Run: 2026-02-19-01KHSZ0NMHMHHD9HYMCX4JDQAM

Detective Harlow Quinn ducked under the police tape that cordoned off what remained of the abandoned Tube station entrance. Her worn leather shoes clicked against broken tiles as she descended the curved staircase. Water dripped somewhere in the darkness, the sound amplifying in the tunnel's acoustics. The Metropolitan Police had set up portable lights, their harsh beams cutting through decades of dust and neglect. "Another body dump?" Quinn asked the uniformed officer stationed at the bottom of the stairs. "Not exactly, ma'am. You'll want to see for yourself." Quinn followed the trail of evidence markers deeper into the abandoned station. The air grew thicker with each step, carrying the unmistakable scent of copper and something else—something acrid that caught in the back of her throat. The crime scene opened up before her. The station platform had been transformed into something Quinn had never encountered in her eighteen years on the force. Chalk symbols covered the concrete floor in concentric circles, intricate patterns that made her eyes hurt if she tried to follow them for too long. Candle stubs formed another circle outside the chalk, black wax puddles frozen mid-drip. In the center lay their victim, male, mid-thirties, dressed in expensive clothes now soaked in blood. His arms were extended, palms up. His eyes were open, fixed on the ceiling in an eternal stare. But what captured Quinn's attention wasn't the body or even the ritualistic staging—it was the absence of blood spatter. Despite the victim's throat being slashed ear to ear, there was no blood beyond what had pooled beneath him and soaked his clothing. "Glad you could join us, Detective Quinn." Eva Kowalski stood near the body, her green eyes magnified behind round glasses. She tucked a strand of curly red hair behind her left ear, a nervous habit Quinn had noticed during their previous encounters. "Ms. Kowalski." Quinn nodded curtly. "I wasn't aware the British Museum's research assistants were on our consulting payroll now." "Special circumstances." Eva clutched her worn leather satchel closer to her chest. "The symbols are consistent with very specific occult practices. Your superintendent thought my expertise might help." Quinn circled the scene, careful to avoid disturbing evidence. "So you're saying this is what, some kind of ritual killing?" "That's what it's meant to look like." Eva knelt beside the chalk markings, pointing to sections without touching them. "But these symbols are nonsense. It's like someone copied from different sources without understanding the meaning." DS Reynolds, Quinn's current partner, approached from where he'd been interviewing the urban explorers who'd discovered the body. Young, ambitious, and thoroughly conventional in his thinking, Reynolds had been a poor replacement for DS Morris. "Looks like your standard cult murder to me," Reynolds said. "Probably some bored rich kids playing with the occult. Lab says time of death was between midnight and 2 AM." Quinn's eyes narrowed as she studied the scene again. "Then why is there no blood anywhere but directly under him? A cut like that—" she gestured to the victim's throat, "—would have sprayed everywhere. And look at the chalk. Not a single smudge or footprint." "He was killed elsewhere and placed here," Reynolds suggested. "Then where's the blood trail from when they carried him in?" Quinn challenged. "And why go to the trouble of drawing all this only after the fact?" Eva cleared her throat. "There's something else." She reached into her satchel and produced a small brass compass, its face etched with unfamiliar markings and its casing covered with a greenish patina. "May I?" Without waiting for permission, Eva held the compass over various points around the scene. The needle spun wildly when she approached the body but stopped abruptly when she moved toward the outer ring of candles. "What exactly am I looking at?" Quinn asked, her patience wearing thin. "Inconsistencies." Eva tucked the compass away. "The energy here is all wrong. This place has been used for something, but not murder—at least not the kind they want us to think." Quinn felt a familiar prickle at the back of her neck—the same sensation she'd experienced during her last case with Morris before his disappearance. "Show me." Eva guided Quinn around the scene, pointing out discrepancies that had escaped initial observation. The chalk symbols weren't drawn with a steady hand but appeared to have been stenciled. The candles hadn't burned naturally—their wax had been artificially dripped. "And the body?" Quinn asked. "Staged. Look at his fingers." Eva pointed without touching. "No defensive wounds. And his eyes—they've been fixed open deliberately. Whoever did this wanted him found exactly like this." Reynolds snorted. "Are we really taking advice from a librarian?" "Research assistant," Eva corrected automatically. Quinn knelt beside the body, studying it with fresh eyes. "The blood pooled too neatly. And look here—" She pointed to the victim's collar. "Lividity shows he was lying face down for hours before being positioned here." She stood, mentally reconstructing the scene. "This isn't a ritual murder. It's meant to look like one." She turned to Eva. "Any idea what this place really is?" Eva hesitated, fingers twitching toward her satchel. "It's complicated." "Uncomplicate it." "I think we're standing in what was once an entrance to the Veil Market." Eva's voice dropped to nearly a whisper. "The what?" Reynolds asked. Quinn silenced him with a look. "Go on." "It's a—well, I suppose you'd call it a black market. But for items and information that wouldn't normally be available through conventional channels." Eva adjusted her glasses. "These markings are trying to mimic the protections typically found at an entrance point, but they're crude copies." Quinn remembered fragments of Morris's rambling in the weeks before he vanished—tales of impossible things sold in shadow markets beneath London's streets. She'd dismissed it as stress-induced paranoia. Now she wasn't so certain. "So someone killed this man elsewhere, brought him here, and staged this elaborate scene to make it look like an occult ritual." Quinn processed the information. "Why?" "To cover up the real crime? Or to send a message?" Eva suggested. Quinn studied the chalk markings again, noticing patterns she'd missed before. Certain symbols appeared at regular intervals, always in groups of three. "It's a signature," she murmured. "Whoever did this wanted specific people to recognize their work." She turned to Reynolds. "Get me everything we have on the victim. Financial records, phone logs, social media—all of it." "You're not seriously buying this supernatural marketplace nonsense?" Reynolds scoffed. "What I'm buying is that our crime scene has been deliberately staged to mislead us." Quinn checked the worn leather watch on her left wrist. "And I want to know why someone would go to such elaborate lengths." As Reynolds reluctantly departed, Quinn turned back to Eva, who was carefully photographing the symbols with her phone. "Ms. Kowalski, I think we need to have a longer conversation about this Veil Market. Specifically, how one might gain entry." Eva froze mid-photo. "Detective Quinn, these places are dangerous. They operate outside normal laws—both legal and natural." "Three years ago, I lost my partner to something I couldn't explain." Quinn's voice remained steady, but her hands clenched involuntarily. "His last case notes mentioned an underground market where 'anything could be bought for the right price.' I dismissed it then. I won't make that mistake again." Eva studied Quinn with newfound interest. "You'd need a bone token. They're rare, and they're not something you can simply purchase." "Then how does one acquire such a token?" "They're earned. Or inherited." Eva reached into her satchel and hesitated. "I might be able to help, but I need to know you won't just raid the place with a tactical team. That would end... badly." Quinn considered the woman before her. Eva Kowalski was clearly more than just a research assistant, just as this crime scene was more than a simple murder. "I'm interested in justice, Ms. Kowalski. For this man—" she gestured to the body, "—and for DS Morris. If this market holds answers, that's where I need to go." Eva nodded slowly. "We'll need to move carefully. The Market changes locations with each full moon. And whoever staged this scene knows about it too—which makes them even more dangerous." Quinn surveyed the abandoned platform one last time, her trained eyes now seeing the deliberate nature of what had initially appeared chaotic. Someone had gone to extraordinary lengths to create this tableau, and she intended to discover why. "Then we'd better get started," Quinn said, her military bearing straightening her spine as she made a decision. "This isn't just another murder. It's a message. And I intend to read it correctly."