Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY86P2CV35V9DJGJSCFM43F

The abandoned Tube station reeked of damp concrete and something older—something that clung to the air like a second skin. Detective Harlow Quinn stepped over the yellow tape, her boots crunching on shattered glass. The flickering fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting long, wavering shadows that stretched like fingers across the graffiti-scarred walls. DS Morris would’ve hated this place. He’d have called it a dump, a dead end. But Morris wasn’t here. He was gone, three years back, and the case had been closed before it ever really began. Quinn exhaled through her nose, the breath sharp in the cold. The body lay sprawled near the old ticket booth, arms splayed as if reaching for something just out of grasp. The coroner’s team moved around it like ants, their voices low, efficient. She didn’t need to hear them to know what they’d say. Another overdose. Another junkie who’d pushed too far. But the evidence didn’t add up. Quinn crouched beside the body, her gloved fingers brushing the victim’s wrist. No track marks. No needle in sight. Just a single, deep puncture mark—too precise, too clean, like a bite. She frowned. The skin around it wasn’t inflamed. No signs of struggle, either. The victim’s pockets were empty, save for a crumpled receipt from a café near the British Museum. She stood, scanning the station. The usual detritus of the homeless—sleeping bags, half-empty bottles—littered the corners. But something else caught her eye. A glint of brass near the far wall, half-buried under a pile of discarded newspapers. She moved toward it, her pulse steady despite the unease coiling in her gut. The Veil Compass. Quinn picked it up, turning it over in her hands. The brass casing was warm, almost alive, etched with sigils that pulsed faintly under the station lights. The needle spun wildly before settling on a point just beyond the ticket booth. “You’re not supposed to have one of those,” a voice said from behind her. Quinn didn’t turn. “Neither are you.” DS Carter stood there, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. A fresh face, transferred from another precinct six months ago. He’d been the one to call this in. “Found it near the body,” Quinn said, holding up the compass. “You know what this is?” Carter exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. And you’re not supposed to touch it.” “Funny,” Quinn said. “I was about to say the same to you.” Carter stepped closer, his voice dropping. “Look, Quinn. This isn’t our jurisdiction. The victim was a known user. The compass—it’s a fluke. Some street dealer’s prop. You’re reading too much into it.” Quinn’s jaw tightened. “Or maybe the dealer’s not who we think he is.” Carter’s eyes flicked to the body, then back to her. “You think this is supernatural?” “No,” Quinn said. “I think it’s something worse.” She turned the compass again. The needle still pointed toward the booth. Toward the body. Toward the receipt in the victim’s pocket. Quinn reached into her coat and pulled out a clear evidence bag. Inside was a bone token—small, white, carved with a symbol she didn’t recognize. She held it up. Carter’s face paled. “Where the hell did you get that?” “Same place as the compass,” Quinn said. “Buried under the victim’s shoe.” Carter’s voice was tight. “You’re not supposed to have that either.” Quinn ignored him. She walked back to the body, crouching again. The puncture mark. The compass. The token. None of it made sense in the world she knew. “Quinn,” Carter said, his tone sharper now. “You’re stepping into something you don’t understand.” She stood, meeting his gaze. “No. I’m stepping into something you’re trying to cover up.” Carter’s hands clenched. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Quinn turned away, her mind racing. The Veil Market. The compass. The token. Morris had been investigating something like this before he died. She’d dismissed it then—supernatural nonsense. But now? She looked back at the body. The victim’s eyes were open, staring at nothing. Or maybe at something. Quinn pocketed the compass. “What are you doing?” Carter demanded. “Following the evidence,” Quinn said. And for the first time in years, she wasn’t sure she’d find answers in the light.