Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8EYZJ9KGY1FQR3X6YHX2W

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 satchel, her fingers brushing the worn leather watch on her wrist. The station’s flickering fluorescent lights cast long, jagged shadows across the concrete floor, where the remnants of a crime scene stretched out like a half-finished puzzle. She stepped inside, her boots crunching on broken glass and the occasional rusted nail. The body lay in the center of the room, slumped against the far wall, its face turned toward the ceiling. A man in a tailored suit, his collar undone, his tie half-unraveled. His chest was bare, the skin splotched with dark, irregular bruises that didn’t match the bruises on his face—those were the kind a fist could leave, but these… these were too precise, too *wrong*. Like something had carved them there. “Quinn,” a voice cut through the silence. She turned to see DS Morris, her partner, standing just inside the doorway, her expression unreadable. She wore the same sharp suit she always did, but her hands were clenched at her sides, her knuckles white. “You’re late.” Quinn exhaled through her nose, her jaw tight. “Traffic.” Morris didn’t look convinced. “You’re not supposed to be here.” “Then you should’ve told me.” A beat of silence. Then, quietly: “Aurora’s there.” Quinn’s stomach twisted. Aurora. The girl from the case three years ago—the one who’d vanished under circumstances Morris couldn’t explain. The one Quinn had sworn she’d never see again. “Where?” Morris gestured toward the body. “She’s with him.” Quinn’s pulse spiked. Aurora. Alive. And now here. In the Veil Market. The place where supernatural things went to die. She moved closer, her boots sinking slightly into the dust. The body’s hands were bound behind his back, but the cuffs were too neat, too *clean*. No sign of struggle. No blood on the cuffs. Just the faintest hint of something metallic beneath the fabric—like a key, or a lockpick. Quinn’s fingers twitched. She reached out, brushing her thumb over the cuff. The metal was cold, but not the way it should be. Too cold. Like something had been *absorbed* into it. “Morris,” Quinn said, her voice low, “you ever see a body like this before?” Morris hesitated. “Not exactly.” Quinn’s gaze flicked to the body’s wrists. The bruises weren’t just on the skin—they were *inside* the flesh, like something had been pulled through. Her breath hitched. “Aurora’s been here before.” Morris’s expression darkened. “She has.” Quinn turned back to the body, her mind racing. The Veil Market moved every full moon, but this wasn’t just any crime. This was something else. Something that didn’t fit. The evidence was too precise. The wounds too *clean*. And then there was the body’s hands—bound, but not broken. Not the way they should be. She knelt, her fingers brushing the body’s collarbone. The skin was too smooth, too *slick*. Like it had been polished. Quinn’s pulse roared in her ears. She pulled back, her eyes widening. “Morris, look at this.” Morris followed her gaze to the body’s chest. The bruises weren’t just on the skin—they were *inside* the flesh, like something had been pulled through. Quinn’s breath came fast. “Aurora’s been here before.” Morris’s jaw tightened. “She has.” Quinn stood abruptly, her mind racing. The Veil Market wasn’t just a market. It was a place where things happened. And this wasn’t just a murder. This was something else. Something that didn’t fit. The evidence was too precise. The wounds too *clean*. And then there was the body’s hands—bound, but not broken. Not the way they should be. She turned to Morris, her voice sharp. “We need to find out what’s going on here.” Morris’s eyes were dark. “You think Aurora’s involved?” Quinn’s fingers dug into her palms. “I think she’s been here before.” A beat of silence. Then, quietly: “Aurora’s been here before.” Quinn exhaled, her shoulders slumping. She knew what she had to do. She had to find out what was happening in the Veil Market. And she had to do it before it was too late. She turned to Morris, her voice steady. “We’re going in.” Morris hesitated, then nodded. “You sure about this?” Quinn met her gaze. “I’m sure.” They moved toward the exit, but Quinn paused before leaving. She reached into her satchel, pulling out a small brass compass. The Veil Market was known for its supernatural energy, and this compass—*the Compass*—was attuned to it. She held it up, the needle trembling slightly. It pointed straight at the body. Quinn’s stomach twisted. She had seen this before. The needle didn’t just point to the nearest supernatural rift. It pointed to the nearest *threat*. She turned to Morris, her voice low. “We’re not just looking for a body. We’re looking for something worse.” Morris’s eyes were sharp. “What?” Quinn didn’t answer. She just held up the compass, the needle pointing toward the body like a beacon. Because this wasn’t just a crime scene. This was a warning. And Quinn was about to find out what it meant.