AI The humid air of Camden Closes clung to Detective Harlow Quinn’s collar as she climbed the rusted fire escape, her boots echoing against the metal rungs. The rain from last night had left the brick slick, and she caught herself tucking her left hand into the back of her jacket where her service weapon lay—an old habit, honed during years chasing human predators, but these days, she’d learned to keep a finger near the grip just in case. *Three years *, she thought, as she reached the top. *Three years since Morris didn’t come home from a “routine” burglary in Whitechapel.* The memory coiled in her chest, sharp as the edge of a blade. She pushed it down. Focus.
The exit was a half-sealed manhole, its cover resting on the ground beside a pile of pigeon droppings. She flicked her flashlight on, the beam cutting through the dusk, and saw the spray-painted sign scrawled on the wall behind: *NO TRESPASSING—DANGER *. Below it, a smudge of charcoal marked the spot where someone had scrawled a smaller message: *Veil’s open. Don’t close it.*
Quinn knelt, brushing mud from the sign. The charcoal was fresh. *Eva *, she thought. Her best friend, the occult researcher with a penchant for leaving cryptic warnings, had arrived hours ago. Good. She needed someone to cut through the noise—someone who didn’t flinch at the phrase *supernatural origins *.
“Took you long enough,” a voice called from the darkness.
Quinn twitched. Eva was leaning against the wall forty feet away, her curly red hair a halo against the graffiti, round glasses reflecting the beam of her own flashlight. She had a satchel slung over one shoulder, its leather worn thin at the strap, and for a second, Quinn swore she saw a book peeking out—*The Demonologist’s Primer * by Marcus Blackwood , judging by the cover. Eva tucked a strand of hair behind her left ear, a nervous habit, and pushed off the wall.
“Traffic,” Quinn said, though it wasn’t the truth. She’d lingered at the station, re-reading the case file. Lila Voss, 28, self-proclaimed “private consultant” with a rap sheet longer than her commute. Last seen entering the Veil Market three nights ago. Her body found this morning by a流浪汉 who’d wandered into the abandoned Tube station.
Eva stepped closer, her glasses slipping down her nose. “You should’ve called. The place creeps me out—even without the… the *thing *.”
“*The Veil Market *, not *the thing*,” Quinn corrected, but her tone was softer . She nodded at the manhole. “Lead the way.”
The tunnel beyond smelled of damp concrete and rot. The graffiti here was more elaborate—painted sigils, glowing runes that pulsed faintly under the flashlight beam. Eva paused, studying a glyph on the wall. “That’s a *warding *. Prevents spirits from following the trail. Must’ve been drawn within the last twenty-four hours.”
Quinn’s throat tightened. *Morris’ case had warding glyphs on his apartment door.* She pushed the thought away. “Body?”
“Down here,” Eva said, leading the way. The tunnel curved left, then right, and the air grew colder. By the time they reached the platform, Quinn’s jacket felt too thin. The station was dark, but the faint flicker of candles revealed the body on the tiles.
Lila lay on her back, her dark hair fanned out around her. Her eyes were open, wide with shock, and her mouth was slightly agape as if she’d been mid-sentence when she died. Her killer hadn’t bothered to hide her—no covering of the body, no signs of a struggle. The detective knelt, shining her light over Lila’s face.
“Her skin’s… *cold *,” Eva said, a few feet behind. “But the air in here is barely chilly. Must be… a spell. To muffle the heat of decomposition.”
Quinn pressed a finger to Lila’s neck. No pulse , no warmth . Rigor mortis had set in halfway, a sign the body had been dead between 24 and 36 hours. *Found this morning *, she thought. *So she died last night or the night before.*
“Any visible trauma?”
Eva leaned down, squinting. “No knife wounds, no fractures. Her clothes are torn at the cuffs—could be from a struggle, but… the fabric’s singed. Like it caught on fire, but didn’t burn. Look here.” She pointed to Lila’s left hand. A faint, circular burn ringed her wrist, as if something hot had been pressed there. “Magic. Dark magic.”
Quinn’s gaze flicked to the ground beside Lila. A small, silver pocket watch lay open, its hands frozen at 2:17. The glass was cracked, but the mechanism still ticked—*tock, tock, tock *—though the sound was off, as if the gears were stripped. She picked it up, noting the engraving: *To Lila, on her 25th. Love, Mum.* The initials were smudged , as if someone had cried on the metal.
“Mum’s watch ,” Eva said. “Lila mentioned it in an interview last year. Said it was her only link to her family, who’d disowned her for joining the clique.”
“Clique?” Quinn asked.
Eva shifted, her satchel strap sliding off her shoulder. “The Market regulars. Call themselves the Veilwardens. Deal in arcane stuff—potions, talismans, information. They think they’re above the rules, but the Market has rules. Break them, and you disappear. Or worse.” She paused, then added , “Lila was pushing those rules. Hard. Had a reputation for stealing from competitors, for opening rifts and selling access to them. The other Wardens warned her.”
Quinn set the watch down, her thumb brushing the engraving. “Rifts. The compass.” She nodded at the floor, where a brass object lay partially buried in debris.
Eva knelt, brushing away dirt. “That’s a Veil Compass. Shade craftsmanship. Wards against demons, points to rifts. It should’ve been with Lila—she traded her last bone token for it six months ago. But it’s here, on the edge of the platform. Like it was dropped in a hurry.”
“Not dropped,” Quinn said. She pointed to the track beside the platform, where a small trail of ash led into the tunnel. “Pushed. Or… *tossed *.”
Eva stood, her brow furrowed . “Why would someone toss it? It’s valuable. The compass alone costs more than a year’s rent in Camden.”
Quinn studied the ash trail, then the compass. The face was etched with sigils, but one was chipped , a jagged crack that ran from the north cardinal point to the glass. “The needle’s broken. Look.” She tapped the compass with a finger. The needle, which should be spinning wildly, lay still, pointing east.
“East leads to the rift,” Eva said, frowning. “But the Market moves every full moon. The rift that was open last night would’ve closed by now. Unless…”
“Unless someone *reopened * it,” Quinn finished. She stood, her spine rigid. “Lila was killed because she tried to reopen a rift . The killer wanted it closed, or they wanted something from it. And they didn’t care who got in the way.”
Eva bit her lip. “But the body’s here, on the main platform. If the rift was east of the station, why drag her all the way out here? Why not leave her by the tracks, make it look like an accident?”
Quinn knelt again, running a finger over Lila’s cheek. The skin was clammy, as if her body had been cold for hours. “Because it wasn’t an accident. The killer wanted the police to find her. They wanted us to think Lila’s death is part of the clique’s infighting. But…” She paused, her thumb brushing the frayed edge of Lila’s sleeve. “Look at this.”
Eva leaned in. The fabric was torn at the elbow, but the tear was irregular, as if something had *ripped * through it from the inside, not the outside. “Magic,” Eva said, matter-of-fact. “A spell gone wrong. Or… a spirit.”
Quinn’s eyes narrowed . “Morris’ case had irregular torn fabric, too. Back of his jacket, where the rent was. He said he’d been attacked by a man, but the evidence… it didn’t add up. No footprints, no DNA. Just… a smell. Like ozone and rot.”
Eva ’s hand flew to her mouth. “You think—”
“I think Lila’s death is linked to mine,” Quinn said, her voice hard . “And if we don’t figure out what’s going on, someone else is going to end up like both of them.”
She stood, her flashlight beam sweeping the tunnel. The walls were covered in graffiti, some new, some old—prayer wheels, exorcism symbols, warnings in a dozen languages. One sticker, faded but intact, read: *THE VEIL DOES NOT FORGIVE *.
Eva picked up the compass, her fingers brushing the cracked glass. “The needle’s pointing east. The rift’s that way. But the Market’s supposed to be closed for the full moon. No one’s supposed to be there.”
Quinn’s jaw tightened. “Then someone broke the rules. Again.”
She walked to the east end of the platform, where a metal door led to a service tunnel. The door was ajar, the lock shattered . Inside, the tunnel was pitch-black, but Quinn could see the ash trail leading deeper, as if the killer had dragged the compass with them.
“Stay close,” she said, shining her light ahead.
The tunnel curved downward, the air growing colder with each step. Eva ’s breath hitched—Quinn heard it, the sound of her glasses fogging up. “Harlow. There’s… there’s something up ahead.”
Quinn stepped forward, her gun drawn. The light revealed a wall of stone, but not a natural wall—*a rift *. Faint, pulsing, like a heartbeat, it glowed with a sickly green light, and through it, Quinn could see a landscape of jagged peaks and swirling mist. The air in the tunnel hummed, as if alive.
“Lila was here,” Eva whispered. “The compass. It’s pointing to the rift. She was trying to—”
“Open it,” Quinn finished.
“But why?” Eva asked. “The rift’s unstable. It could send demons through. That’s how the Market works—they *feed * on the chaos. But Lila… she was desperate. The clique’s been losing clients. She owed a lot of money to the Blackened Hand, a gang that deals in souls. If she couldn’t pay, they’d… they’d take her soul.”
Quinn’s flashlight flickered , as if the rift’s light was interfering with the battery. She lowered the beam, studying the ground. A single bone token lay near the rift, its surface carved with a snake coiled around a star. *The Market’s entry requirement *, she thought. *A bone from a supernatural creature.*
But Lila had traded her last token for the compass. So who left this one here?
“Someone followed her,” she said. “A buyer. Someone who wanted the rift opened, but not by Lila. They wanted to take the credit, or the power. And when she tried to double-cross them… they killed her.”
Eva stepped closer, her satchel dangling from her hand. “The torn fabric. The burn ring on her wrist. It was the kill spell. A spirit bound to the rift, used to take her life. But the spirit didn’t finish the job. It got scattered when Lila died, maybe? Or trapped?”
Quinn knelt, running a finger over the bone token. The snake on the surface was moving, she realized—slowly , slithering over the carved surface. She drew back, her heart racing . “The token’s enchanted. It was meant to keep the rift closed. But it’s broken. The crack—” She pointed to a split in the bone. “—it happened when I touched it. The rift’s destabilizing. If it breaks, the spirit will escape. And then… who knows what it’ll do.”
Eva fumbled with her satchel, pulling out a notebook and a pen. “I can try to seal it. With a temporary ward. But I need—”
Quinn’s watch beeped. She checked it—11:47 PM. “We don’t have time. The rift’s been open too long. The spirit’s already seeping through.”
She glanced at the rift, and saw it—the flicker of a shadow, a face twisted in pain, reaching toward them. Then it was gone .
“The Blackened Hand,” she said. “They’re the ones behind this. They want the rift open, and they’ll sell access to anyone who can pay. But they didn’t count on Lila double-crossing them, or on the spirit escaping.”
Eva closed her notebook, her freckled face pale. “Then we have to close it. Now. Before it spreads.”
Quinn stood, her gun still drawn. “How?”
Eva pointed to the bone token. “We use it. The rift was sealed with it, so it should work. But we need to get it close. And we need to—”
The rift roared, and the ground shook. A gust of cold wind blew from it, snuffing out Quinn’s flashlight. In the darkness, she heard Eva ’s gasp, and then a scream.
“EVA!” Quinn yelled, fumbling for her flashlight. The beam flickered on, illuminating Eva on the ground beside the rift, a streak of blood on her cheek.
“The spirit,” she panted, pushing herself up. “It got her. The burn ring—” She touched her wrist, and Quinn saw the faint, circular mark glowing beneath her sleeve. “It’s spreading.”
Quinn knelt beside her, studying the burn. It was black, oozing, and it pulsed in time with the rift. “You’re possessed,” she said, her voice steady .
Eva nodded, her eyes wide. “I can feel it. It’s hungry. It wants the rift to close so it can find a new host. Help me—”
“No,” Quinn said, standing. She drew her gun, pointing it at the rift. “I’ll close it. You need to get out of here. Go to the station, call for backup. Tell them—”
“Tell them what?” Eva asked, struggling to her feet. “That the Market’s real? That spirits are real? They’ll think I’m crazy.”
Quinn stepped closer, her jaw set. “Then tell them I’m crazy. But you need to go. Now.”
She raised the gun, aiming at the bone token. The rift glowed brighter, and the spirit shrieked, pouring through the crack in the tokens. Quinn recognized it—the same face Morris had seen, the one with no eyes and a mouth full of teeth.
She fired.
The bullet hit the spirit, and it howled, dissolving into a cloud of black smoke. The rift shuddered, and the spirit raced back through it, sealing the crack with a flash of green light. The token glowed, then dimmed, its surface smooth again.
Quinn lowered the gun, her chest heaving. The air in the tunnel felt normal now, warm and damp, no longer hummed with magic.
“Eva ,” she said, turning. Her best friend was leaning against the wall, her hand pressed to her stomach , but the burn on her wrist was gone .
“You did it,” Eva said, a weak smile on her face.
Quinn knelt, checking her pulse . “You were possessed. How are you still here?”
Eva laughed, a small, tired sound. “The bone token. It’s old magic—protects the host from the spirit. For a little while, at least. I’ll be fine. The ward I was casting should hold the spirit off until backup arrives.”
Quinn stood, her flashlight beam sweeping the tunnel. The rift was closed , the door to the service tunnel ajar, and the spirit was gone .
“Lila,” she said, remembering. She knelt beside the body, her hand on Lila’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
Eva sat down beside her, her satchel on the ground. “She didn’t deserve this. She was just trying to survive.”
Quinn closed Lila’s eyes. “We’ll find out who killed her. And we’ll make them pay.”
The sound of sirens echoed in the tunnel, growing closer. Eva stood, brushing dirt from her pants. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. The police can take care of the rest.”
Quinn nodded, picking up the bone token. The glow was gone , but she could still feel it, a faint warmth in her palm—a reminder that the supernatural was real, that it was hungry, and that it would never stay hidden for long.
She followed Eva out of the tunnel, the flashlight beam cutting through the darkness, and thought of Morris. *I’m close *, she promised him, her voice silent. *I’m so close.*
The rain started again, soft at first, then hard, washing away the blood and the ash and the memories. But Quinn knew they wouldn’t be erased. Some things, like the Veil, couldn’t be closed. They could only be watched. And waited for.