Run: 2026-02-19-01KHT00215MKB42FABDCS5KAHV

Yellow police tape fluttered in the stagnant draft rising from the black throat of the staircase. Detective Harlow Quinn ducked under the plastic strip, the familiar scent of ozone and mildew hitting her like a physical blow. Beneath the streets of Camden, the abandoned tube station wasn't silent. It hummed, a low vibration that rattled the fillings in her teeth. Harlow adjusted the worn leather watch on her left wrist, checking the time out of habit. 0200 hours. The call had come in anonymously, routed through three switchboards before landing on her desk. *Officer down,* they said. *Or something like it.* But Morris was three years dead, and she worked alone now. She descended the spiraling concrete steps, her grip tight on the railing. Her flashlight cut a stark white cone through the gloom, illuminating tiled walls cracked by tree roots and neglect. At the platform level, the beam caught the glint of brass, glass, and bone. Makeshift stalls lined the platform edge, draped in heavy purples and arterial reds. Jars floating with unrecognizable organs sat next to dried herbs that smelled of rot and nutmeg. The Veil Market. Harlow kept her hand near her hip holster. The place was empty of life, but the air felt heavy, watched. "You're late." The voice echoed from the far end of the platform. Harlow swung the light, pinpointing a figure crouched beside a sprawl of overturned crates. Eva Kowalski shielded her eyes against the glare, her other hand instinctively tucking a stray lock of curly red hair behind her left ear. She wore a heavy coat over her usual cardigan, her leather satchel bulging with thick volumes. "Turn that thing down, Quinn. You'll blindly the spirits." Harlow lowered the beam but didn't holster it. She marched across the cracked tiles, her boots striking the floor with military rhythmic precision. "This is a crime scene, Miss Kowalski. Not a library annex. Who authorized your presence?" Eva stood, brushing dust from her knees. She pointed a thumb over her shoulder at the darkened tunnel mouth. "The uniform at the top of the stairs took one look at the glyphs painted on the entrance and vomited. He was happy to let the 'consultant' take over." Harlow stopped three feet from her. "I didn't call a consultant." "The nature of the victim called me." Eva stepped aside, revealing what lay behind the crates. A man sat propped against the tiled wall. He looked peaceful, hands folded in his lap. But his skin wasn't skin. From the neck down, he was solid, translucent crystal. His clothes were trapped inside the substance, frozen in mid-fold. Only his head remained flesh, eyes wide and staring at the ceiling, mouth open in a silent scream. Harlow crouched, careful not to touch the crystallization. "Identify." "Known in the archives as 'Silas the Weaver'," Eva said, her voice dropping to a whisper. She pulled a notepad from her satchel. "Deals in binding spells and elemental traps. Looks like a containment breach. He turned himself into quartz." Harlow leaned in. The crystal surface was cold, radiating a chill that misted her breath. "Accidental suicide?" "That's the working theory. He was selling a Gorgon's tear. Highly unstable. If the containment field shattered..." Eva made an exploding gesture with her hands. "Instant petrification. Though, usually, it's stone, not quartz. This is... high-grade transmutation." Harlow pulled a pen from her pocket, using the tip to prod the collar of the victim's shirt where the flesh met the crystal. The transition was seamless. Molecular. To the untrained eye, it was magic. To Harlow, it was a sequence of events. "Where is this tear now?" Eva pointed to the ground near the victim's frozen boot. A lead box lay open, lined with velvet. Empty. "Shattered, diffused into the air. We're lucky we aren't lawn ornaments right now. The residue must have dissipated." Harlow stood and shone her light around the immediate area. "So, he drops a magical grenade, it explodes, turns him to crystal, but leaves the velvet box untouched?" Eva pushed her round glasses up her nose. "The spell targets organic matter. The box is lead." "And the wooden crates?" Harlow kicked a splintered slat of wood near the body. "Organic. Cellulose. Why isn't this quartz?" Eva paused, her brow furrowing. She looked from the crate to the body. "That... is an anomaly. Perhaps the radius was extremely localized." Harlow moved past the body, stepping into the chaotic mess of the stall Silas had been running. "Anomalies are just clues you're too lazy to read." She scanned the shelves. Bundles of sage, silver daggers, and a small brass instrument sitting on a velvet cushion. It looked like a compass, but the face was etched with sigils rather than cardinal directions. "Don't touch the Compass," Eva warned, stepping up behind her. "It tracks rifts. It's sensitive." Harlow ignored her, lifting the casing with her pen. The patina of verdigris felt rough against the plastic. The needle inside wasn't floating; it was pinned hard to the south-east, vibrating slightly. "It points to the nearest supernatural energy source," Eva recited, sounding like she was reading from a plaque at the museum. "Right now, it's pointing at Silas. The residual energy in his corpse." "Is it?" Harlow turned the compass. The needle didn't swing relative to the casing. It stayed locked in its position, regardless of where she stood. She walked five paces to the left, away from the body. The needle didn't track the corpse. It pointed at the wall behind the stall. "Your toy is broken, Kowalski." Eva hurried over, peering at the dial. "That's impossible. Shade artisans craft these to be infallible. Unless there's a stronger source behind that wall." Harlow holstered her light and pulled a multi-tool from her belt. She approached the tiled wall the needle favored. "This isn't a stronger source. It's a distraction." She ran her hand over the grime-eaten tiles. A distinct smell lingered here, separate from the ozone. Acrid. Chemical. Like a darkroom developer fluid mixed with burnt hair. "What are you doing? The body is over there." "Look at the floor," Harlow commanded, pointing to the dust near the wall. Eva squinted. " footprints?" "Drag marks. Two parallel lines. Heels. Someone was pulled *away* from this spot." Harlow tapped a loose tile with the handle of her tool. It sounded hollow. She jammed the blade into the grout and twisted. The tile popped loose. Behind it wasn't brick or earth, but a hidden cavity insulated with lead sheeting. Inside sat a humming industrial generator the size of a car battery, hooked up to a series of copper coils embedded in the wall. Eva gasped. "Is that... a dispel engine?" "It's an electromagnet," Harlow said, her voice flat. "A big one. And look." She reached into the cavity with her gloved hand and pulled out a crushed canister. The label was faded, but the skull and crossbones were clear. *Liquid Polymer-Silicate Compound. Industrial Use Only.* Harlow tossed the canister to Eva, who fumbled to catch it. "He wasn't transmuted," Harlow said, turning back to the glistening corpse. "He was sprayed. High-velocity coating. Flash-hardens on contact with organic fibers. It's not quartz; it's a resin shell. He suffocated inside it." Eva stared at the canister, then back at the body. "But the Compass... it was reacting to the energy." "The Compass is magnetic, isn't it? Fancy brass casing, iron needle?" Harlow gestured to the hidden generator. "Whatever killed him set up that magnet to jam the compass so nobody could track the entry point. It's not mystique, Kowalski. It's physics." Harlow walked back to the body. She knelt and shone her light directly into the victim's open mouth. Deep in the throat, past the frozen scream, a glint of blue. "He tried to swallow something before the shell hardened." Eva moved closer, the horror on her face replaced by academic curiosity. "A token?" "Evidence." Harlow used tweezers from her kit, bypassing the resin-crusted lips. She extracted a small, hard object. It wasn't a magical amulet. It was a SIM card. Harlow dropped it into an evidence bag. "Your 'weaver' was selling information, not spells. And someone wanted to make sure he stayed quiet forever. The 'magical accident' was theater. Designed to keep people like you staring at the crystal so you wouldn't look at the walls." Eva looked at the hidden compartment again, then at the dead man. Her fingers went to her ear, tucking the hair back nervously. "This... this changes the jurisdiction. If it's tech-based murder..." "Then it's mine." Harlow stood up, her sharp jaw set. She looked at the shadows stretching down the tunnel. The hum of the station seemed to change pitch, no longer a supernatural vibration, but the distinct, mechanical whir of ventilation fans kicking on. "Pack up your superstition, Eva. We're looking for a chemist, not a warlock." Harlow stepped over the crate, the leather of her shoes crunching on the fake crystal residue. She stopped and looked back at the researcher. "And Kowalski?" Eva looked up, clutching her satchel. "Good call on the lead box. It kept the magnet from wiping the SIM card." Harlow turned her back on the glittering corpse and started walking toward the exit, the yellow beam of her flashlight cutting a path through the false magic, searching for the very real footprints leading out of the dark.