Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8R62CWHEF8A71HCAXK2P5

The air tasted like wet concrete and ozone. Harlow Quinn adjusted her jacket, the chill of the abandoned Tube station seeping into her bones. Water dripped from the arched ceiling, echoing in the cavernous space. Yellow tape crisscrossed the entrance to a makeshift stall, its velvet curtains torn and scattered. A single bare bulb cast a sickly yellow light over the scene. “Well, this is… something,” Sergeant Davies mumbled, his face pale in the dimness. He gestured with a gloved hand toward the body sprawled behind the stall. "Victim's name is Elias Finch. Found him like this about an hour ago. Looks like a straightforward stabbing." Harlow knelt beside the body, ignoring Davies’ assessment. Finch lay in an unnatural pose, his limbs twisted at angles that seemed impossible. A single crimson stain blossomed on his chest, centered over his heart. The weapon, a small, ornate dagger, lay a few feet away, glinting under the bulb. Nothing appeared disturbed beyond the immediate vicinity of the body and the stall. No signs of a struggle. No forced entry. Odd, considering the location. “Straightforward?” Harlow’s voice was flat, her gaze scanning the perimeter. The echoing silence pressed in on her. "This isn’t a mugging gone wrong, Davies. Look around." Davies shuffled his feet, avoiding her gaze. "Just looks like a robbery attempt to me, Detective. He was likely selling something valuable." Harlow raised an eyebrow, her eyes fixated on a scattering of shimmering dust on the floor next to the victim's hand. It wasn't dirt. It pulsed with a faint, internal luminescence. “What was he selling, Sergeant? Glitter?” She gestured towards the dust. Davies shrugged, his discomfort palpable. “Could be anything, Detective. We’re still processing the scene.” She stood, her gaze sweeping over the deserted marketplace that stretched before them. Stalls lined the curved tunnel walls, most still shuttered, awaiting the next full moon and the market's relocation. The air hummed with a residual energy, a faint echo of the transactions that had taken place here. This was the Veil Market – a black market for the supernatural, hidden beneath Camden. Access required a bone token, a fact that significantly narrowed the pool of potential customers and, more importantly, perpetrators. “He was here to buy something, Davies,” Harlow corrected, her voice sharp. “Not sell.” A figure emerged from the shadows, rounding a corner. Detective Inspector Mallory appeared, her face grim. “Quinn. Davies. What have we got?” “Possible homicide, Inspector,” Davies responded quickly. “One Elias Finch. Preliminary assessment suggests robbery.” His eagerness to declare the case closed grated on Harlow's nerves. Mallory's eyes narrowed as she took in the scene. She moved closer to the body, her expression unreadable. "Anything unusual?" “Just standard procedure, Inspector," Davies insisted. Harlow stepped forward. “The victim wasn’t robbed, Inspector. He was targeted. And whatever he was after… he didn’t get it.” She gestured to the shimmering dust. “This suggests a transaction involving enchanted materials. A botched deal, perhaps.” Mallory studied the dust, then looked at Harlow, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. “You think this is connected to the Market?” “It has to be,” Harlow replied, her gaze fixed on the stall’s torn curtains. "No one stabs someone for a trinket." She crouched again, examining the fabric. The tears weren’t ragged or frantic. They were clean, precise, almost… surgical. "The tears look deliberate, Inspector," she added. “Someone wanted to make it appear like a struggle, but they didn't want to destroy the stall entirely.” Mallory nodded slowly. "Forensics will need to analyze those tears." Turning to Davies, she said, “Davies, seal off the entire market. No one in or out until we know what we're dealing with. I don't want any further contamination.” Davies saluted, his face flushed. "Yes, Inspector." He hurried off to implement the order. After Davies left, Mallory turned her attention back to Harlow. “You’re not buying the robbery theory, are you, Quinn?” “It’s too simplistic, Inspector,” Harlow said, pushing herself to her feet. The shadows seemed to deepen around them, and a cold draft snaked through the tunnel. "The market caters to a specific clientele. Someone willing to risk entering this place is rarely driven by petty theft." A voice chirped from behind them, startling them both. "Oh dear, what a dreadful mess.” Eva Kowalski, her curly red hair a vibrant splash of color in the gloom, hurried towards them, her round glasses perched on her freckled nose. She clutched her worn leather satchel to her chest. “Eva? What are you doing here?” Mallory asked, her voice laced with surprise and a hint of annoyance. Eva wrung her hands, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I… I sensed a disturbance. A ripple in the currents. I had to investigate.” She glanced at the body, her expression a mixture of pity and fascination. “Poor man. This is… unfortunate.” Harlow ignored Mallory’s questioning look. “You felt a disturbance, Eva? What kind?” “It was… chaotic,” Eva replied, her voice low. “Like a sudden surge of conflicting energies. It's unusual, even for the Veil Market. Something… forceful." She paused, her gaze darting around the tunnel. "And I think I can still feel traces of something else… something… cold.” Harlow's gaze sharpened. Cold. That resonated with the unnatural feeling that permeated the space. "Did you recognize the energy signature?" Eva frowned, concentrating. “No. Not precisely. But it felt… familiar. Like something I encountered once, a long time ago, in an old text about shadow manipulation." Harlow considered this, her mind racing. Shadow manipulation. It fit the precise nature of the tears on the curtains. Someone who understood how to manipulate shadows wouldn't tear fabric haphazardly. They'd dissect it. She stepped closer to the stall, examining the ground more carefully. Something hadn't registered before. Faint, almost invisible scratches marred the stone floor, leading away from the stall. They weren't random. They formed a pattern. A spiral. "Davies!" Harlow yelled, her voice echoing through the tunnel. "Get someone with a UV light down here. Now!” Davies appeared, breathless, his face slick with sweat. “Yes, Detective!” As the UV light illuminated the floor, the spiral scratches became starkly visible, glowing with an eerie blue light. Eva gasped. “Those are… resonance pathways! Someone used a displacement spell. They didn't run; they *shifted*.” Mallory stared at the glowing patterns, her face paling. “Shifted? What are you talking about, Kowalski?” “They used magic to teleport,” Eva explained, her voice trembling slightly. "A very crude, unstable form of teleportation. It leaves a residual signature." Harlow followed the spiral, her eyes scanning the tunnel walls. The pathways ended abruptly at a blank section of stone. But Harlow noticed something else, almost too subtle: a faint discoloration on the stone, like a patch that had been recently repaired. She ran her hand over the patch, feeling a slight indentation. “There’s a concealed door here,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. “Hidden behind the wall.” She looked at Mallory, her expression grim. “I think our killer didn't leave the market, Inspector. They just went deeper.”