Run: 2026-05-27-01KSMEM44KS2P4TM55434A3ERQ

The chassis creaked as Detective Harlow Quinn's sedan pulled up to an abandoned Tube station alongside the Thames. Rain drummed against the car roof and Jalan Hendershot's hulking form beside her. The threadbare lip of his thin hood looked suitably out of place against his mailboy uniform, even if the outfit was just a cover for his true identity - the Head Deacon working for The Veil's High Syndicate. Harlow stepped out to inhale a deep breath. Sutton Road in Camden cut a bleak path through the congestion of foggy illumination from the local streetlamp. Candor lay buried beneath a mass of vegetation and cracks on the concrete walkway, each step casting talons into the damp earth beneath their attire. The Market awaited them in a derelict tunnel below ground, a shadowed refuge scurried by feral things. This time, Harlow and Jalan summoned one such denizen to draw back the curtain on another stinging question. The stone arch led to a dank courtyard filled with the detritus of homemade signages and knick-knacks - Jadan's Cove sprawled beneath the metallic glint of the abandoned station, the charm of a pirate haven for a lost color rising in gloom. Over by the kiosks, Harlow glimpsed a familiar figure. Under the hood of a sky-blue jean jacket, she stared with wide emerald eyes — they were green as sea glass and framed by amber laces, that somehow softened her burnt shoulders. Feline and gracefully tall, Eve Kowalski had a whispered aura. It was not just an eerie but haunting presence, a woman with tame red curls that made serving as an archivist and researcher seem more tool-like than benevolent as she stood before the stalls of a rogue showroom. Harlow stepped forward. "Eve, what are you doing here? You'll be found out by the High Syndicate." A ripple of static laughter was Eve's reply. "Really, High- herself Detective, and here I thought The Syndicate was already giving you the goosebumps." She gestured at the surrounding marble kiosks. "But tell me... What if we can find the key to what's wrong here, right here in plain sight? The answer to a much closer mystery?" By now, Harlow couldn't pull her gaze from the erratic visages and the impossible build-up of Ondrian trinkets from the Sanctorum's portal. "Too bad your silence goes against a tighter law. Everything in the name of investigation..." Quinn felt the storm's electricity down her arms as she stretched out her palms to the nightscapes. Instantly, the hourglass tray and commodities in the clay-pot blew across the courtyard. Quick kaleidoscopic reactions in the logs, Jar Royan sprung from the tall grass with a bone dagger in his hand. "You leave us no choice!" He barked. "You dare conscript the secrets we staged." He lunged. Harlow and Jalan's daggers glistened, as the scum turned into shadows. "Detective, I know this is not how you wanted things." Eve's voice was laced with hurt as the roaring noises subsided. "But remember... Obsidian eyes don't lie. And neither do the ones you keep hidden." A shadow moved. Harlow saw it blink. She caught her breath. Agitations sloshed inside her own organs. When she looked up, Eve had disappeared. Harlow turned, saw Jalan being pulled back. The rain pounded harder and Harlow felt dizzy, her body quaking as she fisted a leather bound treatise. Open. The page read in gold relief: As above, so below. What goes high, stays high. What sins rise, don't fall. Again. She blinked, and Eve stood beside her once more. "I thought you'd fled." "I couldn't let Jar's men get to you," Eve replied. "There was too much at stake." Harlow felt a pang of something in her chest as she looked over at Eve, rain dripping from her nose—something more than the ordinary pull for a higher good, something sweetly sailor and charming, more enticing yet foreboding. "Eve, you know what this means, don't you? This is just the beginning."