AI Blood pooled in the shape of a distorted star on the cracked tiles. Detective Harlow Quinn stepped over the yellow tape, her boots crunching on shattered glass that glittered like ground diamonds under the harsh floodlights. The air tasted of ozone and burnt sugar, a cloying sweetness that coated the back of her throat. This was not a standard murder scene. Standard murders happened in alleys or flats, not inside the sealed maintenance tunnels of the abandoned Camden Tube station.
"Quinn. You're late." DS Davies stood by the body, his face pale beneath the sterile white lights. He held a notebook but hadn't written a word. "Uniforms are saying it's a gang initiation gone wrong."
Harlow ignored him. She crouched beside the corpse. A young man, early twenties, dressed in expensive designer clothes that looked ridiculous against the grime of the tunnel floor. His eyes were wide, fixed on the curved ceiling where rust dripped like black tears. No visible wounds marred his skin, yet the blood surrounding him suggested his entire volume had drained out in seconds.
"Gang initiation?" Harlow's voice cut through the hum of the generators. "With no weapon? No struggle marks?"
"Look at the symbols." Davies pointed a gloved finger at the floor. Crude chalk lines circled the body, intersecting in jagged patterns. "Satanic rubbish. Kids get ideas from the internet."
Harlow narrowed her eyes. The chalk was not crude. The lines possessed a mathematical precision that defied a drunken hand. They hummed, a low vibration she felt in her teeth rather than heard. She leaned closer, ignoring the metallic sting of the blood. The symbols were not Latin, nor any modern language. They mirrored the etchings on the brass compass currently burning a hole in her pocket.
"This isn't Satanism, Davies. It's a ward."
"A what?"
"A containment circle. But it's broken." Harlow traced the air above the chalk without touching it. The residue prickled her fingertips, a static charge that made the hair on her arms stand up. "Someone didn't summon something. They tried to keep something in. And it got out."
Davies scoffed, shifting his weight . The leather of his jacket creaked. "You've been chasing ghosts since Morris died, Harlow. Don't drag me into your superstition."
The mention of her former partner tightened a knot in Harlow's stomach , sharp and familiar . She stood up, smoothing her trench coat. The fabric felt heavy, damp with the tunnel's unnatural chill . "Morris knew the difference between a prank and a predator . Where are the witnesses?"
"No one down here except the homeless squatters. They've all scattered. Claimed the walls started bleeding before they found the body."
"Walls don't bleed, Davies. People do." Harlow scanned the tunnel. The darkness beyond the floodlights seemed thicker than usual, swallowing the light before it could penetrate deep into the curved brickwork . Her hand drifted to her left wrist, fingers brushing the worn leather of her watch . The second hand ticked backwards. Once. Twice. Then forward again.
She pulled the Veil Compass from her pocket. The brass casing felt warm, the verdigris patina glowing faintly green in the dim light. The needle spun wildly, then snapped toward the far end of the tunnel, pointing not at the exit, but at a solid brick wall covered in decades of graffiti .
"What is that thing?" Davies squinted, stepping closer. "Evidence bag it."
"Don't touch it." Harlow snapped the compass shut. "This location. Why here? Why an abandoned Tube station beneath Camden?"
"Cheap rent for drug deals?" Davies offered weakly.
"The Veil Market moves every full moon," Harlow muttered, more to herself than him . "Tonight is the full moon. This station sits directly above the old ley lines. It's a nexus."
"You're losing it." Davies reached for his radio. "I'm calling for the coroner. We need to move the body."
"The body stays." Harlow blocked his path, her posture rigid, military precision radiating from her frame. "Look at the blood again. It's not pooling right. It's flowing uphill."
Davies looked down. The crimson liquid crept slowly toward the brick wall the compass indicated, defying gravity. Tiny rivulets climbed the rough surface, tracing the cracks in the mortar.
"That's... impossible."
"Nothing is impossible. Just unexplained." Harlow moved toward the wall. The graffiti here depicted ancient kings and modern tags, layers of history peeling away like dead skin. But in the center, the paint had flaked off entirely, revealing fresh stone beneath. A door outline glowed faintly, pulsing in time with the heartbeat she now heard thumping in her own ears.
"Quinn, step back." Davies drew his service weapon. The click of the safety disengaging echoed loudly in the confined space. "That's an order."
"Put it away, Davies. You can't shoot a rift."
"A rift?"
"A tear in the fabric. Something came through here. Something that took this boy's life force to fuel its crossing." Harlow pressed her palm against the cold stone. It vibrated violently, shaking her bones. The smell of ozone intensified, mixing with the scent of rotting flowers. "The boy wasn't the victim. He was the key."
Footsteps echoed from the tunnel entrance behind them. Not the heavy tread of uniformed officers, but a light, hurried scuffing . Harlow spun around, hand hovering near her own holster.
A figure emerged from the shadows, clutching a worn leather satchel to their chest. Curly red hair bounced with every step, and round glasses reflected the floodlights, hiding the eyes behind them. The woman stopped ten feet away, breathless, her freckled complexion pale.
"You shouldn't be here," the woman said, her voice trembling but urgent . She tucked a stray curl behind her left ear, a nervous tic that betrayed her fear. "The ward is broken. If you open that door, you won't be able to close it."
Davies leveled his gun at the intruder. "Police! Identify yourself!"
"Eva Kowalski. British Museum archives." Eva didn't look at the gun. Her green eyes locked onto Harlow. "Detective Quinn. You have the Compass. I can feel it pulling."
"How do you know my name?" Harlow asked, her voice low .
"I've been watching the markers. The energy spike drew me here." Eva took a step forward, ignoring Davies' shouted warning to halt. "That boy didn't die naturally. He was drained to power a gateway. And whatever is on the other side is hungry."
"Hungry for what?" Davies demanded, his finger tightening on the trigger .
"For more keys." Eva pointed at the wall behind Harlow. "Look."
Harlow turned. The glowing outline of the door had expanded. The brickwork dissolved into swirling smoke, revealing a glimpse of a marketplace beyond. Stalls draped in tattered silks lined a dusty thoroughfare. Creatures with too many limbs haggled over jars of glowing dust. The noise hit them a second later—a cacophony of screeches, bells, and languages that hurt the ears.
"The Veil Market," Harlow breathed.
"It's real?" Davies lowered his gun an inch, his skepticism cracking under the weight of the impossible view.
"It's always been real," Eva said, digging into her satchel. "You just needed the right token to see it. Or the right sacrifice."
The smoke billowed outward, invading the tunnel. The temperature plummeted. Frost raced across the floor, freezing the blood mid-climb. From the swirling grey mist, a shadow detached itself. It stood seven feet tall, composed of shifting darkness and jagged bone. It had no face, only a void where features should be.
It turned its blank gaze toward them.
"Run," Eva whispered.
The creature lunged. It moved faster than physics allowed, crossing the distance in a blink. Davies fired three shots. The bullets passed through the shadow as if it were made of fog, embedding themselves in the far wall with sharp pings.
" Bullets won't work!" Harlow shoved Davies aside. She drew her weapon anyway, aiming for the creature's centre of mass out of instinct. "Eva, how do we seal it?"
"The Compass!" Eva yelled, ducking as a stalactite of ice shattered where her head had been. "Use the Compass to reverse the polarity! But you need a blood anchor!"
"My blood?" Harlow gritted her teeth, dodging a swipe from a clawed hand that tore through her coat sleeve.
"No!" Eva scrambled backward, tripping over a cable. "The boy's blood! It's still active!"
The creature swiped again, knocking Harlow off her feet. She hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of her lungs. The Veil Compass skittered across the frost-covered floor, sliding toward the swirling portal. The needle spun faster, screaming a high-pitched whine that threatened to burst eardrums.
The shadow loomed over Harlow, raising a limb that ended in a razor-sharp blade of obsidian. The void where its face should be seemed to deepen, pulling at her very soul. Memories flashed unbidden—Morris screaming in the dark, the unnatural silence of his empty desk, the files she'd buried deep in her drawer.
"Get the Compass!" Harlow roared, rolling away just as the blade sliced the concrete where she lay. Sparks flew. Davies fired again, useless rounds lighting up the gloom .
Eva crawled toward the sliding compass, her fingers stretching. The creature noticed. It pivoted, ignoring Harlow, and stalked toward the redhead. Eva froze, her back against a support pillar. She clutched her satchel like a shield.
The creature raised its arm for a killing blow.
Harlow scrambled to her feet, ignoring the pain in her ribs. She spotted the pool of blood near the broken ward. It glowed faintly red. She kicked a shard of glass into the pool, splashing the active blood onto her boots, then sprinted.
She tackled the creature from the side. It felt like hitting a wall of solid ice . Cold burned through her clothes, numbing her skin instantly. The creature shrieked, a sound like grinding metal, and threw her off. Harlow crashed into the graffiti-covered wall, slumping down beside the open portal.
The Compass lay inches from her hand. The needle pointed directly at the creature's chest.
"Eva! Now!" Harlow gasped, grabbing the brass casing. It burned her palm, searing the skin.
"I can't!" Eva cried, pinned by the creature's gaze. "It's too strong!"
Harlow looked at the blood on her boots, then at the compass. The instructions in the old files Morris left behind surfaced in her mind. *Blood calls to blood. Life feeds the gate, life seals the breach.*
She sliced her thumb on a jagged edge of the compass casing. Blood welled up, bright and red. She slammed her bleeding hand onto the face of the compass, smearing the blood over the protective sigils.
"Close!" she screamed.
The compass erupted in blinding white light. The needle snapped backward, spinning counter-clockwise with violent force. A shockwave blasted outward, knocking everyone flat. The creature howled as the light lashed it like whips of fire. The swirling smoke of the portal reversed, sucking inward with the force of a hurricane.
The creature clawed at the ground, trying to anchor itself, but the vacuum dragged it back toward the rift. It reached for Eva, long fingers grazing her ankle, before the light consumed it entirely.
With a final thunderous crack, the portal slammed shut. The brick wall solidified. The glowing outline vanished. Silence rushed back into the tunnel, heavy and absolute.
Harlow lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. Her hand throbbed , the cut deep. The Compass lay beside her, the verdigris casing now blackened, the needle still.
Davies groaned, pushing himself up. "What... what was that?"
Eva sat up, adjusting her crooked glasses. She looked at Harlow, her expression unreadable . "That was just the scout."
Harlow sat up slowly , clutching her injured hand. "Scout?"
"They never send one alone," Eva said, her voice dropping to a whisper . "If the gate opened, even for a second, they know where we are now."
A low rumble began beneath their feet. Dust trickled from the ceiling. The graffiti on the wall began to peel away again, not revealing brick, but fresh, pulsing veins of purple light cracking through the stone.
"The market isn't closing," Eva said, standing up and backing away. "It's expanding."