Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTRHRCT6RY9YW3FMP7D18MA

The Veil Market lay deep beneath Camden, its entrances hidden from prying eyes. A chance tip-off had led Detective Harlow Quinn to this supernatural black market, an underground realm thriving with illicit activity. Her senses tingled as she descended the winding stairs, the steel toe of her boots clanging on each step. Seven stories down, the air grew heavy with intrigue. Dimly lit by sconces, the market bustled with beings from across the realms, engaged in forbidden trade. A portal shifted nearby, emitting a flicker of light; spirits whispered secrets. 'Quinn!' A familiar voice rang out, cutting through the murmur of the crowd. DS Quentin Stone, her partner for the day, was tall, broad, and boisterous, with a knack for over-enthusiasm. He greeted her with a wide smile, his jowly face shining with eagerness. 'This is it, a demon's den. Strange folk, oddities, artefacts. Loads of 'em.' He paused, clearly struggling to remain composed. 'Bet you ain't seen a sight like this before, eh?' Harlow nodded, her eyes scanning the scene. 'What do we have so far?' She surveyed the open space where stalls displayed weapons and tomes of dark magic, each marked with its own unknown language. Shadows danced around the edges of her vision as she walked, an indication of magical energy pulsing nearby. 'A murder, oi reckon. There, that lot.' Quentin jerked his thumb towards a commotion near the far wall. 'Some poor sod, must've been in a fight.' Pushing through the throng, Harlow spotted the victim, a lifeless human male, his body battered and bruised. A puddle of blood had formed, seeping into the cracks in the stone. She crouched next to the corpse, taking in the strange wounds that marred his skin—deep slashes, not made by a regular knife. 'There, you see?' Quentin leaned over her shoulder, his breath hot in her ear. 'Mangled, he is. Feet cut clean off and not a trace of blood. Bloody goblin, I say. Saw one once in Manchester.' Harlow squinted at the unnatural wounds. The lack of blood didn't sit right. 'No signs of struggle. No defensive injuries.' She straightened, slowly scanning the market. The people here went about their shady business, oblivious to the dead man. 'Where are the emergency services?' Quentin frowned, his brows furrowing. 'No calls made yet. But that ain't the funny part. No CCTV, either. Veil Market moves about, y'see. Every full moon. A right headache for us copper types.' Harlow knew the challenge of policing the supernatural. However, that still didn't explain... Her eyes fell on the victim's clenched fists. She touched her foot to his boot and felt a sharp twinge of discomfort. 'Now, don't go prodding the body too much. Mum's the word, for now. No fingerprints, just yet. The punters could go all cross-threaded if they see us making a scene.' Quentin's voice had a frantic edge to it, as if he'd had too many coffees. 'Let's just get some photos and be on our way, it ain't our jurisdiction.' 'Ah hell, just look at his face.' Harlow stepped back, her eyes still fixed on the corpse. The man's visage was contorted in fear, the tell-tale sign of a sudden, violent death. His eyes, glassy under the flickering lights, stared upwards at the vaulted ceiling. 'He died staring at something.' The detective glanced around the market again, and this time, she noticed it—a faint distortion in the air. She pointed. 'Do you see that?' 'See what?' Quentin adjusted his tie, squinting. 'Where?' 'There.' Her finger hovered near the man's head, not quite touching. 'That shimmer, like light on heat.' 'Shimmer, huh?' Quentin peered closer, then shook his head. 'Nah, reckon you're seeing things.' He dug into his pocket, extracting a worn notepad and pen. 'Best do a sketch of the crime scene before we go, eh? Just in case the super wants it.' 'Forget the sketch.' Harlow stared at the man's lifeless body, her mind working. Years of experience told her this wasn't a simple murder. She pictured the ripples of energy that had led her here, an invisible trail of breadcrumbs. 'This man is not our concern; he's a victim, like us.' 'You what?' Quentin spluttered, sounding offended. 'You've gotta be jokin'.' 'He saw something,' Harlow continued, her voice rising with conviction. 'Something only he could see, as if it was there just for him.' The detective's eyes narrowed, fixed on the air around the corpse. 'There's a rift. What you said, about this place moving. It's a supernatural hotspot. A gateway.' A hush fell over the market, as if the crowd sensed her realisation. In that instant, Harlow saw it, the veil lifted: a dark tear in reality, like a curtain about to part. And within, something stirred, gazing back at her. Her heart thudded in her ears. 'Bloody hell,' Quentin whispered, turning pale. 'Could it be...?' 'Yes.' Harlow stood tall, her face transformed by recognition. 'A portal. They targeted him because he could see into the paranormal. He witnessed something he shouldn't have.' The detective bent down, her fingers brushing the victim's cold hand. 'But he wasn't alone. Someone tried to warn him.' She rose and strode towards the merchant selling weapons, a gnarled creature with green skin and pointed ears. Her eyes locked onto a brass compass, unassuming at first glance. The needle quivered, pointing towards her. 'The Veil Compass. A powerful relic, crafted by Shades. Can sense the unseen and open doors no man should.' Harlow snatched the compass, her grip tight, as if handling an ancient, deadly weapon. 'Finders Keepers, eh?' The market erupted, pitchforks and screams mixing with the roar of the rift, now wide open. Her instincts honed over a thousand cases kicked in; she rolled with the surge of the crowd, using their panic to hide her escape. In the commotion, Quentin appeared at her side, a creature of paper and soot in pursuit. He snatched the compass with a cry of rage, but it was too late. The portal yawned, ready to consume them all. Harlow shoved the detective through the portal, then leapt after, the Veil Compass secure in her pocket. On the other side, they emerged in an alley, gasping for breath. The portal, now closed, had left only a faint shimmer behind. 'Did we...?' Quentin's voice trailed off, his face filled with wonder. 'Yes, we did,' Harlow said, her eyes gleaming. 'This is a case now, Quentin. A real one. And we're diving in headfirst.'