Run: 2026-02-19-01KHT0PF8WAS103JT5DJEBXRFQ

Detective Harlow Quinn stepped off the rickety stairway and onto the dimly lit platform of the abandoned Camden Tube station, the air thick with the scent of decay and smoke. The Veil Market's temporary residence. A makeshift banner, crafted from what appeared to be human hair and twisted silver wire, hung above the stall-lined tunnel, reading 'The Veil Market' in flickering, ethereal script. Quinn's gaze swept the area, her sharp jaw set in a firm line. This was no ordinary crime scene. "Quinn, over here," a voice called, echoing off the damp walls. She navigated through the crowded market, weaving past hooded figures and stalls peddling everything from iridescent vials of glowing liquid to tomes bound in what looked like charred human skin. Her worn leather watch caught on a stray thread from a nearby tapestry, and she detached it with a practiced flick of her wrist. At the far end of the platform, near a stall displaying an assortment of peculiar, ancient-looking timepieces, Quinn spotted her colleague, Detective Inspector Tom Bradley, kneeling beside a body. A bone token, the market's entry requirement, lay on the ground nearby, partially hidden by a crumpled, black coat. "Bradley, what've we got?" Quinn asked, approaching the scene with military precision, her eyes scanning the area for potential evidence. "Male victim, mid-thirties. No ID on him. Looks like a robbery gone wrong," Bradley replied, his voice laced with a hint of uncertainty as he stood, brushing off his trousers. "The vendor," he nodded toward the timepiece stall's owner, "claimed he saw nothing. Heard a scuffle, found the body. The market's...patrons are cooperating, for the most part." Quinn's gaze locked onto the body. The victim's eyes were frozen in a permanent stare, his pupils constricted. A faint, bluish glow emanated from his lips, barely perceptible. She crouched beside the body, her fingers instinctively hovering above the victim's wrist, seeking a pulse, though she knew she wouldn't find one. "What's with the...light?" Quinn asked, her brow furrowed, as she carefully lifted the victim's jacket, searching for any hidden pockets or clues. Bradley shifted, his eyes darting toward the stall owner before responding, "I figure it's some sort of poison or a spell. We'll know more after the autopsy." Quinn's attention snapped back to the body. A small, almost imperceptible line on the victim's left palm caught her eye. She gently rotated the wrist, and the dim light from the market danced across the symbol etched into the skin – a sigil, one she'd seen before in her research on the supernatural. "Not a poison, Bradley. This symbol...it's a marker. Left by a Shade artisan," Quinn stated, her voice low, as she carefully committed the sigil's patterns to memory. Bradley's expression turned skeptical. "You're not suggesting our victim was involved with Shades, are you? That's a pretty deep dive into conspiracy territory, Quinn." Quinn's gaze never wavered from the symbol. "Conspiracy or not, this marker is our lead. I want all possible connections to Shade artisans looked into. Now." As Bradley nodded, reluctantly, and began to relay Quinn's instructions into his phone, the detective's attention wandered to the nearby stalls. The vendor from the timepiece stall watched her, an intensity behind his eyes that made Quinn's instincts twitch. She rose, smoothing her closely cropped salt-and-pepper hair, a habitual gesture when focusing. "Bradley, I want a list of all stall owners and patrons who were here tonight. Specifically, anyone dealing in...unusual timepieces or artifacts," Quinn instructed, her eyes locked onto the vendor, who quickly looked away, busying himself with rearranging his wares. "Eva Kowalski might be a good resource for this, Quinn," Bradley suggested, tucking his phone into his pocket. "Her occult knowledge could help decipher the symbol and potential connections to Shade artisans." Quinn's expression turned thoughtful, the wheels already turning in her mind. "Get in touch with Eva. I'll meet her at the museum. We have a symbol to unravel, and I aim to find out what our victim was doing here, among the shadows of the Veil Market." With practiced efficiency, Quinn began to process the crime scene, her sharp jaw set in determination. The Veil Market might trade in secrets, but Harlow Quinn was about to uncover one. "Let's pack up, Bradley. We've only scratched the surface of what's really going on here."