Run: 2026-02-19-01KHT0QAK6K6A6SAEM2WT4N7QG

The Veil Market’s entrance was arusted iron grate in the brick wall of a Camden Town tube station, half-buried under decades of grime and peeling posters. Detective Harlow Quinn pushed it open, the hinges groaning like a dying beast. She stepped into a cavern of shadow, the air thick with the scent of ozone and damp earth. The only light came from flickering gas lamps, casting long, dancing shapes on the walls. Eva Kowalski stood near a flickering lantern, her round glasses reflecting the dim glow. She clutched a worn leather satchel, her red curls escaping a loose braid, one hand absently tucking a strand behind her left ear. Quinn’s boots echoed on the uneven stone floor. She scanned the scene: a body sprawled near a stack of crates, a knife protruding from the chest. But something felt off. The victim’s posture was unnatural, almost relaxed, as if they’d simply sat down. The knife wasn’t bloody. The crates were empty, but the floor beneath them was clean, untouched. No footprints led away. The only disturbance was a faint, shimmering haze clinging to the air near the body’s feet. “Looks like a straightforward mugging gone wrong,” Eva murmured, her voice low. “The victim was probably carrying something valuable. Someone took it, panicked, and stabbed them.” Quinn knelt beside the body, ignoring the stench of decay. She traced the knife wound with a gloved finger. “No blood on the blade. No blood on the floor. The victim’s clothes are clean. No struggle marks on the crates. And look at this.” She pointed to the shimmering haze. “That’s not normal. Not for a mugging.” Eva leaned in, squinting. “Could be dust or something. The market’s old.” “Dust doesn’t shimmer like that,” Quinn countered, her sharp jawline set. “And it’s concentrated here. Near the body. Like it’s clinging to something.” She pulled out her pocket watch, a worn leather strap ticking steadily. “Time of death? Three hours ago. According to the coroner’s report.” She glanced at Eva. “But the body’s temperature suggests it’s been longer. And the lack of rigor mortis is… unusual.” “Could be the cold,” Eva suggested, her fingers nervously twisting the strap of her satchel. “The market’s underground. It stays cool.” “The body’s core temperature is still warm,” Quinn insisted, her eyes scanning the shadows. “And the skin… it’s not pale. It’s almost… luminous.” She stood, brushing dirt from her trousers. “This wasn’t a mugging. This was a ritual. Or something worse. Look at the position. The knife isn’t just a weapon; it’s a symbol. And that haze… it’s a barrier. Something protected the victim, or trapped something here.” Eva’s green eyes widened. “A barrier? Like… magic?” “Something supernatural,” Quinn confirmed, her voice tight. “And whoever did this knows how to hide their tracks. No footprints, no struggle. They used the environment. The Veil Market isn’t just a market, Eva. It’s a gateway. And whoever’s running this… they’re not just criminals. They’re something else.” She pulled the Veil Compass from her left wrist. The brass casing was etched with protective sigils, its patina a deep verdigris. She flipped it open. The needle didn’t point north. It spun wildly, then settled, trembling, towards a point near the body’s feet. “The Compass,” Eva breathed. “It points to rifts.” “Exactly,” Quinn said, her military bearing rigid. “There’s a rift here. Or near here. And whatever did this… they used it. Or they’re hiding behind it. The evidence doesn’t add up because the rules changed. This isn’t a human crime. This is something else entirely.” She snapped the compass shut, tucking it away. “We need to get out of here. Now. Before whatever’s behind that haze decides to come out.” She turned, her sharp jaw set in grim determination, leaving Eva staring at the shimmering haze, the truth finally sinking in.