AI The air hung thick with the metallic reek of dried blood and something else, something acrid, clinging to the damp brick of the abandoned Tube station. Detective Harlow Quinn, her salt-and-pepper hair cut close to her head, stepped over a fallen support beam, the worn leather of her watch catching the weak beam of her tactical flashlight. The beam danced across a tableau of shattered glass and upturned stalls, illuminating the chaos of what had once been the Veil Market.
Her sharp jaw tightened. This wasn't her usual beat. Not even close. Eighteen years on the force and she had seen it all. Or so she thought. This place, though... it hummed with an unsettling silence . The usual hum of the city, even underground, felt absent here, replaced by the drip of unseen water and the scuttling of rats.
A figure detached itself from the shadows, its round glasses reflecting the beam of Quinn's light like startled eyes. Eva Kowalski, hair a riot of curly red, clutched a worn leather satchel to her chest, brimming with books. Freckles dusted her nose, pale against her worried face. She looked out of place, a scholar among the grime.
“Detective Quinn, thank you for coming.” Eva tucked a stray curl behind her left ear. Her voice, usually composed, carried a tremor.
Quinn regarded the younger woman, her gaze sweeping over Eva's academic attire, then back to the scene. “What exactly am I looking at, Ms. Kowalski?”
“A supernatural tear, Detective. Or rather, the aftermath of one.” Eva gestured vaguely towards a section of the ruined market where the very air seemed to waver, a distortion in the brickwork that defied physical explanation. “We believe it opened here, siphoning off a significant amount of ambient energy before it was contained.”
Quinn knelt, examining a peculiar brass compass lying amidst the debris. Its casing bore a patina of verdigris, and the face was etched with sigils she didn't recognise. The needle spun wildly, never settling. She picked it up, noting its unexpected weight .
“A ‘supernatural tear’,” Quinn repeated, the words tasting foreign on her tongue . “And this ‘tear’ caused all this destruction?” Her hand swept across the scene of wreckage around them.
“Not directly. The tear itself is more of a gateway. It’s the creatures that came through it and the subsequent struggle to close it that caused the damage.” Eva pointed to scorch marks marring the ancient tunnel walls, their patterns too intricate , too specific, to be merely fire damage. “These are residual magical burns. From what we can piece together, it was a fight.”
Quinn stood, a crease forming between her brows. "A fight with whom?"
Eva wrung her hands. “That’s what we don’t know. The Market’s protective wards are powerful, but something overwhelmed them.” She paused, her green eyes fixed on Quinn. “One of the vendors, a Shade artisan, is missing. And this.” Eva reached into her satchel, pulling out a small, glass vial filled with a viscous, shimmering liquid. “This was found near the breach. A banned alchemical substance. Potent. Designed to suppress otherworldly entities.”
Quinn took the vial, holding it up. The liquid within pulsed faintly. "So, you’re suggesting someone here, perhaps the missing artisan, used this to fight off something that came through this... tear?"
“It's a plausible theory,” Eva said, her nervous habit returning as she tucked her hair behind her ear again. “Given the nature of the Veil Market, it attracts all sorts of entities. Both those who seek to exploit the supernatural and those who actively hunt it.”
Quinn walked over to the distorted brickwork, her eyes narrowing. She ran a gloved hand along the rough surface. No visible entry point, no obvious signs of forced entry. Just this unnatural ripple in reality itself. She had seen similar unexplainable anomalies in her partner's final case – things that defied logic, that felt like a veil had been pulled aside , revealing a monstrous truth.
“And this ‘Shade artisan’," Quinn continued, her voice flat, "just vanished? No struggle, no blood trail, nothing?”
“We found traces of ectoplasmic residue,” Eva offered, her voice barely a whisper . “A signature left by certain ethereal beings. It suggests they were taken, not killed outright.”
Quinn turned, her gaze sharp, piercing. “Taken. By whom? And to where?”
Eva shrugged, a helpless gesture. “Beyond our current capabilities, Detective. We believe another dimension. A pocket realm, perhaps.”
Quinn dismissed the idea with a shake of her head. “Another dimension. Right.” She squatted, examining a jagged tear in the fabric of a canvas stall. Not just ripped, but melted, as if subjected to extreme heat . But not fire. Not exactly. She touched the singed edges, a strange residue coating her fingers. It felt cold. Impossibly cold.
“If there was such a fight,” Quinn said, rising, "where are the bodies? The blood? Besides these few specks?" She indicated a small patch of dried, dark blood on the grimy floor. "And where’s the struggle? The usual chaos of a brawl?" Her eyes swept across the scattered goods, the splintered wood. It was messy, yes, but almost *too * neat for a life-or-death struggle.
“The Market clears out quickly in an emergency, Detective,” Eva explained patiently. “The vendors are adept at disappearing. And the entities themselves... their forms are often ephemeral . They leave little behind.”
Quinn moved closer to the wall, her boot crunching on shards of iridescent glass. She noticed something then, partly obscured by a fallen iron grate. A small indentation in the brick, too precise to be random damage. She knelt again, shining her light on it. It wasn't chipped or broken, but pressed, as though something had been held against it with intense force. A circular indent, about the size of her thumb.
“What were they selling here?” Quinn asked, her voice low .
“Enchanted goods, mostly. Banned alchemical substances, like the one I showed you. And information, of course.” Eva began to look more uncomfortable. “It’s a place of exchange for those who exist outside the mundane.”
Quinn looked from the small circular indent to the warped space of the supposed "tear." Her eyes narrowed . "And where exactly were your people when all this was happening, Ms. Kowalski?"
Eva flinched. “We arrived shortly after, Detective. Responding to the energy signature. We secured the area, as per protocol.”
Quinn walked around the area again, her steps measured , deliberate. She ignored Eva's explanations for a moment, letting her senses take over. The metallic tang of blood filled her nostrils again, but now she also noticed a faint, lingering scent of ozone. Not the clean, sharp smell of lightning, but something mustier, heavier .
She focused on the bloodstains, a tiny dark splatter against the grey dust, then another, leading away from the “tear” towards a collapsed stall. The trail was sparse, almost insignificant. Too little for a full-scale battle, even if the combatants were partially incorporeal.
Her gaze fell upon the brass compass in her hand. The needle still spun wildly. But it wasn't a random spin. There was a rhythm to it, a subtle pull she hadn't noticed before. It wasn’t pointing *to * the tear. It was pointing *away * from it. Towards the far end of the tunnel, into the deeper darkness.
“You said this compass points to the nearest supernatural rift or portal?” Quinn asked, holding it up.
Eva nodded. “Yes. It’s a Veil Compass. Very rare. Very accurate.”
“And it's pointing away from your ‘tear’,” Quinn stated, not a question.
Eva looked at the compass, then back at Quinn, her brow furrowed . “That… that doesn’t make sense. The tear was definitely here.”
Quinn ignored her. She walked, following the subtle, insistent tug of the compass. Past shattered pottery, past fallen banners that depicted strange, arcane symbols. The blood trail, she now noticed, did not lead *from * the tear, but seemed to originate near the collapsed stall, then peter out.
She stopped at the far end of the market, where the tunnel narrowed into another, almost completely dark passage. The compass needle now spun in tight, agitated circles, vibrating in her hand. The scent of ozone was stronger here, almost stinging her nostrils.
“What’s down here?” she asked, her voice a low growl .
Eva peered into the gloom , her expression uncertain. “Nothing of note. Just an old maintenance shaft, we believe. It’s unstable. We sealed it off.”
Quinn stepped over a loose pile of rubble, ignoring Eva’s protests. Her flashlight beam cut through the darkness, illuminating a rough, makeshift barricade of wooden planks and rusted metal. Fresh scratch marks marred the wood, visible even in the dim light. And on the dusty floor, barely discernible against the grime, was another, much larger pool of dried blood. Darker, wider.
This wasn’t a few drops. This was a significant amount.
She ran her fingers over one of the scratches. Not like an animal’s claw. Sharper. More like a tool, or something with a very specific edge.
"You sealed it off, you said?" Quinn turned back to Eva, her brown eyes hard. "When?"
Eva swallowed, her earlier confidence faltering. "Yesterday evening, before dawn. After we secured the main breach.”
Quinn knelt, tracing a finger through the thicker bloodstain. It was still tacky in places, not fully dried. And there, beside it, reflecting the beam of her light, was a fragment of what looked like polished obsidian . Not shattered glass. Obsidian.
“This blood isn't from the same incident, is it, Ms. Kowalski?” Quinn stood, her height a commanding presence . "And this shaft wasn’t just ‘sealed off’. It was broken *into *. And recently."
Eva's face paled further, the freckles standing out starkly. She tucked her hair behind her ear again, a frantic gesture. “I… I don’t understand, Detective. Our sensors indicated a single major event.”
Quinn looked from the obsidian fragment to the heavy bloodstain, then back to the now-feverishly spinning needle of the Veil Compass in her hand. The scent of ozone hummed around her, stronger, more potent here than anywhere else in the market.
“No,” Quinn said, her voice dropping to a near whisper . “Not a single event.” She looked at the blood, at the obsidian. "This isn't the tear. Or at least, it’s not the only one. This is where something *entered *."