Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTRB984BJJNB1B8G36AJ3DN

The abandoned Tube station reeked of damp concrete and rust. Harlow Quinn stepped over the police tape, her boots scuffing against the cracked tile. The beam of her torch carved through the gloom, illuminating the graffiti-scarred walls of what had once been Camden Town station. Now, it was just another forgotten pocket of London—except for the body. "Quinn, over here." Detective Sergeant Cole waved her toward the platform’s edge. His tie was loose, sleeves rolled up to his elbows like he’d been at it for hours. She adjusted the worn leather strap of her watch, the second hand ticking too loud in the silence. The victim lay sprawled across the tracks, limbs twisted at angles that made her stomach clench. Male, mid-thirties, dressed in a rumpled suit that had seen better days. No obvious wounds. No blood. Just... stillness. Cole crouched beside the body, snapping a pair of latex gloves into place. "No signs of struggle. No defensive wounds. Looks like he just... dropped." Quinn’s torch flickered over the victim’s face. His eyes were open, glassy, fixed on the ceiling. She knelt, brushing her fingers against his wrist. Cold. Rigor had already set in. "Time of death?" "ME’s on her way, but I’d say six, seven hours ago. Found him at oh-four-hundred when the night shift came through to clear the homeless." She stood, sweeping the beam across the platform. The usual detritus of an abandoned station littered the ground—discarded takeout containers, a broken umbrella, a single scuffed loafer. Nothing out of place. Nothing that screamed *murder*. "Any ID?" Cole held up a wallet. "Daniel Reeves. Thirty-four. Worked at a law firm in the City. No priors, no red flags." Quinn exhaled through her nose. "Then why’s he dead in a Tube station that hasn’t seen a train in twenty years?" Cole shrugged. "Maybe he was meeting someone. Maybe he had a heart attack. Maybe he was high." "High on what? There’s no track marks, no pills in his pockets." She stepped closer to the body, her torchlight catching something on the ground near his outstretched hand. A small, circular object, half-buried in the grime. She crouched again, nudging it with the tip of her pen. A compass. Brass, tarnished with age, its needle spinning lazily before settling on a direction that made no sense—pointing straight at the wall. Cole leaned in. "What’s that?" "Dunno." She slipped it into an evidence bag. The metal was warm, almost humming against her palm. She shook off the sensation. "Bag it. We’ll have it checked." Cole frowned. "You think it’s relevant?" She didn’t answer. Instead, she turned her attention to the wall the compass had pointed at. It was just concrete, cracked and peeling, covered in layers of spray paint. But as she ran her fingers along the surface, she felt it—a seam. A hairline fracture, barely visible, running from the floor to the ceiling. "Cole," she said slowly. "You see this?" He stepped forward, squinting. "See what?" She pressed her palm against the wall. The concrete gave way, just a fraction, like a door shifting in its frame. A draft whispered through the gap, carrying the scent of something old. Something *wrong*. Cole’s radio crackled. "DS Cole, you copy? ME’s here." He hesitated, then keyed the mic. "Copy that. We’re on the east platform." Quinn didn’t take her eyes off the wall. "Tell her to hold." "Quinn, what the hell are you—" She shoved harder. The wall groaned, then swung inward, revealing a narrow passage lit by flickering gas lamps. The air inside was thick, heavy with the scent of burning herbs and something metallic. Cole swore under his breath. "What *is* this?" Quinn stepped forward, her torch cutting through the dim light. The passage opened into a cavernous space, lined with stalls draped in velvet and silk. Strange symbols were painted on the walls, glowing faintly in the torchlight. At the far end, a figure stood behind a counter, polishing a glass vial with a cloth. A market. And it shouldn’t have been there. Cole grabbed her arm. "Quinn, we need to call this in." She shook him off. "Call what in? A hallucination?" The figure behind the counter looked up, their face obscured by a hood. They set the vial down and stepped forward, hands raised. "Detective. We’ve been expecting you." Quinn’s pulse jumped. "Who the hell are you?" The figure lowered their hood, revealing a woman with sharp green eyes and a smattering of freckles across her nose. She adjusted her round glasses, tucking a strand of curly red hair behind her ear. "Eva Kowalski. Occult researcher. And you’re standing in the Veil Market." Cole let out a sharp laugh. "The *what* market?" Eva ignored him, her gaze fixed on Quinn. "You found the compass. That’s how you got in." Quinn’s fingers tightened around the evidence bag. "What is this place?" "A black market," Eva said. "For things that don’t officially exist." Cole scoffed. "You’re telling me this is some kind of... supernatural flea market?" Eva’s lips twitched. "More or less." Quinn’s torch flickered over the stalls. One sold jars of glowing liquid. Another displayed what looked like human teeth on a velvet cushion. A third had a sign that read *Information—Price Negotiable*. She turned back to Eva. "And Daniel Reeves? Was he a customer?" Eva’s expression darkened. "He was a regular. Bought a lot of things he shouldn’t have." Cole crossed his arms. "Like what?" Eva hesitated. "Like a bone token. It’s how you get in here. But it’s not just a key—it’s a tether. If you use it too much, it... burns you out." Quinn’s stomach twisted. "Burns you out how?" Eva’s gaze flicked to the body on the tracks. "Like that." Cole threw his hands up. "This is insane. Quinn, we’re calling this in. Now." Quinn didn’t move. Her mind raced, piecing together the fragments. The lack of wounds. The compass. The hidden market. The way the body had looked—like something had *sucked* the life out of him. She turned to Eva. "You said you were expecting me." Eva nodded. "Three years ago, your partner—DS Morris—he came here too. He was asking questions. About a case." Quinn’s breath caught. Morris. The case that had gone cold. The one that had left her with more questions than answers. Cole grabbed her shoulder. "Quinn, enough. We’re leaving." She shrugged him off, her voice low. "What happened to Morris?" Eva’s fingers twisted together. "He found out too much. Just like Reeves." Quinn’s torch beam wavered. She thought of Morris’s last words to her, the way he’d looked over his shoulder like he was being followed. The way he’d vanished without a trace. She turned to Cole. "We’re not calling this in." His face darkened. "The hell we’re not." She held up the evidence bag, the compass inside glinting in the torchlight. "Because if we do, they’ll bury it. Just like they buried Morris." Cole’s jaw tightened. "You’re talking about a conspiracy." Quinn’s gaze locked onto Eva. "No. I’m talking about the truth." Eva met her eyes, unflinching. "Then you’re going to need more than a compass to find it."