Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8F8M1BVCZE0P86TY1Q1BC

The air tasted like damp concrete and something else—something acrid, faintly metallic, that clung to the back of Harlow Quinn’s throat. She pulled her worn leather watch a little further up her wrist, ignoring the faint ache in her shoulder. Eighteen years on the force hadn't erased the ingrained habit of checking the time, even when the concept of time felt warped in a place like this. The abandoned Tube station was cavernous, the ceiling lost in shadow miles above. Tracks disappeared into inky tunnels in either direction. Fluorescent lights, flickering intermittently, cast a sickly green pallor over the scene. A tableau of unsettling stillness. A man lay sprawled near a disused platform edge. Middle-aged, dressed in a sharp suit—the kind that cost more than Quinn’s yearly salary. No visible wounds. Just… stillness. “Looks like a heart attack,” Sergeant Davies said, his voice echoing slightly. He was young, eager, and visibly unsettled by the location. “Clean. No sign of a struggle.” Quinn crouched beside the body, ignoring Davies’ observation. Clean wasn’t a word she typically associated with death. Not a word that sat right with her instincts. She scanned the area. No forced entry. No footprints besides those of the emergency responders. No scent of other people besides the paramedics. Except… She smelled it again, that acrid tang. Fainter now, but definitely there. Not blood. Something else. Something…old. “What about photography?” she asked, her voice low, deliberately calm. “Already done, Detective,” Davies replied, adjusting his cap. “Forensics are on their way.” She noticed a small, brass object lying near the man’s outstretched hand. Small enough to be overlooked. A compass. Old, tarnished, the brass casing dusted with verdigris. The face was intricately etched with symbols—protective sigils, she recognized vaguely from a briefing she’d skimmed years ago. A Veil Compass. “Where did you find this?” she asked, carefully picking it up with gloved fingers. “Right there, Detective,” Davies said, gesturing towards the ground. “Alongside the deceased.” The compass needle spun erratically, then settled, pointing directly into one of the dark tunnels. Not north. Not south. Toward something else entirely. “Doesn’t feel quite right,” Quinn murmured, more to herself than to Davies. “No signs of a struggle, but the compass… this isn’t a standard heart attack.” Davies shifted uncomfortably. “Detective, with all due respect, it’s an abandoned Tube station. Could have collapsed on him. One of these old tunnels…” Quinn silenced him with a raised hand. “The air quality’s fine, Davies. Systems check came back clear. And look at his shoes.” She pointed to the man’s highly polished leather shoes. Impeccable. Untouched by dust. No grit, no grime. An unremarkable detail, perhaps, except for one thing. “He didn’t walk here,” she stated. “He was *placed* here.” Davies frowned. “Detective, are you suggesting—?” “I’m suggesting we look beneath the surface, Sergeant. Always look beneath the surface.” She pocketed the compass. It felt strangely cold against her palm. “I want a full sweep of the tunnels,” she instructed. “Every inch. Focus on any anomalies – unusually clean patches, differences in the air current, anything that feels out of place.” “Right away, Detective,” Davies said, his voice a touch less enthusiastic. The sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder. Forensics would be here soon, eager to label this a closed case. A tragic, if unusual, death. Quinn pulled out her phone, scrolling through her contacts. She needed someone who understood this kind of…unusual. Someone who understood things that ordinary police officers didn't. Eva Kowalski. It took a few rings before Eva answered. “Harlow? Everything alright?” Her voice was instantly alert. “I need you down at an abandoned Tube station beneath Camden. The Veil Market used to operate out of here, years back. There’s been…a death.” “The Veil Market?” Eva’s voice tightened slightly. “Are you sure?” “Positive. Found a Veil Compass at the scene. The deceased had one. And the feeling... it's wrong, Evie. This isn't natural.” “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Eva said. “Tell forensics to be careful. And don’t touch anything.” “Always the wise advice,” Quinn said, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “I’ll see you soon.” She hung up, watching as the first of the forensic vans pulled up outside. Bright lights flooded the station, momentarily piercing the oppressive gloom. She returned to the body, studying it again. Still no obvious cause of death. His face was frozen in an expression of surprise, almost… terror. Her gaze drifted toward the tunnel the compass needle had indicated. A faint shimmer seemed to distort the air within, a subtle ripple in the darkness. Perhaps her eyes were playing tricks on her. Or perhaps, something was indeed lurking just beyond the veil. A glint of something caught her eye on the platform edge, just beyond where the man had fallen. Small, almost imperceptible. She knelt down, squinting in the dim light. A single, iridescent scale. Not fish. Not reptile. Something… else. She carefully plucked it up with tweezers, placing it in a sterile bag. A subtle detail, easily missed. But it was enough. Enough to confirm her suspicions. Davies was watching her, his expression a mixture of apprehension and frustration. “Detective? They’re asking for a preliminary assessment.” Quinn stood up, her sharp jawline set. “Tell them it’s a suspicious death, Sergeant. Pending further investigation.” She didn't elaborate. She didn’t need to. Davies, despite his eagerness, wasn't stupid. He understood that something was profoundly out of place here. She looked back at the tunnel, at the shimmering distortion. The acrid smell was stronger now, mixing with the metallic tang. It was the scent of a place between worlds, of shadows and secrets. A place she knew all too well. A place that reminded her, with a jolt of icy dread, of the circumstances surrounding her partner, DS Morris’s, death three years ago. The case she couldn't shake, the one that still haunted her dreams. The similarities were unsettling. This wasn’t just a heart attack. This wasn’t just a random death in an abandoned Tube station. This was a message. A warning. And she had a feeling it was just the beginning. The Veil Market might be dormant, but something else was stirring in the shadows beneath London. And it was reaching out.