Run: 2026-02-17-01KHNFF64853MZBYG803KCAHX6

The bone token felt wrong in Quinn's pocket as she descended the maintenance stairs, its edges too sharp through the fabric of her coat. The constable who'd handed it to her had been sweating despite the October chill, his explanation stumbling over itself—something about evidence leading them here, about following protocol, about jurisdiction. She'd taken the token anyway. Eighteen years on the force had taught her when to push and when to play along. The abandoned platform stretched before her like a throat, emergency lighting casting sickly pools every twenty meters. Camden Market thrummed somewhere above, its Saturday crowds oblivious to what lay beneath their feet. Quinn's footsteps echoed wrong—too many returns, as if the space couldn't decide how big it wanted to be. "Detective Quinn." The voice emerged from shadows near the tracks. "Thank you for coming." Eva Kowalski stepped into the light, round glasses catching the fluorescence. Her red curls were pulled back in a messy bun, and her leather satchel bulged with more than books. Quinn's hand drifted to her sidearm. "Ms. Kowalski." Quinn kept her voice level. "Funny seeing you here. My sergeant said there was a body." "There is." Eva tucked a stray curl behind her left ear, the gesture so practiced it had worn a groove in her movements. "But it's not what your people think." Quinn followed her deeper into the platform. The air grew thick, tinged with copper and something else—ozone, maybe, or the smell before lightning strikes. Market stalls materialized from the gloom: canvas and wood structures that shouldn't exist, displaying wares that made her vision swim. A woman with too many joints in her fingers sorted bottles of liquid shadow. A man whose face kept shifting sold maps drawn on what looked like human skin. The Veil Market. Quinn had heard whispers, dismissed them as folklore. The kind of story criminals told to explain the inexplicable. But here it was, breathing around her like a living thing. "The body," Quinn said, forcing focus. Her worn leather watch showed 3:17 PM, but down here time felt negotiable. Eva led her past a stall selling brass compasses, their faces etched with symbols that hurt to look at directly. One needle spun wildly as Quinn passed. They stopped at a cleared circle near the platform edge, where Metropolitan Police tape sectioned off absolutely nothing. "Your constables put up the tape," Eva said. "Then they left. They won't remember being here." Quinn crouched beside the outline someone had drawn in chalk. Human-shaped, mostly. The proportions were wrong—arms too long, torso compressed. No body, just the suggestion of where one had been. "What am I looking at?" "A Shade." Eva pulled a leather journal from her satchel. "Or what's left of one. They don't leave corpses, not in the traditional sense. When they die, they just... disperse." Quinn stood slowly, military bearing keeping her movements controlled when everything inside wanted to bolt. "And you know this how?" "I research the old texts at the Museum. The restricted ones." Eva's green eyes held steady behind her glasses. "Aurora asked me to—" "Aurora Thorne?" Quinn's voice sharpened. "She's involved in this?" Eva's hesitation told her everything. Quinn had been tracking Aurora's group for months, certain they were running drugs or weapons. The truth was apparently worse. "Detective, you need to understand—" Eva began. "What I understand is a crime scene with no body, an illegal market that shouldn't exist, and you name-dropping a person of interest." Quinn pulled out her notebook, the mundane action grounding her. "Start from the beginning." A bell chimed somewhere, though Quinn saw no source. The market vendors began packing with practiced efficiency. Eva glanced at her watch—an antique thing that probably came from one of these stalls. "The Shade was a broker," Eva said quickly. "Information, mostly. Someone killed it, which shouldn't be possible. Shades exist partially in another realm—you'd need specific methods, specific tools." Quinn studied the chalk outline again. Scorch marks radiated from where the head would be, forming a pattern that looked almost deliberate. She'd seen similar marks three years ago, the night Morris— "How long have you known about this place?" Quinn asked. "Two years. Since I started at the Museum." Eva was packing items into her satchel now—a compass with a spinning needle, bottles of dark liquid. "The archive job is real, but it opened doors. Taught me to see." The market was emptying fast. Canvas folded into impossible angles, disappearing into cases too small to hold them. The woman with wrong fingers gave Quinn a look that might have been pity. "Your partner," Eva said quietly. "Three years ago. Aurora told me." Quinn's hand found her gun. "What do you know about Morris?" "That he saw something he shouldn't have. That he tried to stop it alone." Eva's fingers worried at her satchel strap. "The same thing that killed this Shade might have killed him. We're trying to find out who's doing this." "We?" "Aurora's circle. We're not what you think." Quinn laughed, short and bitter. "Enlighten me." The last vendor vanished up a staircase that hadn't existed thirty seconds ago. The platform lights flickered, threatening to leave them in darkness that felt hungry. "Think of it like... a neighborhood watch," Eva said. "But for things your department isn't equipped to handle. Things that fall through the cracks between what's real and what's possible." Quinn looked at the chalk outline again. The scorch pattern definitely matched the photos from Morris's scene—photos that had mysteriously corrupted on every device, leaving her with only memory and nightmares. "The killer," Quinn said. "Human?" "We don't know." Eva held out a business card that felt too warm. "My real number. When you're ready to see the whole picture." The lights cut out. In the absolute dark, Quinn heard footsteps—too many, moving in directions that didn't exist. Eva's hand found her arm, guided her toward what might be stairs. They climbed blind until gray London light leaked through a service door. They emerged behind a chip shop, the normal world crashing back—car horns, conversation, the smell of frying oil. Quinn's watch read 3:19 PM. Two minutes. It had felt like hours. Eva adjusted her glasses, looking suddenly younger in daylight. "The bone token will dissolve by sunset. Physical evidence has a way of disappearing around the Market. But what you saw—that stays." She walked away before Quinn could respond, red curls bouncing with each step. Quinn stood in the alley, processing. The token in her pocket was already softening, becoming less than bone, less than real. But the questions were solid enough. Morris's death. Aurora's true business. A killer who could destroy beings that existed between worlds. Quinn had always prided herself on seeing what others missed. Now she wondered what else she'd been blind to, walking through London with her eyes half-closed. She pulled out Eva's card—mundane cardstock, but the number written in ink that shifted color in the light. Her partner was gone, but the case had never closed. Not in her mind. And if solving it meant stepping through the cracks in the world, so be it. She pocketed the card and walked back toward the station, already composing the report in her head. Routine investigation. No evidence found. Case transferred to another department. All technically true. The best lies always were.