Run: 2026-02-19-01KHT00P6K3ES8V6W7A4PDRH8S

The flicker of emergency lights painted the crumbling tiles of the abandoned Tube station in pulses of red and blue. Detective Harlow Quinn stepped off the rusted escalator, her boots crunching over shattered glass and debris. The air was thick with the scent of damp concrete and something metallic—iron, maybe. She adjusted the worn leather watch on her wrist, her sharp jaw tightening as she surveyed the scene. Uniformed officers stood in clusters, their voices low and tense. A body lay sprawled near the platform’s edge, partially obscured by a tattered curtain that hung from a makeshift stall. The Veil Market had been here, that much was clear. Stalls had been hastily abandoned, their wares left behind: jars of glowing substances, strange trinkets, and scrolls inscribed with symbols she couldn’t decipher. “Quinn.” The voice came from her left. DS Morris’s replacement, Detective Collins, approached with a clipboard in hand. His tie was loosened, and his face bore the fatigue of a long shift. “Victim’s name is Eva Kowalski. Twenty-six. Research assistant at the British Museum. Found by a couple of urban explorers who stumbled in.” Harlow’s gaze flicked to the body. Eva Kowalski lay face down, her curly red hair splayed against the grimy floor. Her round glasses were cracked, and her leather satchel lay open nearby, its contents spilled: books, notes, and a small brass compass. The casing had a patina of verdigris, and the face was etched with protective sigils. A Veil Compass. Harlow’s eyes narrowed. “Cause of death?” she asked. “Initial assessment suggests a fall,” Collins said, nodding toward the platform’s edge. “But there’s no train here, so…” He trailed off, shrugging. Harlow knelt beside the body, her movements precise and deliberate. She examined Eva’s hands first. No defensive wounds, no signs of a struggle. Her nails were clean, save for a faint trace of dirt. “She wasn’t fighting anyone.” “Maybe she tripped,” Collins offered. “This place is a death trap.” Harlow ignored him, her focus shifting to Eva’s satchel. She picked up the compass, turning it over in her hands. The needle spun erratically before settling to point toward the platform’s edge. She glanced in that direction but saw nothing except the darkened tunnel. “She wasn’t just here for the market. She was looking for something.” “Looking for what?” “Something specific.” Harlow stood, slipping the compass into her coat pocket. “Did you find her phone?” Collins shook his head. “No personal effects except the satchel.” Harlow’s eyes swept the scene again. The stalls were in disarray, but there was something off about the placement of the body. Eva hadn’t been near any stall when she fell. She’d been near the platform’s edge, as if she’d been walking toward the tunnel. “She wasn’t pushed,” Harlow said, more to herself than to Collins. “What makes you say that?” “No signs of a struggle, no bruising. If someone pushed her, they’d have had to catch her off guard from behind. But look at her posture—she’s facing the tunnel. She saw something.” Collins raised an eyebrow. “You think she jumped?” Harlow didn’t answer. She stepped closer to the platform’s edge, peering into the darkness. Her flashlight cut through the gloom, illuminating graffiti-covered walls and scattered debris. Nothing unusual, except—there. A faint shimmer, like heat rising off asphalt, hovered just beyond the beam’s reach. “What is that?” Collins asked, squinting. “Stay here.” Harlow turned off her flashlight and waited. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and the shimmer became clearer—a distortion in the air, barely perceptible but unmistakable. She pulled the compass from her pocket. The needle pointed directly at the distortion. “Quinn,” Collins said, his voice uneasy. “What are you seeing?” She didn’t answer. Instead, she took a step closer, her military bearing unwavering. The distortion shifted, rippling like water disturbed by a stone. She reached out, her fingers brushing the edge of it. A cold, electric sensation shot up her arm, and she jerked her hand back. “We’re done here,” she said, turning sharply. Collins blinked. “What? We’ve barely started processing the scene.” “This isn’t your average homicide. Get a forensics team in, but tell them not to touch anything near the platform’s edge. And get me everything you can find on Eva Kowalski—her work, her research, her associates.” Collins hesitated, his gaze flicking between Harlow and the platform. “You think there’s something… supernatural here?” Harlow’s jaw tightened. She didn’t believe in ghosts or monsters—not yet, anyway. But three years ago, DS Morris had died investigating a case that defied explanation. She’d seen the evidence, heard the whispers, but refused to accept it. Now, standing in the shadowed depths of the Veil Market, she couldn’t ignore the feeling crawling up her spine. “Just do it,” she said, her voice clipped. She turned and walked back toward the escalator, the compass heavy in her pocket. The distortion lingered in her mind, a puzzle piece that didn’t fit. Eva Kowalski hadn’t fallen. She’d been pulled.