Run: 2026-02-17-01KHNFJET4QN45EFGSVPQ8W5KD

Detective Harlow Quinn stood at the edge of the abandoned Tube station, her breath misting in the cold November air. The yellow police tape fluttered like a warning flag across the entrance, but she'd already shown her badge to the uniform guarding the perimeter. The station had been decommissioned for years, its entrance sealed off from the public. Yet here she was, following a lead that shouldn't exist. The call had come in forty minutes ago. A body found in the tunnels beneath Camden. But the details were wrong. The responding officers reported strange symbols carved into the walls, an unnatural cold that lingered despite the season, and evidence that suggested the victim hadn't died where they'd found him. Quinn adjusted her leather watch, checking the time against the dim glow of her phone. 11:47 PM. She was cutting it close. The Veil Market moved tonight, and she needed to be there before dawn to intercept a shipment of stolen artifacts. But a dead body took precedence over everything else. She ducked under the tape and descended the crumbling concrete steps, her flashlight beam cutting through the darkness. The air grew colder with each step, carrying the scent of damp earth and something else—something metallic and sharp that made her nose wrinkle. At the bottom, she found the crime scene team already at work, their white coveralls glowing in the gloom. DS Morris was waiting for her, leaning against the tiled wall with his arms crossed. He looked up as she approached, his face pale in the flashlight's glow. "You're late," he said, pushing off from the wall. "I thought you weren't coming." "I had a prior engagement," Quinn replied, her voice flat. She moved past him toward the main tunnel, where the body lay. The victim was male, mid-thirties, dressed in what looked like ceremonial robes. His throat had been cut, the blood pooling around him in an unnatural pattern that spiraled outward like a vortex. Morris followed her, his footsteps echoing in the confined space. "You see this?" He gestured to the symbols carved into the walls. "They weren't here yesterday. Someone came in and did this after the body was dumped." Quinn crouched beside the corpse, ignoring the way her knees protested the movement. She studied the wound, noting the precision of the cut. This wasn't random violence. This was ritual. Her fingers brushed against something metallic beneath the robes, and she carefully extracted a small brass compass from the victim's inner pocket. The casing was etched with protective sigils, the needle frozen at an impossible angle. Quinn's breath caught. She'd seen these before—at the Veil Market, where they sold for small fortunes to those who knew what they were looking for. "Quinn?" Morris's voice pulled her back. "You recognize this?" She slipped the compass into an evidence bag, her movements deliberate. "It's nothing. Just another piece of junk." She stood, brushing dirt from her trousers. "What about the symbols? Any idea what they mean?" Morris shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "I've never seen anything like them. They're not gang tags, not religious symbols, not even graffiti. It's like someone was trying to write in a language that doesn't exist." Quinn moved deeper into the tunnel, her flashlight beam catching on something embedded in the wall. She stepped closer, her heart rate increasing. The substance looked like verdigris, but it was spreading in patterns that suggested growth rather than decay. She reached out, her fingers hovering just above the surface. "Don't touch that," Morris warned, but she ignored him. The moment her skin made contact, a shock ran up her arm, and the symbols on the wall began to glow with an otherworldly light. "What the hell?" Morris's voice was tight with fear. "Quinn, get back!" She stumbled backward, her flashlight clattering to the ground. The light from the symbols intensified, casting strange shadows that moved independently of any source. The air grew thick with the scent of ozone and something else—something that reminded her of the Veil Market, of the hidden world that existed just beyond the edge of normal perception. "The compass," she whispered, her mind racing. "The needle was pointing to this. The victim wasn't killed here. He was drawn here." Morris grabbed her arm, his grip bruising. "Drawn by what? Quinn, we need to get out of here. This place isn't safe." But she couldn't move. The symbols were speaking to her, their meaning just beyond her grasp. She'd spent eighteen years on the force, had seen things that would make most people question their sanity, but this—this was different. This was a language she almost understood, a truth she was close to uncovering. "The Veil," she breathed, the pieces falling into place. "The Market moves tonight. This isn't just a crime scene. It's a doorway." Morris's grip tightened. "What are you talking about? Quinn, focus. We need to call for backup." She shook her head, her eyes fixed on the glowing symbols. "No backup. They won't understand. They'll seal this place off, and we'll lose whatever's trying to come through." "Quinn, you're not making sense." Morris's voice was rising, panic bleeding through. "We need to go. Now." But she couldn't leave. Not when she was so close to understanding. The compass in her pocket was growing warm, its needle spinning wildly as if trying to point in multiple directions at once. She pulled it out, watching as the symbols on its casing began to match those on the wall. "The Market," she whispered again, realization dawning. "The victim was a merchant. He was carrying artifacts, trying to cross over. But someone stopped him." Morris was pulling at her now, trying to drag her toward the exit. "We need to go, Quinn. Please." She resisted, her eyes never leaving the symbols. "The artifacts are still here. Somewhere in these tunnels. We need to find them before—" Before what? She didn't know. But she could feel it in her bones, in the way the air crackled with potential energy. The Veil was thinning, the boundary between worlds growing fragile. And she was standing at the center of it all, with a dead man's compass in her hand and a mystery that went deeper than anything she'd encountered in her years on the force. "Quinn!" Morris's shout was desperate now. "We're leaving. Right now." She let him pull her away, but her mind was already racing ahead, planning her next move. She'd need to get back to the surface, to her car, to the tools she kept hidden in the false bottom of her glove compartment. The ones that weren't exactly regulation issue. Because whatever had killed that man, whatever had drawn him to this place, it wasn't finished. And she intended to be ready when it came back. The symbols faded as they reached the entrance, their light extinguished like a snuffed candle. But Quinn could still see them, burned into her vision like afterimages. She knew she'd be seeing them in her dreams tonight, whispering secrets she wasn't yet ready to understand. Morris was still talking, his words a blur of concern and confusion. But she barely heard him. Her focus was on the compass in her pocket, on the way its needle had finally settled, pointing not north, but toward the heart of the city, toward the place where the Veil was thinnest. The Veil Market. And she had exactly three hours to get there before it moved again.