Run: 2026-02-17-01KHNFVSXXPXT4GVZ2ED8XFKJQ

The Veil Market’s entrance wasa jagged mouth in the brick wall of Camden’s abandoned Northern Line platform, hidden beneath a thick layer of moss and the occasional discarded fast-food wrapper. Detective Harlow Quinn’s worn leather watch ticked steadily as she stepped over the threshold, the cold, damp air of the Tube station wrapping around her like a shroud. Her sharp jawline was set, eyes scanning the gloom. Eva Kowalski, her childhood friend and occult researcher, stood a few feet away, her round glasses reflecting the weak beam of a flashlight she held. Eva’s curly red hair was pulled back in a messy bun, escaping wisps framing her freckled face. She clutched a worn leather satchel, its contents likely a mix of arcane texts and scavenged artifacts. “This is it?” Eva’s voice was hushed, tinged with a mix of apprehension and academic curiosity. “The body’s still here?” “Still here,” Harlow confirmed, her voice low and gravelly. “And the evidence is… messy.” She gestured towards the far end of the platform, where a dim pool of light from Eva’s flashlight illuminated a figure sprawled on the grimy concrete. A man in a cheap suit, face turned upwards, eyes wide and unseeing. A single, precise stab wound pierced his chest, the blade still embedded in his sternum. Blood had pooled around him, dark and viscous in the gloom. “Look at the position,” Harlow continued, crouching beside the body. “The stab wound is clean, deep. But the blood spatter… it’s inconsistent. Too little near the body, too much higher up on the wall.” She traced a finger through the dark fluid, leaving a streak. “No struggle. No defensive wounds. The victim was standing when attacked. But why here? Why now?” Eva knelt beside her, peering closely at the blood. “Maybe he was pushed? Or fell?” She pulled a small, leather-bound notebook from her satchel, flipping it open. “I’ve been researching the Veil Market’s recent activity. There’s been talk of a new dealer, someone dealing in… potent substances. Maybe this is a hit?” “A hit?” Harlow snorted. “This isn’t a street execution. Look at the wound.” She pointed to the blade still lodged in the sternum. “It’s not a common knife. Too long, too thin. And the angle… it’s almost surgical.” She stood, brushing dirt from her trousers. “No, this is personal. Or ritualistic. Something else is missing.” She walked towards the platform’s center, her military boots echoing on the concrete. Eva followed, her satchel swaying. “Ritualistic?” Eva’s brow furrowed. “But there’s no sign of a ritual circle, no symbols drawn in blood or chalk.” “Not necessarily,” Harlow countered, stopping abruptly. “Look up.” She pointed towards the ceiling, where a thick web of exposed pipes and wires hung like skeletal fingers. “The blood spatter pattern on the wall above the body. It’s not just splatter; it’s a spray pattern, like something was thrown upwards. But the victim was standing. How?” “Maybe he was thrown?” Eva suggested, her voice rising slightly. “Or pushed?” “Not likely,” Harlow said, her gaze fixed on a particular pipe. “The spatter is too high, too dispersed. And there’s something else.” She knelt again, this time examining the concrete floor near the body’s feet. “Dirt. Fresh dirt. Not just the usual grime. Look.” She scraped at the surface with a fingernail, revealing a darker, grittier layer beneath the surface grime. “This wasn’t here yesterday. Or the day before. Someone dug here recently.” “But why?” Eva asked, her flashlight beam dancing across the platform. “What’s buried under the Tube?” “I don’t know,” Harlow admitted, standing again. “But it’s connected. The dirt, the spatter, the clean wound… it’s not adding up. This wasn’t a simple murder. It’s a message. Or a warning.” She pulled her worn leather watch from her wrist, checking the time. “We need to get this to forensics, but first…” She reached into her own satchel, pulling out a small, brass compass. It was the Veil Compass, its face etched with protective sigils and a patina of verdigris. She flipped it open, the needle swinging wildly before settling, pointing towards the platform’s center. “The compass is pointing… here,” Harlow stated, her voice low. “Towards the dirt. Towards something buried. Something supernatural. The Veil Market isn’t just a black market; it’s a gateway. And whoever did this knows it. They’re marking their territory, or hiding something they don’t want found.” She snapped the compass shut, tucking it away. “We’re dealing with something older than the Tube. Something that doesn’t play by the rules. And whoever killed him… they’re not done yet.” Her sharp gaze swept the shadows of the abandoned platform, the weight of her partner’s death three years ago pressing down on her shoulders. The Veil Market had claimed another life, and Harlow Quinn was determined to uncover the truth, no matter how deep the shadows ran.