Run: 2026-02-17-01KHNFXTKGPHRPP9WHEJC7Y2TN

The abandoned Tube station at Camden swallowed thelast of the afternoon light, its concrete walls slick with damp and the air thick with the scent of ozone and decay. Detective Harlow Quinn’s boots echoed hollowly on the rusted tracks, each step a measured thud against the oppressive silence. Her gaze, sharp and analytical, swept the scene with practiced efficiency. The body lay sprawled near the old platform edge, a stark contrast against the grime-streaked brickwork. No obvious trauma marked the pale skin, no blood pooled around the figure. It was as if the man had simply... evaporated, leaving only the empty shell. Quinn’s hand drifted to her left wrist, fingers brushing the worn leather strap of her watch. Time was a luxury she couldn’t afford. She’d been summoned here by a cryptic message from the Met’s occult liaison unit, a unit she’d long distrusted. The location itself screamed of the Veil Market, that hidden underworld beneath the city’s skin. The bone token, discarded near the entrance, confirmed it. But the evidence here defied logic. No forced entry, no struggle, no weapon. Just a man, dead, in a place where death often wore a different face. Her partner, DS Morris, stood nearby, his expression a mixture of confusion and unease. He was younger, more idealistic, still grappling with the supernatural undercurrents Quinn had long suspected. “Looks like a heart attack, boss,” he murmured, his voice tight. “No signs of foul play. Just... gone.” Quinn didn’t turn. Her eyes, sharp brown, remained fixed on the body. “Gone?” she repeated, the word tasting bitter. “Or pulled through?” She gestured towards the compass clipped to her belt. “The Veil Compass is pointing straight at him. Not just pointing, Morris. It’s humming. Like it’s trying to pull us in.” Morris frowned, squinting at the small brass device. “The compass? It’s just reacting to the energy here. The market’s always active.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe it’s a suicide? Someone jumped?” “Jumped?” Quinn’s voice was a low growl. “From where? The platform’s thirty feet up. And why no marks? No struggle, no suicide note, no sign of anyone else being here. The bone token’s fresh, Morris. Someone came, left it, and came back for... whatever they took.” She knelt beside the body, her fingers brushing the cold skin near the throat. “No pulse. No breath. But the compass... it’s not just reacting. It’s *focused*. Like it’s trying to show us something specific.” Morris leaned in, his round glasses reflecting the dim light. “Maybe it’s malfunctioning? Or maybe... maybe it’s not the compass pointing *to* him, but *from* him? Like he was the source?” Quinn straightened, her sharp jawline set. “That’s a theory. But it doesn’t explain the lack of evidence. No struggle, no forced entry, no sign of a struggle. And why here? The Veil Market moves every full moon. This station’s been abandoned for years. Unless... unless whoever brought him here knew it would be empty. Knew the market wasn’t moving tonight.” She stood, her military bearing rigid. “Get forensics in. Photograph everything. But I want you to look again, Morris. Look for the *invisible*. The Veil Market trades in things that don’t belong. Maybe whatever took him left something behind. Or maybe... maybe he wasn’t taken. Maybe he was... transformed. Or erased.” Morris’s green eyes widened slightly. “Erased? Like... like he never existed?” “That’s the only explanation that fits the evidence,” Quinn stated flatly. “Or the opposite. He was pulled through. But if he was pulled through, where is he? The compass points to a rift, not a body. Unless... unless the rift consumed him, leaving nothing but the shell. But why leave the shell here? Why not take the body too?” She turned, her gaze sweeping the cavernous space. “This isn’t a random act, Morris. This is the Veil Market doing its work. And whoever’s behind it... they’re not just criminals. They’re something else. Something I’ve suspected for years. And now... now they’ve taken a man, and left us nothing but a puzzle wrapped in silence and a compass that won’t stop humming.” She fixed him with a stare that held the weight of three years of loss and suspicion. “Find the invisible, Morris. Or find out why the compass is lying to us.” She turned and walked towards the entrance, the humming of the Veil Compass a constant, unsettling undertone in the oppressive silence of the abandoned station.