Run: 2026-02-17-01KHNF5MH07N59DDKV7VNWHV0B

Detective Quinn ducked under the yellow tape and descended the rusted stairs into Camden's abandoned Jubilee line extension. The beam of her torch cut through the underground darkness, revealing graffiti-covered tiles and the detritus of urban decay. Twenty feet below street level, the air tasted of mildew and something else — incense, maybe, or burnt herbs. "Body's this way," Sergeant Mills said, leading her deeper into the tunnel. His voice echoed off the curved walls. "Found him about two hours ago. Urban explorer called it in." Quinn's boots splashed through puddles of stagnant water. The leather watch on her wrist caught on her jacket sleeve, and she tugged it free with practiced irritation. Three years since Morris died in a place like this — another abandoned station, another case that made no sense. She pushed the memory aside. The platform opened before them, lit by the harsh glare of police work lights. Forensics had already begun their choreographed dance around the body. Quinn counted twelve people, maybe thirteen. Too many for a simple death in an abandoned station. "What's the story?" she asked Mills. "Male, mid-thirties. No ID. Looks like he fell from the platform edge and cracked his skull on the rail." Quinn crouched beside the body. The man wore expensive clothes — designer jeans, leather boots that cost more than her monthly car payment. His right hand clutched something small and brass. She pulled on latex gloves and carefully pried his fingers open. A compass. But not just any compass — the face was etched with strange symbols, and the needle pointed steadily west despite the metal tracks that should have thrown off any magnetic reading. The casing felt warm against her palm, its surface mottled with green patina. "Sir?" A young constable appeared at her elbow. "We've got another one." Quinn's jaw tightened. "Another body?" "No, ma'am. Another person claiming to be investigating the death. Says she knows the deceased." Quinn followed the constable back toward the entrance, where two uniforms flanked a young woman with curly red hair. Round glasses magnified worried green eyes. She clutched a worn leather satchel to her chest like armor. "I need to see him," the woman said, her accent carrying hints of Eastern Europe. Polish, maybe. "Please. I think it might be my colleague." "And you are?" Quinn kept her tone neutral. "Eva Kowalski. I work at the British Museum." She fumbled in her satchel and produced an ID badge. "Research assistant, special collections. The man who died — was he carrying anything unusual? Old artifacts, maybe?" Quinn studied her. The woman's hands trembled slightly, but not from cold. She kept tucking the same strand of hair behind her left ear, a nervous gesture that spoke of genuine distress. But there was something else too — the way her gaze kept drifting past Quinn toward the platform, as if drawn by an invisible thread. "How did you know someone died here?" Quinn asked. Eva's freckled face flushed. "I... I monitor certain online forums. Urban exploration sites. When someone posted about finding a body in the old Camden extension, I came straight away." "At eleven thirty at night?" "Some of our researchers work odd hours. We're cataloguing the Dee collection — sixteenth century occult texts. Marcus, he's been helping with translations. He didn't show up for his shift today." Quinn made a note. "Marcus have a surname?" "Chen. Marcus Chen. Thirty-four years old, about five-ten, black hair. Has a scar through his left eyebrow from a climbing accident." The description matched. Quinn felt the compass's weight in her pocket. "Ms. Kowalski, what kind of artifacts would Mr. Chen have been carrying?" Eva's hand went to her ear again, tucking the same strand of already-tucked hair. "I couldn't say specifically. We handle hundreds of items each week." "Items like this?" Quinn produced the compass. Eva's sharp intake of breath told Quinn everything she needed to know. The woman reached for it instinctively, then caught herself. "Where did you get that?" "Answer the question." "It's... it looks like a navigation device. Seventeenth century, maybe. The sigils are protective wards. Enochian script." Eva's words came faster now, her academic training overriding caution. "But the craftsmanship is wrong for the period. Too precise. Almost modern." Quinn pocketed the compass again. "You're coming with me." They walked back to the platform. Eva's breathing quickened as they approached the body. When she saw the face, she let out a soft cry and pressed her knuckles to her mouth. "That's him. That's Marcus." Quinn watched her carefully. Genuine grief, but layered with something else. Fear? Guilt? "Ms. Kowalski, I need you to look at the scene and tell me if anything seems wrong." Eva circled the body slowly, careful not to disturb the forensics team. She paused at the platform edge, then looked up at the ceiling. Her brow furrowed behind her glasses. "The blood," she said quietly. Quinn stepped closer. "What about it?" "The pattern's wrong. If he fell from the platform and hit his head on the rail, the blood should have pooled differently. And look —" She pointed to the man's boots. "No scuff marks. If he'd struggled or slipped, there should be marks on the soles." Mills had missed that. So had forensics, apparently. Quinn's respect for the nervous academic rose a notch. "There's more," Eva continued. She'd found her confidence now, treating the scene like one of her manuscripts. "See the dust patterns on the platform? Someone swept this area clean. Recently. But they missed a spot near the wall." Quinn followed her gaze. In the corner where the platform met the tunnel wall, a small pile of what looked like ash and bone fragments had been hastily brushed aside. "Sergeant Mills," Quinn called. "Get forensics over here. Full spectrum photography of this corner." She turned back to Eva. "You know what this place is, don't you?" Eva's hand found her ear again. Tuck. Tuck. "I don't know what you mean." "Ms. Kowalski, your colleague is dead. If you know something that could help me find his killer, now's the time." The younger woman's shoulders sagged. She glanced around at the other officers, then leaned closer to Quinn. Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "Have you heard of the Veil Market?" Quinn kept her expression neutral, but her pulse quickened. "Should I have?" "It's... a gathering place. For collectors of unusual items. They say it moves around, never the same place twice. Marcus had been trying to find it for months. He thought he'd finally gotten an invitation." "An invitation?" "A bone token. Old finger bone, carved with symbols. He showed it to me last week." Eva's voice caught. "I told him not to go alone." Quinn processed this. A secret market for occult artifacts. Her dead urban explorer carrying what looked like a very special compass. And now this nervous researcher who knew far more than any museum employee should about crime scene analysis. "Ms. Kowalski," Quinn said slowly, "I'm going to need you to come to the station. Make a full statement." "Am I under arrest?" "Not yet. But I have questions, and I think you have answers." As they prepared to leave, Quinn took one last look at the scene. The work lights threw harsh shadows across the abandoned platform, turning everyday objects into sinister shapes. She thought of Morris again, of the case that had killed him. The official report blamed a structural collapse, but Quinn had never bought it. Too many inconsistencies, too many witnesses who couldn't quite remember what they'd seen. Now here was another death in another abandoned place, and once again the evidence didn't add up. The compass weighed heavy in her pocket, its brass surface still unnaturally warm. As she followed Eva Kowalski up the rusted stairs, Quinn noticed something odd. The younger woman had stopped tucking her hair behind her ear. Instead, her hand had moved to her satchel, fingers tracing patterns on the worn leather. They looked almost like the sigils on the compass. Quinn filed that observation away. She had a feeling this case would need all the observations she could gather. Because if Eva Kowalski was right about the Veil Market, then Marcus Chen's death was just the beginning. And somewhere in London's abandoned places, someone was cleaning up loose ends.