the area. The needle's pointing all over the place. I have no idea why it was even here." Harlow reached out with gloved hands to pick up the Veil Compass, examining its etched face. The protective sigils were familiar to her—though she couldn't read them, they exuded an aura of ancient caution. "This is attuned to supernatural energies," she said, rising to her feet with an ease that betrayed her years of service. "Points to rifts or portals. But what was this man doing with it?" "Market traders," Eva suggested, though she sounded doubtful. The Market was an unpredictable nexus of mystical artifacts and laws only half understood. "Except he doesn't look like one of them. More like a visitor who got very, very unlucky." Harlow turned the compass over in her hands, the needle spinning erratically just as Eva had described. Nearby, an unfinished sigil lingered on the floor—scratched hurriedly into the dirt and stone. The detective crouched again, tracing the lines gently with her finger. "There's something else here," she muttered. "This isn't a trader's handiwork." A deep silence settled between them, broken only by the faint dripping of water from the station's ceiling. It was a silence that begged many questions while offering no answers. "Eva, you said this compass was pointing all over the place. Show me." Eva hesitated but nodded. She stepped closer and gestured for Harlow to observe. Under watchful eyes, the compass' needle whirled, settling north for a fraction of a second before twisting violently south and then east. Harlow's sharp jawline tightened imperceptibly. "The protective sigils on the face," she said slowly, "are designed to stabilize its readings. But they're activated." She tapped the compass, never one to overlook even the smallest detail. "Something incredibly powerful entered the Market. Perhaps through a portal. And this man... he was at the center of it." "Maybe he was trying to close it," Eva offered, her voice growing stronger as she latched onto the theory. "The sigil on the ground was unfinished, but it was drawn intentionally. Maybe he was a practitioner of some sort." Harlow's eyes flicked to the corpse again. "He didn't make it. Whatever came or went through that portal was too much for him." She stood, her bearing even more rigid. "And the Market won’t speak. Not with the full moon so close." Eva exhaled heavily. "Then we're on our own." "Not entirely." Harlow glanced toward the uniformed officers. "We have a name on the victim?" Eva pulled out a small notepad from her satchel full of books—the worn leather had seen better days. "Matthew Lacey. Topside he was registered as a security consultant with ties to several organizations related to occult research. Just the kind of person who might have something... extraordinary." "He must have known the risks." Harlow pocketed the compass. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned the area once more. Every detail was carefully cataloged in her mind, from the arcane inscriptions to the subtle shifts in shadows that whispered of secrets she wasn't yet privy to. "We'll need to backtrack. Find out where he got this compass and why he sought out the Market." Eva nodded, closing her notepad. "You think we'll get answers from the Market's vendors?" Harlow's lips tightened. "You and I both know they value their secrecy. But if Lacey made any deals down here, someone knows something." Eva’s green eyes narrowed thoughtfully behind her round glasses. "There’s a chance we’re dealing with more than one entity. What if something followed him topside?" Harlow glanced at the bone token still safe in her pocket. "Then we need to be prepared; whatever did this has left tracks. We just have to pick up the scent." She gave the station one last appraising look before signaling her readiness to leave. The uniformed officers stood aside, their eyes reflecting the unspoken understanding that when Harlow was on a case, thoroughness was paramount. The shadows of the Veil Market seemed to pull at their retreating forms, whispering in a tongue only understood by the dark and those accustomed to its secrets. As they ascended, Harlow was acutely aware of the heavy weight on her shoulders, the nuanced and delicate web of connections that could be the making or undoing of their investigation. Eva's steady presence was a small comfort. She had always been more than just an antiquarian, with her expertise in arcane matters providing an edge they sorely needed. Reaching street level, the familiar grid of London stretched out before them, deceptively ordinary beneath the warren of mysteries below. Harlow’s mind churned with possibilities and theories, the seasoned detective in her unwilling to settle for superficial answers. "We need to visit the archives," she said, her voice decisive. "Whatever opened that portal, it started from the outside. Lacey must have documented something. He wouldn't have walked into the Veil Market completely unprepared." Eva nodded, adjusting the strap of her satchel. "I'll access his records at the museum, see if there’s any notation of recent acquisitions or correspondences." Quinn’s eyes met Eva’s, a silent pledge of shared purpose passing between them. This was more than just another case. It was a labyrinth of darkness and light they would navigate together, their combined strengths the only hope of piecing together the scattered truths. With a final, lingering glance at the entrance that led back to the Market, Detective Quinn turned away. The night was far from over, and the full moon approached, drawing out ancient secrets that refused to remain hidden. They moved with matched strides into the quietude of the London night, the empty streets awash with the distant hum of life unaware, and the promise of enigmas that begged to be unraveled.