Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8AQFH90RH9HBHS0F48B5N

The air in the abandoned Tube station was thick with the scent of damp stone and something older—something that clung to the walls like a second skin. Detective Harlow Quinn adjusted the strap of her leather jacket, her fingers brushing the worn leather watch on her wrist before she tucked it away. The Veil Market’s bone token was still in her pocket, the jagged edge of it catching the dim light filtering through the rusted grates overhead. She had come prepared. The station had been sealed shut for decades, but the market thrived beneath it, shifting locations every full moon. Tonight, it was here. And tonight, it had left something behind. A body. Not a corpse, exactly. More like a figure suspended in time, half-dissolved into the shadows. The victim’s skin was pale, translucent in places, as if the light had seeped through like ink. Harlow’s breath hitched. She’d seen enough of this kind of thing to know it wasn’t natural. The muscles in her jaw tightened. *Morris would’ve known what to do.* She crouched beside the figure, her boots sinking into the damp earth. The victim’s hands were bound behind their back with something that wasn’t quite thread—something that glowed faintly, like a slow, sickly fire. The cuffs were too tight, too precise, as if they’d been fitted by someone who knew exactly what they were doing. Harlow’s fingers twitched toward her holster, but she forced herself to stay still. She had a job to do. “Detective Quinn,” a voice cut through the silence. She didn’t look up. “You’re late.” Harlow turned slowly, her sharp jaw set. Standing beside a figure wrapped in a long, tattered cloak was DS Morris, her partner from three years ago. Her uniform was slightly rumpled, her salt-and-pepper hair slightly disheveled, but her eyes were sharp, her posture unyielding. She looked older now, but there was no mistaking the way her gaze lingered on the body. “Morris,” Harlow said, voice low. “What the hell is this?” Morris exhaled through her nose, her fingers brushing the side of her face where a scar ran from temple to cheek. “Same as always. Something’s not right.” Harlow studied the victim again. The skin was too thin, the veins too visible. And then she saw it—the faintest trace of a pattern beneath the flesh, like a map of something unseen. “You ever seen this before?” Morris shook her head. “No. But I’ve seen worse.” A beat of silence. Then, from the shadows behind them, a voice—soft, amused—spoke. “You’re not the first to ask that question, Detective.” Harlow spun, her instincts screaming. Standing in the dim glow of a flickering lantern was a figure in a long, flowing robe. Their face was obscured by a hood, but their voice was unmistakable. “Aurora.” Aurora’s smile was slow, knowing. “You’re here for the body, Detective. Or are you here for the truth?” Harlow’s grip tightened on her holster. “I’m here for the truth.” Aurora tilted their head. “Then you’ll find it’s not what you expect.” Morris stepped forward, her voice cutting through the tension. “Aurora, what the hell is going on?” Aurora’s fingers twitched at their sides, as if they were holding something small and sharp. “You’ve been digging, haven’t you? Into the Veil Market. Into the things they sell.” Harlow’s eyes narrowed. “I’m investigating a murder.” Aurora’s smile widened. “And yet, you’re missing something. The victim wasn’t killed here. They were taken here.” Morris’s jaw dropped. “You’re saying this wasn’t a crime scene—it was a delivery?” Aurora’s voice dropped to a whisper. “The Veil Market doesn’t just sell things. It *collects* them.” Harlow’s mind raced. The bone token. The way the cuffs had been fitted. The way the victim’s skin had been… altered. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the Veil Compass, the brass casing etched with protective sigils. The needle had settled on the victim’s body, pointing straight at them. “What the hell is that?” Morris demanded. Aurora’s eyes gleamed. “A compass for the supernatural. It’s been pointing at this location for weeks.” Harlow’s fingers hovered over the compass. The sigils were intricate, but she recognized the pattern—it was a rift. A supernatural rift. And if the compass was right, this wasn’t just a market. It was a gateway. Morris’s voice was a growl. “So what? We’re dealing with ghosts?” Aurora laughed, the sound rich and dark. “No. We’re dealing with something older. Something that doesn’t play by the rules.” Harlow’s mind raced. Morris had been right about one thing—something was wrong. The evidence didn’t add up. The victim’s body was too perfect, too *clean*. And the cuffs? They weren’t just for binding. They were for something else entirely. She turned back to the body, her eyes scanning the details. The skin was too thin, the veins too visible. And then she saw it—the faintest trace of a pattern beneath the flesh, like a map of something unseen. A map that led to the Veil Market. “Morris,” she said, her voice steady despite the unease crawling up her spine. “We need to go back to the station. Now.” Morris hesitated, her gaze flickering between the body and Aurora. “You sure about this?” Harlow nodded. “I’m sure.” Aurora’s voice was a low chuckle. “You always were good at reading people, Detective Quinn.” Harlow didn’t answer. She knew better than to argue with someone who was already half-way out of their mind. She grabbed her satchel, her mind racing. They had to find out what the Veil Market was really selling. And they had to do it before something else happened. As they walked back to the station, the weight of the unknown pressed down on them. The Veil Market wasn’t just a market. It was a threat. And it was waiting for them.