Run: 2026-02-19-01KHT0XRXMKDSW0Y0RQTMT36VF

The flickering overhead tube lights cast long shadows over the cracked tile floor as Detective Harlow Quinn stepped into the abandoned station. The place smelled of damp concrete and old regrets. Her eyes adjusted quickly. No usual bustle of commuters. Just a cordoned-off area beneath the station’s old platforms where a body lay sprawled, face down, body twisted in an unnatural arc. DS Patel stood nearby, glancing over his notes and then at Quinn. “Victim’s been here since late last night. Cause of death looks like blunt force trauma, consistent with what we saw on the CCTV. No signs of struggle, no witnesses. Pretty straightforward.” Quinn crouched at the edge of the scene, fingers tightening on her worn leather watch. The flash of pale wrist fat beneath the sleeve caught her eye—a shiver raced through her spine that had nothing to do with cold. Her gaze traced lines on the ground, the shattered glass from the small vial nearby, and the faint glimmer embedded in the victim’s palm. “Tell me again,” she said, voice low but firm. “Why was the body here, under Camden? Why not—” “Off the books,” Patel interrupted. “Unregistered location. No cameras. Perfect for a hit. It’s old underground, disconnected from any normal surveillance. Prisons for people like him.” He jerked his chin toward the victim’s battered face. “Drug dealer.” Quinn’s voice rasped. “That’s too easy. Too tidy.” She lifted a shard of greenish glass with gloved fingers. The liquid inside had congealed into glittering particles that resembled crushed emeralds. Her eyes narrowed. Patel frowned. “No known substances like this on record. Synthetic? New designer drug possibly.” He sounded sure, but something in the detective’s gut disagreed. She knelt and turned the victim’s hand over. There, nearly hidden in the palm's creases, lay a small brass object. Verdigris coated its edges and delicate patterns glimmered beneath the grime. Quinn lifted it carefully as if it might burn her. The face bore inscrutable sigils etched deeply. It was a compass. Not an ordinary one. Patel raised an eyebrow. “What do we have there?” “Veil Compass,” Quinn murmured. Her voice was uneven, almost breathless. “Ancient artifact. Crafted by a Shade artisan, if I’m right. Looks like it’s been here a while. The needle’s spinning instead of pointing north.” She flicked her thumb to steady it. “This compass doesn’t point north. It points to supernatural rifts or portals.” Patel scoffed. “Supernatural rifts? Come on, Quinn. We’re police, not ghost hunters.” She stood, eyes sharp. “Exactly what I thought. That’s what makes this no ordinary crime scene. That compass means something—something bigger. This isn’t just a drug dealer’s corpse.” Patel folded his arms, unconvinced but patient. “So what do you think happened here?” Quinn paced the dim platform edge. “The body’s placed here to send a message. But the weapon? No ordinary item smashed into the skull. Glass with alchemical properties, possibly enchanted. And the weapon never left here. Most bruises don’t match blunt force trauma; they’re consistent with something... unnatural.” Patel glanced again at the body. “Like what? Tell me your angle.” Quinn’s eyes locked on the cracked tile by the victim’s foot, where a tiny fragment of bone rested out of place. “It’s a bone token,” she said softly, kneeling and picking it up. “A key to the Veil Market. It’s how you gain entry. This was no ordinary hit—it’s a message aimed at those who know the Market's secrets. The killer wants the Market to know their territory’s been violated.” Patel frowned deeper. “So this victim—part of the Market?” Quinn nodded. “Or someone who crossed them. And whoever killed him wanted it noticed.” Patel’s phone buzzed sharply. He glanced at the screen, then back at Quinn. “There’s a witness—claims to have seen a woman near here shortly after midnight. Dark hair, looked nervous.” Quinn’s lips thinned. “Probably an informant or someone close to the Market, wouldn’t put it past them to slip through cracks. We need to find her.” Patel’s eyebrows twitched in wary agreement. “You think this ties back to the deaths from the past months?” Quinn’s gaze flared. “More than think. The pattern, the locations, the victims—they all cluster around areas where supernatural activity's reported. The Veil Market’s been more active lately. Someone’s stirring up trouble.” She pocketed the compass carefully. “And this,” she tapped the bone token, “is our invitation to the Market. We’re going right under Camden to find answers. But first, we watch. The Market moves every full moon. We need to be ready when it opens next.” Patel swallowed. “You’re betting on something the rest of us refuse to see.” Quinn’s sharp jaw tightened. “I lost my partner, Morris, chasing ghosts like this. It was no accident. This Market’s dangerous, but someone has to dig into the shadows.” She glanced one last time at the cracked tile where the body had laid. “Let’s make sure the next moon doesn’t bring another body.” The detective’s voice carried a hard edge—equal parts warning and promise—before the harsh station echoes swallowed her words.