Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMR1EDRV1HHJC3PWG1MGG9K

The old Tube station smelled of damp earth and stale oil. Detective Harlow Quinn stepped onto the platform, her boots echoing on cracked tiles. Above, rusted girders crisscrossed the vaulted ceiling, barely visible in the gloom. The air hung thick and cold, carrying a faint, cloying sweetness. “Quinn, you made it.” Eva Kowalski, her round glasses perched on her nose, pushed a strand of curly red hair behind her left ear. She stood by a yellowed crime scene tape, a worn leather satchel bulging with books slung over her shoulder. Eva, at 5’4”, always seemed to be looking up at Quinn, even when their gazes met level. Quinn, 5’9” with closely cropped salt-and-pepper hair, gave a curt nod. Her sharp jaw was set. “What’ve we got?” Her worn leather watch on her left wrist showed a quarter past three. She hadn’t slept much. “Another one.” Eva gestured vaguely towards the center of the platform. “Same M.O. as the others.” Quinn scanned the scene. A makeshift stall, overturned and splintered, lay near the tracks. It looked like it had been selling various trinkets, now scattered amongst the debris. The platforms themselves were carved not with the usual station names, but with crude, unfamiliar symbols that glowed faintly. A faint hum vibrated beneath her feet. “Same M.O.,” Quinn repeated, her voice flat. “Meaning what, exactly? A magically induced heart attack? Another spontaneous combustion?” Eva sighed. “The official report will say accidental death due to structural collapse. They’ll blame the old tunnel system. But you and I both know…” She trailed off, glancing around as if the shadows themselves might be listening. Quinn ignored the dramatic pause. eighteen years of distinguished service had taught her to trust her gut, not whispered conspiracies. She walked towards the overturned stall, her gaze sweeping over the scene with military precision. The platform was scattered with an array of objects: a few strange bone tokens, vials of iridescent liquid, a small brass compass with a patina of verdigris whose face was etched with protective sigils. The Veil Compass. One of the forbidden items from the Veil Market. She squatted, examining the compass. The needle, instead of pointing north, quivered erratically, then settled, pointing towards a section of the tunnel where the light seemed to warp, like heat shimmering above asphalt. A rift. “This market,” Quinn said, picking up a shard of what looked like hardened moonlight. “You’re sure it’s what we thought?” “The Veil Market,” Eva affirmed. “Every full moon, it moves. This month, it’s an abandoned Tube station beneath Camden. Or rather, it *was* an abandoned Tube station. Until this.” She gestured to the surrounding devastation. The victim lay slumped against the far wall, obscured by a canvas tarp. Quinn needed to see him. “Description of the deceased?” “Male, early twenties. Vendor, by the looks of it. No ID. Cause of death still pending, but… the paramedics seemed confused.” Eva hesitated. “Heart failure was mentioned, but they couldn’t explain the… lack of struggle.” Quinn approached the tarp. A uniformed officer stood guard. “Detective Quinn. Let me see.” The officer, a fresh-faced rookie, pulled back the tarp. The young man’s face was serene, almost peaceful. Too peaceful. There were no signs of struggle, no frantic handprints on the dust, no scuff marks from a desperate kick. He wore simple, dark clothes, unmarred. “No visible injuries,” the rookie offered, unnecessarily. Quinn leaned closer. The skin around the victim’s eyes and mouth was unnaturally pale, almost translucent. A faint odor, like ozone mixed with something burnt, emanated from him. “He’s desiccated,” Quinn observed, her eyes narrowing. “Not just pale. Dried out.” Eva joined her. “I noticed that too. Not exactly typical heart failure, is it?” “No.” Quinn stood, surveying the chaos again. The wood of the stall was splintered inwards, as if something had burst *out* of it. The various items, like the bone tokens and vials, were scattered but unbroken. Nothing suggested an explosion, or even a violent impact. “The official report will still say structural collapse,” Eva reminded her. “The brass wants this wrapped up. No one wants to admit a black market operating under their noses, let alone one that deals in… these sorts of goods.” She nudged a vial with her toe. Quinn ignored her. “If it was a structural collapse,” she began, thinking aloud, “why are there no massive pieces of debris? Why is the collapse so localized to this single stall? And why is the victim’s body… like this?” “Perhaps the collapse was specific,” Eva suggested. “Targeted.” Quinn shook her head. “Tunnel collapse doesn’t target. And if it was targeted, where's the weapon? The explosive residue?” She walked around the crime scene, her mind piecing together the anomalies. The Veil Compass pointed towards a rift. The victim was desiccated. The stall was damaged from the inside out. “What was he selling?” Quinn asked, turning to Eva. Eva shrugged. “General enchanted goods, I imagine. Banned alchemical substances. Information.” Quinn's gaze caught on a faint, almost invisible scorch mark on the floor, directly beneath where the stall must have stood. It was circular, about the size of a dinner plate, and the tiles within its perimeter were slightly discolored, as if seared by intense heat or energy. “This isn’t a structural collapse,” Quinn stated, her voice sharp. “It’s a point of origin.” Eva's green eyes widened behind her glasses. “A point of origin for what?” Quinn knelt, examining the scorch mark. “Whatever happened, it emanated from here. And it had nothing to do with the tunnel’s structure.” She stood and walked over to the victim again, looking at his face, then back at the scorch mark, then at the quivering needle of the Veil Compass. “He wasn’t crushed,” Quinn said, her voice dropping. “He was drained.” Eva frowned, her brow furrowed. “Drained? Of what?” “Energy. Life force. Something powerful enough to desiccate a human being in an instant, and leave a scorch mark in its wake.” Quinn turned to the rookie. “Secure this area. And I mean *secure* it. No one touches anything, not even a speck of dust, until I say so. Call for a full forensic team, and I want a specialized energy signature scan on this scorch mark.” The rookie looked bewildered but nodded, already pulling out his comms. Eva’s voice was softer now, tinged with a familiar unease. “You’re thinking what I’m thinking, aren’t you?” Quinn met her gaze. She didn’t want to think it. Not after DS Morris, three years ago, a case dismissed as ‘unexplained circumstances’ but which had festered in Quinn’s mind, leaving a wound that refused to heal. She still didn't understand what had happened to him, but she knew it wasn't natural. “I’m thinking,” Quinn said, her voice steady, “that whoever or whatever did this isn’t from around here. And it used this old Tube station not as a market, but as a gateway.” She looked from the scorched earth to the flickering light of the rift in the tunnel. “That 'collapse' wasn't an accident. It was the effect of something far more sinister opening up.” The cloying sweetness in the air now seemed less like a mystery and more like a warning. The Veil Market had attracted something that wasn't just interested in commerce. It was interested in power. And the young man on the platform was just the first victim. Quinn clenched her jaw, the worn leather watch digging into her left wrist. She knew this was just the beginning. And unlike the last time, she wouldn’t let this go unexplained.