Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMNADB4NMAAGCH49KW2K211

The rain came down like a curse, each drop a needle pricking the skin of the city. Harlow Quinn’s breath fogged in the frigid air as she moved through the slick streets of Camden, her boots splashing through puddles that glistened with the sickly yellow glow of streetlamps. The neon sign of *The Raven’s Nest* flickered in the distance, its green hue bleeding into the gray haze—another dead end. The suspect had been there, she was sure of it. The way he’d ducked into the shadows, the way the bartender’s fingers had twitched when she’d asked about a man with a scar. But now, he was gone, swallowed by the night. She pulled her coat tighter, the leather of her watch strap creaking against her wrist. The rain drummed against her hat, a cheap purchase from a market stall, but it did the job—keeping the worst of the downpour off her face. Her sharp jaw clenched as she scanned the alleyways, the flickering glow of a cigarette end reflecting in the wet pavement. *Where did he go?* A movement. A flash of dark fabric disappearing around the corner. Harlow’s pulse spiked. She didn’t hesitate. She moved, her boots silent on the damp stones, her body coiled like a spring. The alley opened into a narrow passage, the walls slick with rain and something darker—something that didn’t belong in London’s underbelly. The air smelled of damp earth and something metallic, like old blood. Then she saw it. A set of stairs, descending into darkness. The kind of stairs that shouldn’t exist in a city this old. The kind that led somewhere they weren’t supposed to go. Harlow hesitated. Her training screamed at her to turn back, to call it in, to let the uniforms handle the mess. But the suspect was down there. She could feel it, like a pull in her bones. And if he was going somewhere, so was she. She took the first step, her boot sliding slightly on the rusted metal. The stairs groaned beneath her weight, the sound echoing in the confined space. Each step deeper felt like a gamble. The air grew thicker, the scent of damp stone giving way to something sharper—ozone, maybe, or the faint tang of alchemy. The walls were lined with strange symbols, carved into the brickwork, their meanings lost to time. Or maybe not lost. Maybe they were warnings. She reached the bottom and found herself in a cavernous space, the ceiling lost in darkness. The air hummed with an energy she didn’t understand, something electric and wrong. The underground market stretched before her, a labyrinth of stalls and shadows. The Veil Market. She’d heard the rumors, of course. The place where the supernatural traded in secrets and forbidden things. But she’d never thought she’d find herself standing in its depths. A man in a long coat stood near the entrance, his face obscured by the brim of his hat. He turned as she stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. *A guard. Or a dealer.* She didn’t have time to think about it. The suspect was here. She could feel him, like a heartbeat in the dark. She moved deeper into the market, her boots splashing through shallow pools of water that had no right to exist underground. The stalls were a riot of colors and scents—glowing herbs, bottles of liquid that shimmered like liquid silver, and figures wrapped in cloaks that seemed to shift in the dim light. A woman with silver hair sold what looked like dried eyes, their irises swirling with strange patterns. A man in a tattered suit offered vials of a substance that pulsed with an inner light. None of it made sense. None of it was real. And then she saw him. The suspect. Tall, broad-shouldered, his scarred forearm visible beneath the sleeve of his jacket. He was speaking to a man in a high-collared coat, his voice low and urgent. The other man—*a dealer, a fixer*—listened, his fingers tapping against a bone token that hung from a chain around his neck. The same token that let people in. The same token that could get them killed. Harlow’s hand drifted to the gun at her hip. She wasn’t here to shoot. Not yet. But she was here to watch. To listen. To understand. The suspect turned, his eyes locking onto hers. For a second, she thought he’d seen her. But then he was gone, slipping through the crowd like a ghost. She followed, her pulse hammering in her ears. The market shifted around her, the stalls rearranging themselves as if alive. She had to move fast. She reached a narrow passage, the walls lined with more of those strange symbols. The air here was colder, the hum of the market fading into something deeper, darker. A sound reached her then—a whisper, a murmur of voices that weren’t quite human. She pressed herself against the wall, her breath shallow. Then she saw it. A door. Or what looked like a door. Carved wood, the grain dark and twisted, the edges glowing faintly with an inner light. The kind of thing that shouldn’t exist. The kind of thing that belonged in stories. The suspect was on the other side. Harlow took a breath. She could turn back. She could walk away and pretend she’d never seen any of this. But she’d lost her partner once before. She wouldn’t make that mistake again. She reached out, her fingers brushing the wood. It was warm. Almost alive. The door creaked open before she could force it, as if it had been waiting for her. And then she was inside. The room beyond was a blur of movement and light. Figures moved in the dark, their forms shifting, their voices overlapping in a language that wasn’t quite English. She could hear the suspect’s voice, sharp and urgent, cutting through the chaos. *We have to go. Now. Before they realize.* Harlow’s mind raced. She didn’t know what was happening. She didn’t know who these people were. But she knew one thing for certain—they weren’t just criminals. They weren’t just dealing in drugs or information. They were dealing in something else. Something worse. She pulled her gun, her finger tightening on the trigger. The room seemed to still for a second, the figures turning toward her. The suspect’s voice cut through the silence. *Harlow. What the hell are you doing here?* She didn’t answer. She didn’t have time. She fired.