Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXPHGYH984KNVBAMFW97BH7

The abandoned Tube station reeked of damp concrete and rust. Quinn stepped over the police tape, her boots clicking against the cracked tiles. The beam of her torch cut through the gloom, illuminating the graffiti-scarred walls of the old Camden platform. A uniformed officer nodded at her from beside the body. "Detective Quinn. Down here." She adjusted the worn leather strap of her watch, the second hand ticking in time with her pulse. The victim lay sprawled near the edge of the platform, one arm twisted beneath him, the other flung out as if reaching for something. His face was frozen in a rictus of surprise, eyes wide and unblinking. A pool of dark liquid spread beneath his head, glistening under the harsh light. "Who found him?" Quinn crouched beside the body, her sharp jaw tightening as she took in the details. "Night watchman. Heard a noise, came down to check. Found him like this." The officer shifted his weight, his radio crackling with static. "Called it in straight away." Quinn's fingers hovered over the victim's jacket. No wallet, no phone. Just a single brass compass clutched in his right hand, its verdigris patina catching the light. She pried it loose, the metal cold against her skin. The needle spun lazily, pointing nowhere in particular. "Odd thing to be carrying," she muttered. "Maybe he was into hiking?" The officer shrugged. "Or geocaching?" Quinn turned the compass over. The back was etched with strange symbols, nothing she recognised. She slipped it into an evidence bag, her mind already racing. The symbols looked deliberate, not some random doodle. And the way the needle moved—too smooth, too erratic. A shadow fell across the platform. "You're not buying the mugging theory, are you?" Quinn looked up. DS Carter leaned against one of the rusted support columns, arms crossed. His tie was loose, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He'd been on the force long enough to know better than to contaminate a scene, but not long enough to care. "Muggers don't usually leave behind expensive-looking trinkets." Quinn stood, brushing dust from her knees. "And they don't strangle their victims with something that leaves no marks." Carter pushed off the column, stepping closer. "You think it's connected to the other cases?" Quinn didn't answer. The other cases—the ones with no signs of forced entry, no fingerprints, no witnesses. Just bodies, always found in abandoned places, always with that same look of shock on their faces. She turned back to the victim. His shoes were scuffed but expensive. Italian leather. His clothes were rumpled, but not torn. No defensive wounds. No signs of a struggle. "Where's his bag?" she asked. Carter frowned. "What bag?" "The one he would've had if he was down here for any normal reason. Tourist, homeless, even a copper on a stakeout—someone would've had a bag. A backpack. Something." Carter opened his mouth, then closed it. He scanned the platform, his gaze lingering on the dark mouth of the tunnel. "You think he was meeting someone?" Quinn didn't answer. She was too busy staring at the compass in the evidence bag. The needle had stopped spinning. Now it pointed straight at the tunnel. She stepped forward, her torch beam cutting through the darkness. The tracks were overgrown with weeds, the rails rusted. But there, halfway down the tunnel, something glinted. Carter saw it too. "What the hell is that?" Quinn didn't wait for him. She ducked under the tape and moved into the tunnel, her boots crunching on broken glass and debris. The air grew colder, the damp seeping into her bones. The glint resolved into a small, circular token, half-buried in the dirt. She crouched, brushing away the grime. Bone. Carved with the same symbols as the compass. Carter caught up, his breath coming fast. "What is that?" Quinn turned the token over in her fingers. It was warm, almost pulsing. "A key." "A key to what?" She didn't answer. She was too busy looking at the wall. The graffiti there wasn't random. The symbols matched the ones on the compass, on the token. They formed a pattern, a circle with a line through it. Carter followed her gaze. "What the fuck is that?" Quinn stood, her mind racing. "It's a door." "A door to where?" She didn't know. But she knew someone who might. --- The British Museum's restricted archives were a maze of towering shelves and dim lighting. Eva Kowalski looked up from her desk as Quinn approached, her round glasses reflecting the glow of her computer screen. A stack of books teetered beside her, their spines cracked with age. "Detective Quinn. This is a surprise." Eva tucked a strand of curly red hair behind her left ear, her freckles standing out against her pale skin. "I didn't think you believed in the... unusual." Quinn placed the evidence bag on the desk, the compass inside catching the light. "I don't. But I believe in evidence. And this is evidence." Eva's eyes widened. She reached for the bag, then hesitated. "May I?" Quinn nodded. Eva pulled on a pair of gloves before carefully extracting the compass. She turned it over in her hands, her fingers tracing the symbols. "Where did you find this?" "On a body. In an abandoned Tube station." Eva's breath hitched. "And the body?" "Male, mid-thirties. No ID. No signs of struggle. But he had this." Quinn pulled out the bone token, placing it beside the compass. "And this was nearby." Eva's face paled. She set the compass down, her hands trembling. "You found a Veil token." "A what?" Eva didn't answer. She was already digging through her satchel, pulling out a leather-bound book. The pages were yellowed, the ink faded. She flipped through them, her fingers moving quickly. "Here. The Veil Market. It's a... a supernatural black market. Moves locations every full moon. You need one of these to get in." She tapped the token. Quinn's jaw tightened. "And the compass?" Eva hesitated. "It's a Veil Compass. Points toward the nearest supernatural rift or portal. It's attuned to... otherworldly energy." Quinn stared at her. "You're telling me this is real?" Eva met her gaze, her green eyes serious. "I'm telling you that your victim didn't die of natural causes. And he didn't die at the hands of a normal killer." Quinn exhaled, her mind racing. Three years ago, her partner had died in a case that had never made sense. No leads, no suspects, no motive. Just a body, found in an abandoned warehouse, with that same look of shock on his face. She looked down at the compass, the needle now still. "How do I find this market?" Eva's eyes widened. "You can't. It's not safe. The things that go on there—" "I don't care." Quinn's voice was steel. "I need to know what happened to him. And I need to know if it's connected to what happened to Morris." Eva opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. She reached into her satchel, pulling out a small, leather-bound notebook. She scribbled something inside, then tore out the page. "This is the name of someone who might help. But Quinn—" She hesitated. "Be careful. The Veil Market doesn't play by our rules." Quinn took the paper, her fingers brushing against Eva's. "Neither do I."