AI “Step back!” The voice cracked through the stale air, reverberating off the rusted grates. A figure lunged forward, boots scraping the cracked tiles, a flash of metal catching a dim glow from a flickering bulb overhead.
Harlow Quinn ducked just enough to avoid the sudden thrust of a metal pipe. The pipe clanged against a sealed metal door, reverberating like a dying heartbeat. She stared at the doorway, its hinges corroded, the lock half‑melted, a smear of dark residue staining its frame. The residue was not blood; it smelled of ozone and wet stone, an acrid perfume that made her throat tighten.
“Eva?” Harlow called, her voice low, her leather watch ticking against her left wrist with a rhythm that matched the pulsing lights. The satchel slung across Eva’s shoulder swayed as she turned, round glasses perched on a freckled nose, hair tucked behind a left ear in a nervous habit.
“Detective Quinn,” Eva replied, her tone steady despite the tremor in her hand as she lifted a small brass compass from a battered leather case. “Look what I found buried under the floorboards.”
The compass lay on the concrete, its casing verdigris‑stained, a face etched with protective sigils. The needle spun wildly before settling, pointing toward a hidden alcove in the wall. A faint hum rose from the metal, a low, resonant pulse that seemed to vibrate through the floor planks.
“Someone’s been feeding us a story,” Harlow muttered, eyes narrowing . “The victim’s body is missing, yet the blood‑spattered shoes are still here. And why is the compass pointing to a wall that should be solid stone?”
Eva lifted the edge of a cracked tile, revealing a jagged seam. “The market moves every full moon,” she whispered, voice barely audible over the distant hum of an unseen generator. “The Veil Market isn’t a place; it’s a conduit. The token that opened this door was a bone, and the token that closed it was… something else.”
“Guon,” Harlow snapped, her hand hovering over the leather watch . “You think this is a ritual? The victim’s pocket still held a copy of ‘The Occult Primer’, and the ink on the pages is still wet. Whoever took the body must have been in a hurry.”
A low chuckle echoed from the shadows. Harlow turned, pistol drawn, to see a silhouette emerge from an arched passage. The figure wore a trench coat, its collar turned up, a scar marking the left cheek. The silhouette stepped into a shaft of light, revealing a face that Harlow recognized instantly—Detective Harlow Quinn’s own reflection in a shattered mirror, twisted by the candle‑lit glow of a forbidden market.
“Who are you?” Harlow demanded, pistol aimed at the mirror‑image. The figure raised a gloved hand, the leather of the glove creaking.
“Your partner,” the figure replied, voice a hollow echo . “DS Morris. He never left. He’s part of the market now, feeding on the rifts.”
Harlow’s pulse surged. She remembered the night three years ago, the case that had ended in a blaze of inexplicable light, the scream that never faded. The watch on her wrist ticked louder, its worn leather strap tightening around her wrist as if trying to hold her back .
“Enough.” Harlow said, lowering the pistol. “Tell me why the compass points here.”
“The compass is a tool for the Shade artisans,” Eva answered, her eyes darting between the mirror and the compass . “It points to the nearest portal. The rift is behind that wall, but it’s sealed. Someone opened it, pulled something out, and left the body to rot in the darkness.”
Harlow pressed her palm against the wall, feeling a faint vibration, a pulse that matched the compass needle’s restless dance . “If the rift is sealed, why is there a scent of sulphur?” She inhaled, the smell prickling her nostrils, a metallic tang that lingered like a promise of fire.
“Because the portal is not sealed; it’s… compromised,” Eva said, voice trembling . “The market uses bone tokens to open doors, but the next token is a living soul. The victim was a… a carrier, a conduit. The market took her, hoping to harness her energy.”
A sudden crash echoed from the far end of the chamber. A shelf of jars shattered , scattering shards of glass that glittered like a constellation on the floor. From the darkness beyond the wall, a low growl rose, a sound that seemed to scrape the very air .
Harlow turned, pistol raised again, heart pounding . The wall behind the cracked tiles gave way, revealing a yawning black void, a swirling vortex of shadow and light, its edges flickering like a dying firefly. From the vortex, a figure emerged, half‑shrouded, a silhouette of a woman in a tattered coat, eyes glowing with an unearthly hue.
“Back, back, back!” Eva shouted, lunging forward, her satchel spilling ancient tomes, a leather‑bound diary falling open on the concrete. The diary’s pages fluttered , revealing a drawing of a compass identical to the one in Harlow’s hand, surrounded by cryptic symbols.
The figure from the vortex lifted a hand, and the compass needle spun wildly, pointing directly at Harlow’s chest. A cold hand brushed the leather strap of her watch , and the watch ’s ticking faltered, as if the time itself were stuttering .
“Don’t—” Harlow began, but a sudden force slammed her against the wall, the impact rattling the pipe she had dodged earlier. The vortex widened, a scream of wind tearing through the chamber, tearing the broken tiles from the floor, scattering them like shrapnel.
Eva’s satchel hit the ground, books scattering, a thick, leather‑bound volume flipping open to a page that read: “The Veil Market feeds on the living, the dead, and the forgotten. The Compass guides the hungry.”
A metallic clang rang out as a hidden door slammed shut behind the vortex, sealing the darkness inside. The figure’s eyes flickered , a brief flash of recognition crossing its face. “You’ve come too late,” it hissed, voice a chorus of whispers.
Harlow’s grip tightened on her pistol, finger trembling. The compass needle now pointed directly at the figure’s throat, a bright, urgent glow that seemed to pulse with a life of its own . The figure recoiled, a gasp escaping its lips, and the vortex began to collapse, the darkness retreating like a tide.
“Now!” Eva shouted, grabbing the compass, her fingers digging into the brass casing. “We have to seal it!”
Harlow shoved the wall aside, a hidden latch clicking open, revealing a small copper box, its lid inscribed with the same protective sigils as the compass. The box contained a single bone token, polished to a sheen, a faint hum emanating from it.
“Place it in the compass,” Eva urged, holding the token aloft. “It will close the rift.”
Harlow slipped the token into the compass’s casing, the brass clicking into place. The needle spun one final time, then steadied, pointing downwards, into the void that was now shrinking. The vortex’s roar softened, the darkness receding, the figure’s form dissolving into a cascade of ash that drifted to the floor.
A sudden, deafening crack split the air. The wall behind the vault gave way, a cascade of stone tumbling down, revealing a hidden tunnel lined with ancient symbols. A cold wind surged through, carrying a whisper that brushed Harlow’s ear.
“…you cannot stop it…”
The whisper turned into a scream, a guttural howl that seemed to echo from the very bones of the earth . The tunnel’s entrance began to collapse, dust filling the chamber, the sound of grinding stone echoing like a drumbeat.
Harlow grabbed Eva’s arm, pulling her toward the exit. The compass’s needle spun frantically, pointing toward the tunnel’s mouth, then toward the darkness beyond. The watch on Harlow’s wrist ticked faster, the leather strap tightening as if trying to bind her to the moment .
A massive slab of concrete slammed into the passage, sealing the tunnel shut. The echo of the slam reverberated , shaking the floor, the shards of glass from earlier scattering like a rain of glittering knives.
“Run!” Eva yelled, sprinting toward the cracked doorway that led back to the abandoned tube station. Harlow followed, her boots pounding the concrete, the compass clutched tightly in her hand, its needle now pointing straight ahead, toward an unseen destiny.
The door burst open, revealing a narrow stairwell descending into darkness. The air grew colder, the scent of sulphur intensifying, a low hum resonating from below. Harlow paused, breath ragged, the compass’s glow casting eerie shadows on the walls.
A sudden, sharp clang echoed from the stairwell, a metallic clang that sounded like a trap snapping shut . The stairwell’s railing gave way, sending a cascade of rusted iron bars tumbling down, blocking the exit.
“Behind us!” Eva screamed, turning to see a silhouette emerging from the shadows, a figure cloaked in a tattered coat, its eyes a void of black, a grin spreading across a pallid face.
The figure raised a hand, and the compass needle spun wildly, pointing directly at the locked stairwell. A burst of black energy erupted, striking the railing, shattering it into a thousand pieces that fell like rain.
Harlow felt a cold hand brush the back of her neck, the leather strap of her watch snapping, the watch ’s ticking ceasing. The darkness surged forward, a wave of cold that threatened to swallow them whole.
“Now!” Eva shouted, thrusting the compass toward the darkness, its needle glowing brighter, a beacon of light in the black abyss.
The compass emitted a high‑pitched whine, a sound that seemed to split the very air . The darkness recoiled, a scream of rage echoing through the tunnel. The figure’s grin faltered, its form wavering like a candle in a storm.
A sudden flash of light burst from the compass, illuminating the tunnel, the shadows recoiling, the darkness splintering into shards that fell to the ground like broken glass. The figure roared, a sound that shook the walls, and then vanished, leaving only a lingering smell of ozone and ash.
The stairwell’s railing reassembled itself, the iron bars snapping back into place with a satisfying clang. The doorway ahead flickered , the light from the tunnel drawing them forward.
Harlow clutched the compass, its needle now steady, pointing toward the exit. The watch on her wrist ticked once more, a soft, steady beat.
“Let’s go,” she said, voice low, eyes fixed on the path ahead.
Eva nodded, her satchel now empty, the ancient tome lying open on the ground, its pages fluttering in the wind that had begun to die down.
They stepped into the doorway, the darkness behind them sealing shut with a final, resonant thud. The tunnel’s end opened into a narrow alley, the sound of distant traffic echoing faintly. The night air smelled of rain and exhaust, a sharp contrast to the stale scent of the underground.
A sudden, sharp crack split the silence behind them. A shadow moved in the alley’s darkness, a glint of metal flashing in the dim light. The compass needle twitched, pointing toward the new threat.
“Hold your fire!” Harlow warned, her pistol raised, the barrel humming with anticipation .
The shadow lunged, a figure cloaked in black, a blade glinting in the faint glow of the streetlamp. The blade sliced through the air, missing Harlow by a hair, the sound a metallic whisper .
Eva’s eyes widened , her hand reaching for the satchel, a small brass dagger emerging from its depths , its handle etched with sigils.
“Don’t—” Harlow began, but the figure’s hand closed around her wrist, tightening like a vice.
A sudden, deafening roar erupted from the alley, a sound that seemed to tear the world apart . The ground trembled , the streetlamp flickered , and a massive, shadowy silhouette rose from the darkness, its form shifting, a vortex of night and flame.
The silhouette’s eyes locked onto Harlow’s, a silent promise of chaos. The compass needle spun wildly, pointing straight at the heart of the vortex.
“Now!” Eva shouted, hurling the dagger toward the vortex, its blade humming as it sliced through the air.
The dagger struck the vortex’s edge, a flash of light exploding, a shockwave rippling outward. The silhouette shrieked, its form fracturing, shards of darkness scattering like broken glass.
The alley erupted in a blinding flash, the ground shaking, the night sky tearing open for a heartbeat, a glimpse of stars beyond the city’s grime.
When the light faded, the silhouette was gone , the alley empty save for Harlow, Eva, and the compass, its needle now still, pointing toward an unseen horizon.
A distant siren wailed, the sound growing louder, echoing through the streets. Harlow tightened her grip on the pistol, the compass warm against her palm.
“Looks like we’ve got more work to do,” Eva said, voice hushed, eyes scanning the darkness beyond .
Harlow nodded, the leather watch on her wrist finally ticking again, its rhythm matching the pulse of the city.
The alley’s darkness seemed to thicken, a low hum rising from the shadows, a promise that the Veil Market was not finished with them yet.
A sudden, sharp crack sounded from the far end of the alley, a door slamming shut, a guttural laugh echoing through the night. The compass needle quivered , pointing straight at the source of the sound.
Harlow’s eyes narrowed , her pistol trained, heartbeat steady, as the darkness beyond the doorway began to ripple, a portal opening, a vortex of black light swirling, the air humming with an ancient, forbidden power.
“Hold onto something,” Eva whispered, a tremor in her voice, as the vortex expanded, swallowing the alley’s light.
A cold wind surged, the scent of sulphur and wet stone filling the air, the compass’s glow dimming, the watch ’s ticking faltering once more.
The portal’s edge tore open, a figure emerging, its silhouette illuminated by a flickering flame, a hand clutching a bone token, eyes glittering with a predator ’s hunger.
The figure’s voice cut through the night, a low, guttural chant that seemed to echo from the very depths of the earth .
“Your time has run out,” the figure hissed, a grin spreading across a pallid face .
The vortex surged, a wave of darkness crashing toward Harlow, Eva, and the compass, the alley filling with a deafening roar, the night swallowing everything in an instant.