Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY9108P53NVV5K40XH1RJTR

The air tasted like wet concrete and something else… ozone, maybe? Detective Harlow Quinn wrinkled her nose, the scent prickling the back of her throat. She swept her gaze across the cavernous space, the beam of her flashlight cutting through the gloom of the abandoned Tube station. Water dripped from the arched ceiling, each drop echoing in the unnatural stillness. This wasn’t just any abandoned space. This was beneath Camden, a dead zone on most maps. It was the Veil Market’s usual haunt this full moon. A body lay sprawled near a makeshift stall, illuminated by the flickering light of a single, overturned lantern. A man. Mid-forties, expensive suit, now stained crimson. The initial assessment—multiple stab wounds—suggested a straightforward mugging gone wrong. Except… nothing felt straightforward. “Anything, Miller?” Quinn asked, her voice echoing slightly. A younger officer, Miller, knelt beside the body, carefully bagging evidence. “Looks clean, Detective. No witnesses. Just… this.” He held up a small, intricately carved bone token, its surface slick with moisture. “Entry token for the Market, standard issue.” Quinn circled the body, her worn leather watch catching the light. The wounds were precise, almost surgical. Not the frantic slashing of a street thug. And the victim’s pockets were untouched. Wallet, phone, a thick roll of cash—all present. A robbery wouldn't explain that. “He put up a fight?” Quinn asked, her eyes scanning the surrounding area for signs of a struggle. Miller shook his head. “Doesn’t appear so. No defensive wounds. Like he… let it happen.” “Let it happen?” Quinn paused, tilting her head. “Explain that.” "Maybe he surprised someone, snapped. Got scared.” Miller's voice was hesitant. He was fresh out of the academy, and this – this wasn’t a regular crime scene. Quinn ignored his suggestion. She moved past the body, her flashlight beam settling on the stall. It was mostly overturned, merchandise scattered across the floor: vials of shimmering liquids, strange herbs, a few tarnished silver trinkets. Nothing obviously missing. Except… something felt off. Too neat. Too staged. “Forensics find anything unusual in the blood spatter?” Quinn questioned, stepping over a spilled pile of dried flowers. “Preliminary analysis points to standard human physiology,” Miller replied, consulting his tablet. “No anomalies detected.” Quinn grunted, unconvinced. “Run a full spectral analysis. I want to know *everything* in that blood. Everything.” She moved towards a darkened corner of the station, drawn by a faint shimmer in the air. A residue of magical energy. A ripple in reality. “Detective Quinn, I’ve been thinking,” a voice said from behind her. Detective Inspector Davies, her superior, approached, his face grim in the dim light. “Given the location, the token… it’s likely connected to the Market. We should focus on identifying who this man was, what dealings he had.” Quinn didn't turn. She knelt, examining the shimmering distortion. “That’s what everyone thinks, isn’t it, Davies? Always the obvious answer.” Davies frowned. “What are you suggesting?” “I’m suggesting this wasn’t about the Market. Or, at least, not entirely.” She ran a gloved hand over the distortion, feeling a faint vibration. “Look at this. A residual rift. Small, unstable, but present. Someone opened a gateway here. Recently.” Davies scoffed. “Rifts? Gateways? Quinn, we’re investigating a murder, not writing a fantasy novel.” “Maybe they’re connected, Davies. Maybe this man wasn’t killed *in* the Market, but *because* of something that came through it.” Quinn stood, her eyes fixed on the ground where the rift had been. “Notice the pattern of the disturbance? It's... deliberate. Like someone tried to cover their tracks." She gestured to the meticulously arranged stall. The overturned lantern. The scattered merchandise. It all felt too perfect, too theatrical. “The killer wanted us to think this was a Market-related incident,” Quinn declared, her voice low and firm. “They wanted to misdirect us.” Davies remained skeptical. “And you think someone brought a rift-generating device into the Market to kill this man? Why?” Quinn ignored him, her gaze sweeping over the scene once more. Her focus landed on something Miller had overlooked—a single, iridescent scale, clinging to the hem of the victim’s suit. Small, almost invisible, with a faint, metallic sheen. She carefully plucked it with tweezers, placing it in an evidence bag. “Because,” she said, holding up the scale, “whatever came through that rift left more than just a trace.” Just then Eva Kowalski pushed through the crowd of officers, her round glasses flashing in the flashlight beams. She hurried towards Quinn, her satchel bumping against her legs. “Aurora! Thank God I found you. I have something you need to see,” Eva said, breathlessly. She fiddled with her hair behind her ear, an old habit. “This just came through from the Museum archives." She produced a faded, leather-bound book. "It’s a bestiary—a really old one—and I found a description that matches that scale.” Quinn took the book, her eyes scanning the archaic script. Eva pointed to a detailed illustration of a serpentine creature. “A Shadow Serpent,” she explained. “They’re native to the Umbral Plane. Legends say their scales can disrupt dimensional barriers. And their venom… well, it's not exactly lethal, but it induces a state of complete paralysis.” “Paralysis,” Quinn repeated slowly, the pieces beginning to click into place. “He didn’t struggle because he couldn’t. The stab wounds… pinpoint accuracy. Someone wanted him alive, but immobile.” Davies spluttered. "Shadow Serpents? This is absurd!" “Is it?” Quinn retorted, her brown eyes fixed on Davies. “Or is it a possibility we haven’t considered because we were too busy looking for the obvious?” She flipped through the bestiary, finding a passage describing the Shadow Serpents’ symbiotic relationship with a rare type of fungus that grows near dimensional rifts. The fungus emitted a specific pheromone, one that induced a hypnotic state in certain individuals. It explained the victim’s apparent lack of resistance. “The killer didn’t just want to kill him. They wanted to *control* him.” Quinn closed the book, her mind racing. “And I’ll bet the contents of his pockets weren’t the point either.” She looks at Miller. “Did you find any specialized equipment on this victim? Strange devices?” Miller frowned, tapping at his tablet. "Actually, yes. Found a small, brass compass tucked into his inner jacket pocket. Seems pretty old, heavily worn." Quinn's eyes narrowed. "A Veil Compass. Get it bagged and sent to forensics. I want a full analysis – origin, modifications, *everything*." She looks back at Davies. "We're not dealing with a simple murder, Inspector. We're dealing with someone who understands the Veil Market better than we do. Someone who knows how to manipulate the fabric of reality itself."