Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTR2G7CFG621B2KR9YMJN30

The flickering fluorescent hum of the abandoned Tube station’s broken lights cast long, shifting shadows across the cracked concrete floor. Detective Harlow Quinn adjusted the strap of her leather satchel, her salt-and-pepper hair catching the dim glow of a flickering emergency exit sign. She stepped over a half-buried bag of what looked like old newspapers, the edges singed as if scorched. Her sharp jaw clenched as she knelt beside a body sprawled in the damp aisle. A woman lay motionless, her green eyes wide and unblinking. Eva Kowalski’s curly red hair was matted with something dark, her round glasses still perched on her freckled face. The air smelled of ozone and something metallic, like old blood. Quinn’s watch ticked loudly in her palm. She reached for her radio, but before she could dial, a voice cut through the static. “Detective Quinn?” She didn’t look up. “Morris?” “You’re here early.” A pause. “Or late.” Quinn stood abruptly, her boots crunching on broken glass. “You’re at the Veil Market.” “Not anymore.” The voice was rough, strained. “They moved it again.” Quinn’s fingers tightened around the handle of her baton. “What happened?” “She was there. Just… gone.” The voice cracked. “I found her bag. Books. Notes. Everything.” Quinn exhaled sharply. “What kind of notes?” “Occult stuff. Like she was researching something.” A beat of silence. Then, “You’re not gonna believe me, but I think she was tracking something.” Quinn’s jaw tightened. “What?” “A rift. Or a door.” The words hung between them, heavy with implication. Quinn’s eyes flicked to the body again. The woman’s hands were clenched into fists, her nails dug into the palms of her hands. Not a struggle. Not a fall. “You think she was trying to get out?” “Or in.” Quinn’s breath hitched. The Veil Market didn’t just sell supernatural goods. It was a place where things slipped through. Where the veil between worlds thinned. “Where’s the rest of the evidence?” Quinn demanded. “Nothing left.” The voice was distant now, muffled. “Just her.” Quinn’s gaze lingered on the woman’s fingers, still curled tight. Then she turned back to the exit, her mind racing. The Veil Market moved every full moon. And if this was another one of those shifts— A sharp knock at the door made Quinn’s head snap up. “Detective Quinn?” She didn’t answer. Instead, she grabbed her satchel and spun toward the exit, her boots pounding against the cracked tiles. Behind her, the voice called again, but she didn’t stop. The abandoned station was a maze of rusted metal and forgotten dreams. Quinn pushed through a collapsed wall, the scent of damp earth and something older—something *wrong*—washing over her. She didn’t see the figure until it was too late. A man stood in the dim light of a flickering streetlamp, his face obscured by a tattered cloak. His hands were wrapped around a brass compass, the needle spinning wildly. Quinn’s baton came up before she thought. The impact sent the man stumbling back, the compass clattering to the ground. The needle didn’t point north. It pointed *down*. She didn’t need to see the sigils etched into the brass to know what this was. “What the hell is that?” Quinn demanded. The man didn’t answer. His fingers twitched around the compass, as if trying to still the motion. “You’re not from here,” Quinn said. He didn’t look at her. “Neither are you.” Quinn’s pulse spiked. “What’s that thing?” The man’s voice was a rasp. “A way out.” Quinn’s mind raced. The Veil Market moved. And if this was one of those markets— A distant *thud* echoed from the shadows. Quinn’s eyes snapped toward the sound, her instincts screaming. “You’re not supposed to be here,” she said. The man’s gaze flicked toward the sound, then back to her. “Neither is she.” Quinn’s breath came faster. She didn’t need to see the body to know what was coming. The man’s voice was a warning, but his eyes were locked on something beyond her. Then the shadows *moved*. Something heavy struck Quinn’s shoulder, sending her stumbling. The world blurred as she hit the ground, her baton clattering away. The man was gone. The compass was gone. And then the woman was there, her body pressing against Quinn’s, her green eyes wide and unseeing. Quinn rolled onto her back, her vision swimming. The woman’s fingers twitched, as if trying to reach something. “Eva,” Quinn whispered. The woman’s lips moved, but no sound came out. Her eyes rolled back just as Quinn’s knife appeared in her hand, the blade glinting in the dim light. Quinn didn’t hesitate. She drove the knife into the woman’s chest. The woman’s body went limp. Quinn sat up, her breath ragged. The woman’s hands were still curled tight, her fingers digging into the dirt beneath her. The compass lay a few feet away, the needle still spinning. Quinn reached for it, her fingers brushing against something cold and smooth. A sigil. A mark that didn’t belong on this side of the world. She didn’t think. She pulled the compass closer, her eyes locked on the needle. It didn’t point down. It pointed *away*. And for the first time in years, Quinn Quinn didn’t feel alone.