Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTRA3PQJPJ3ZVPSJB77758R

The Veil Market bustled with a throng of otherworldly creatures, each intent on their shadowy business. Amidst this supernatural chaos, Detective Harlow Quinn stepped across a threshold, leaving the mundane world behind. She entered an abandoned Tube station beneath Camden, its brick walls and rusted tracks now a hub of clandestine activity. Every step echoed on the platform as she descended, a carved bone token levitating before her, granting her passage through the invisible barrier. Harlow's eyes, sharp as her namesake, scanned the market stalls—a reptile-like creature selling bottled dreams, a gnome-like being offering ancient scrolls, and a shimmering portal in the corner whisking buyers to their secret destinations. She spotted her target, a tall, bearded man, and approached, her detective's instinct on high alert. 'DS Quinn, good of you to come. Though this ain't exactly your scene, is it?' DI Beaumont, her colleague, greeted her with a smirk. His gruff voice cut through the hum of merchant cries. It was his sense of humour she had to deal with the most, but at least he was thorough. 'The call mentioned a homicide, but I don't see any tape,' Harlow noted, her eyes narrowing at the lack of crime scene protocol. Beaumont chuckled, his belly shaking. 'Ah, the paperwork-lovers won't find this place on any map. Old rules don't apply here, lass. Now, this way, the murder's behind that curtain.' Harlow followed him, her heels clicking on the concrete. 'And the victim?' 'Male, early forties. Stabbed with some ritual blade, still embedded in the heart. Nasty stuff. But, as you'll see, the point of interest is him being in this underbelly. Morts can't pinpoint why this fella's here. Maybe you'll sniff out a connection.' 'A murder with no real leads? Sounds like a challenge, DI Beaumont.' Harlow's face remained stoic, but a spark of determination glinted in her eyes. She stepped past the curtain, expecting death, blood, and tragedy. But the vision of Eva Kowalski sobbing over a body on the table took her breath away. 'Jesus.' Harlow's hand shot to her mouth, the empathy behind her words barely masking the initial shock. 'I-I'm sorry… I shouldn't…' Eva's voice trembled as she stood and turned to Harlow, wiping her eyes with the back of her sleeve, her face a freckled mask of grief. 'It's just… All I wanted was to buy some banishing herbs. And then… there he was…' Harlow pulled herself together and stepped closer, her hand inching towards her worn leather watch, a nervous habit from years on the force. 'What's your relationship with the victim?' Eva shook her head, her curly red hair tumbling over her round glasses. 'I… I don't know. I only saw him once before. He sells rare books at the British Museum. So dedicated. We never spoke but...' She gestured to the body, the story unfinished. 'But you recognised him. He sold you something?' Harlow probed, her detective's mind clicking into gear. Eva nodded, tucking her hair behind her left ear. 'A parchment for warding. I looked for some in the restricted archives, but they were out of stock, and you can't just order them on Amazon. So, when I saw him here, I thought...' 'You followed him from the museum?' The cogs of suspicion began to turn in Harlow's mind. 'Well, sort of. The market moves every full moon. I had to find him here. It's not like he's on Google Maps!' Eva’s initial grief was giving way to flustered panic, a red blotching across her pale cheeks. 'Calm down. When did you last see the victim?' Harlow's voice was firm, disarming the girl's panic with professional ease. 'In the museum shop two days ago. He was always so helpful. Ordering hard-to-find tomes, taking time to chat about their provenance—' 'Did he seem worried or followed?' Harlow pressed. 'N-not that I noticed. He just packed up, saying he was going on a trip and that I should visit the Veil Market. But that's all part of his charm, isn't it? Engaging customers.' Beaumont, who had stood quietly observing, stepped forward. 'We'll be finding the museum shop on CCTV, but first, I want you two to take a minute and look around. Strange market, this. I've heard talk of phoenix feathers and djinn bottles being traded here. Sight like this could shake anyone up. I'll wait outside, keep this place off the radar. Leave if you're overwhelmed, Miss Kowalski.' As he stepped back behind the curtain, the hush of the market became apparent. Soft whispered bargains and clinking coins, the whirring of ancient mechanisms. Harlow, the detective, scanned the surroundings, taking it all in, but Eva's mind turned to the lifeless body on the table. 'You okay?' Harlow's voice, though professional, held an undertone of compassion. 'Um, no. I'm not okay. This is a nightmare! I never thought he'd be dead.' The sorrow in Eva's voice was raw, echoing around the cold stone walls. 'I need you to pull yourself together. We need to get a feel for this place. Something about the market made him take this trip and eventually wind up dead. No CCTV here, and his trail is cold at the museum.' Harlow's voice was urgent, focused. 'You think he was involved in something dodgy? The market can't be all black magic and banishing rituals. The curator at the archives told me about...' Eva's voice trailed off as her eyes fixed on a stall selling shadow composts. On a whim, she picked one up, its needle spinning toward the back of the market. 'This points to... something.' Harlow could see that Eva was lost in her head, her logic likely blown away by the fantastical nature of this place. 'A compass to what? Are you saying he was murdered because of a compass?' 'No, it points to portals! Rifts, doors, whatever you call them. Magical places. Need to just follow the Compass, see where it takes me.' Eva's voice held a new sense of purpose, the shock of the murder giving way to her natural determination and curiosity. Harlow raised a sceptical brow. 'And how's this going to help?' 'Um... maybe I can find out where he's been? Or maybe he was at some kind of gateway, and someone followed him back here. This place is wild! Anyone could be a suspect.' Eva's words tumbled out, a mismatched blend of enthusiasm and dread.