Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMMC98979JJ1CX76KFSZF9Z

Detective Quinn's boots splashed through puddles as she pursued the hooded figure down Greek Street. Rain pelted her face, but she didn't dare wipe it away, keeping her right hand close to her holster and her eyes locked on the suspect. The green neon glow of The Raven's Nest reflected off the wet pavement as they passed, casting an eerie sheen across the empty Soho streets. The suspect darted left down a narrow alley. Quinn followed, her practiced stride maintaining the gap. Three years of dead ends since Morris's disappearance had led to this moment. This runner knew something - she could feel it in her bones, the same way she'd felt something was off that night she lost her partner. They emerged onto Camden High Street, the suspect's dark clothing blending with the shadows between streetlights. Quinn's breath came in controlled bursts, her military training kicking in as she regulated her pace. The figure ahead wasn't tiring - if anything, they seemed to be moving with renewed purpose. The suspect veered suddenly, disappearing down the steps of a closed Underground station. Quinn slowed, hand moving to her radio. "Suspect heading into Camden Town station, northbound entrance. Requesting backup-" She cut off as she reached the top of the stairs. The padlocked gate at the bottom hung open, chains scattered across the wet steps. Beyond it, darkness gaped. This station had been closed for months for renovations. But something about the darkness felt wrong - deeper than it should be, with an odd shimmer at its edges that made her eyes hurt. Quinn drew her torch with her left hand, gun with her right. The worn leather of her watch band pressed against her wrist as she checked the time - 23:47. Her radio crackled with a response, but the words were lost in a burst of static. The beam of her torch caught something at the bottom of the stairs - a small white object that gleamed like bone. As she descended, she recognized it as some kind of token, carved with symbols she didn't recognize. Her instincts screamed that this was connected to Morris's case - to the inconsistencies in the evidence, the strange symbols found at the scene, the witnesses who seemed to forget critical details overnight. A sound echoed up from below - footsteps, but with an odd resonance that suggested a much larger space than should exist here. Quinn hesitated at the threshold of the darkness. Protocol said wait for backup. Everything she'd learned in eighteen years on the force said don't go into an unknown situation alone. But Morris would have followed. And she'd sworn to find out what happened to him. Quinn stepped through the barrier and immediately knew she'd crossed more than just a physical threshold. The air felt different - heavier, charged with something that made the hair on her arms stand up. The platform ahead had been transformed. Gone were the construction materials and safety barriers. Instead, stalls lined the curved walls, illuminated by strings of mismatched lights that cast strange shadows. She caught movement ahead - her suspect, pushing through a crowd she couldn't quite bring into focus. The figures seemed to shift and blur when viewed directly, like trying to see through smoke. "Police! Stop right there!" Her voice echoed oddly, and several of the shadowy figures turned toward her. The suspect disappeared around a bend in the platform. "You shouldn't be here, Detective." The voice came from her left. Quinn spun, weapon raised, to find a man watching her with warm brown eyes. He wore medical scrubs under a leather jacket, and a Saint Christopher medallion glinted at his throat. "Tomás Herrera," Quinn said, recognizing him from surveillance photos. "You lost your medical license last year. Want to explain what you're doing in a closed Underground station?" He smiled sadly, the scar on his forearm visible as he raised his hands. "I could ask you the same. You have no jurisdiction in the Veil Market, Detective Quinn. And you're making people nervous." He nodded toward the other figures, who were definitely moving closer now. "I'm pursuing a suspect-" "Who is long gone through channels you can't follow." Herrera's voice was gentle but firm. "This isn't your world, Detective. Not yet. Go back up those stairs, forget what you've seen, and you might live long enough to keep asking your questions about DS Morris." Quinn's finger tightened on her trigger. "What do you know about Morris?" "Nothing you're ready to hear." Herrera glanced over her shoulder. "But they're coming now, and if you're still here when they arrive, I won't be able to help you. Please. Go." The lights flickered, and Quinn heard something moving in the tunnel behind her - something that sounded much larger than human footsteps. Her tactical training warred with her need for answers. "This isn't over," she said finally, backing toward the stairs. "No," Herrera agreed. "But the next time you come to the Veil Market, Detective, make sure you have a proper token. That one you picked up was a one-way courtesy. There won't be another." Quinn kept her weapon up until she reached the stairs, then turned and ran. She burst out onto the street, rain still falling, her watch showing 23:49 - only two minutes had passed. When she turned back, the station entrance was locked tight, chains and padlock exactly as they should be, with no sign they'd been disturbed. But in her pocket, the bone token still felt warm against her thigh, and she could smell something on her clothes - like ozone and old books and secrets. She pulled out her notebook with shaking hands and wrote down everything she could remember. Tomorrow, she would begin researching the Veil Market. And she would be back - properly prepared next time.