Run: 2026-02-19-01KHT0BHW84MKM0NN5ZP95HRT2

The echoing clatter of heels reverberated through the dimly lit corridors of the abandoned Tube station. Detective Harlow Quinn moved with precise determination, her sharp eyes absorbing every shadow and flicker. The cloying scent of damp earth and the faint whisper of something sweet and metallic in the air marked The Veil Market’s latest temporary home. Her worn leather watch glinted momentarily as she checked the time, tapping its face as if to urge the hands onward. Ahead lay the crime scene, a pool of light amidst the gloom. Officers milled around, their figures casting long shadows on the curved walls. The drone of voices mingled with the distant rumble of the city above, a reminder of the world continuing, oblivious. “Harlow, over here!” Detective Sergeant Fields waved, drawing her attention to a narrow alcove where the twisting roots of some long-forgotten tree had forced their way through the brickwork. Even in the depths of neglect, life found a way. “Fields,” said Quinn as she approached, falling into stride next to the stocky detective, younger but somehow already wearied by the job. He gestured towards the body, half-obscured by an overturned crate. “Another one,” he said, pointing out the chalk-white hand extended in an eerie welcome. “Found her just a couple of hours ago. No sign of forced entry or struggle.” Quinn knelt by the corpse, eyes tracing the details. Late twenties, unmarked by visible violence. Her skin a tableau of life interrupted, hair unbound and cascading over her shoulders. What caught Quinn’s attention was the dusting of what looked like silver powder across the victim’s fingertips. “The same pattern,” Quinn muttered, noting another detail: a bone token clasped loosely in the victim’s other hand, its origins unmistakably linked to the Market. “These tokens... doesn’t make sense for the locals here. They know better than to carry something so unique on them.” Fields shrugged, a gesture underscored by the weary acceptance that came with policing this ragged fringe of the city. “Could be involved with trading, though we’re not getting much from this crowd. No one saw anything, no one heard anything.” “Convenient, isn’t it? And yet, here she lies.” Quinn rose, casting a long look around the bustling scene. Something felt amiss beneath the surface, an odd arrangement of pieces that stubbornly refused to form a complete picture. “You’ve seen that compass?” Fields gestured with his chin toward a small brass object peeking from beneath the victim’s jacket. “Never seen anything quite like it.” Quinn pulled on gloves, extracting the compass with care. Its patina spoke of age, and the sigils etched meticulously around its face whispered of warding — a protection against being lost, or found. For denizens of The Veil Market, such artifacts were not uncommon, yet the circumstances raised questions. “Funny thing,” Fields continued as Quinn scanned the compass. “There’re whispers among the Market folk. Something about the old rift beneath the city stirring. They all swear it doesn’t impact their business, but that more folk are testing the waters.” Quinn remembered the stories, the hints of things that lurked in the spaces between here and elsewhere. She almost laughed bitterly at the notion that anything supernatural could be divorced from real-world consequences. She turned the compass over, feeling its faint hum, its needle quivering toward the nearest unseen tear in the fabric of reality. “This compass points to rifts,” she spoke quietly. “So tell me, where does it believe the closest one is?” Fields cast her a quizzical glance, bemused. “Surely not here?” “Why not here?” Quinn rose, switching scans between the victim and the compass. Fields lingered on her words. “You think she could’ve triggered something?” “Or been in the wrong place at a time when things align perfectly to go wrong.” Quinn strode away from the alcove, the compass now in her hand. A circumspect tension unfolded as she listened rather than spoke, the tiny device tugging at an unseen line like a fishhook in familiar waters. She traced an imagined path through the chaotic space, following the compass as if it had the answers. They wove through alcoves and shadows, places where light ended abruptly, and the walls seemed to breathe with the life they sheltered. Creatures of the black market watched her passage, stealing glances they hoped she'd not see. Suddenly, the compass's needle swerved, quivering with pointed intent. Quinn froze. A wall, unremarkable at first glance, but her eyes caught the faint shimmer pooling at its centre. The wall's veneer, a fabric of reality stretched thin. A shadow in the gloom, Fields hesitated by her side, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Well, that’s new.” “Not for long,” Quinn muttered. “Get forensics, and mark it off. This could be connected to the girl or something larger. Someone has to be steering these events.” “You think she had warning? Knew something we don’t?” “Maybe. Or maybe she was just curious.” Quinn ran a hand over her cropped hair, a pause before adding. "Questions only ever lead to more questions until we find those who answer them." “Means stepping deeper into this place, doesn’t it?” Fields exhaled as Quinn noted the marks on the floor, swirls of dust and scatter of deeper scratches that disrupted the stillness. “Knowing our luck, probably,” Quinn replied, pulling herself away, clutching at that flicker of connection. Pieces would form a whole, just a matter of unearthing each beneath the masks they wore. As Fields signalled to the others, Quinn stepped back. Shadows retreated over the wall, folding their layers with secrets, murmurings brushing the edges of her hearing. A siren at the edges of the tunnel broke the illusion, daytime pressing against the darkness. Evidence lay in the air, tendrils of mystery mingled with truth. Quinn glanced back at the compass. It still trembled in her hand, its course unseen but known, leading in slow spiral until its needle stilled. At the very least, this, too, was a map of answers waiting to be followed.