Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMPADW0895PKXPWB8YVXHK4

The rain fell in sheets, turning the neon-lit streets of Soho into a blur of reflected light and shadow. Detective Harlow Quinn leaned into the wind, her trench coat flapping behind her as she sprinted after the figure darting ahead. Her legs burned, but she pushed harder, her focus narrowing to the man weaving through the crowd like a ghost. Tomás Herrera. She’d recognize that scarred forearm anywhere, even under the dim glow of the streetlights. “Herrera!” she barked, her voice cutting through the downpour. He didn’t stop. If anything, he moved faster, slipping around a corner into a narrow alleyway. Quinn clenched her jaw, her sharp features tightening as she followed. Her boots splashed through puddles, the sound echoing off the brick walls. The alley was a dead end, but Herrera was already scaling a fire escape, his movements fluid and effortless. Quinn cursed under her breath. She wasn’t as nimble as she used to be, and the rain made the metal rungs slick. But she couldn’t lose him. Not after months of chasing shadows, of piecing together fragments of a case that didn’t make sense. She grabbed the ladder and hauled herself up, her leather watch catching the faint light as she climbed. The wind whipped her salt-and-pepper hair into her face, but she brushed it aside, her eyes locked on Herrera as he disappeared over the rooftop. She reached the top, breathing hard, and scanned the roof. Herrera was already halfway across, leaping onto the next building with the grace of a cat. Quinn hesitated for a fraction of a second, then followed. Her military precision kept her movements controlled, but the gap was wide, and the rain made everything treacherous. She jumped, her heart pounding as her boots hit the edge of the next roof. She stumbled but caught herself, her sharp jaw tightening as she pushed forward. Herrera glanced back, his warm brown eyes meeting hers for a moment. There was no fear there, just a quiet determination that made Quinn’s instincts scream. She pulled her badge from her coat pocket and held it up. “Metropolitan Police! Stop!” He didn’t. Instead, he ducked into a service door, disappearing into the building below. Quinn swore again and followed, her hand instinctively brushing the holster at her side. The stairwell was dark, and the air smelled of mildew and oil. She descended quickly, her eyes scanning for movement. At the bottom, she found a door slightly ajar, leading into the backroom of a familiar bar. The Raven’s Nest. Quinn had been here before, though she hadn’t found anything incriminating. Yet. The bar was dimly lit, its walls adorned with old maps and photographs that whispered of secrets. She pushed through the door, her senses on high alert. The room was empty except for a bookshelf that seemed slightly askew. She approached it cautiously, her fingers brushing the spines of the books. There. A faint click, and the shelf swung open to reveal a hidden passage. Quinn hesitated. She didn’t have backup, and entering blind was against protocol. But Herrera was too close, too important. She pulled out her flashlight and stepped inside, the air growing cooler as she descended the narrow stairs. The passage opened into a sprawling underground space that made her breath catch. The Veil Market. Quinn had heard whispers of it, though she’d never seen it for herself. The abandoned Tube station beneath Camden had been transformed into a labyrinth of stalls and tents, their faint glow casting eerie shadows on the walls. The scent of incense and something metallic hung in the air, and the chatter of voices was low and secretive. Herrera was nowhere in sight, but she wasn’t about to give up. She moved cautiously, her bearing rigid and alert. The stalls were filled with oddities—vials of glowing liquids, strange talismans, books bound in what looked like human skin. Quinn’s stomach turned, but she kept her expression neutral. She couldn’t afford to draw attention. Vendors eyed her warily, their gazes lingering on her badge. “Bone token?” a raspy voice asked as she passed a stall. Quinn glanced at the vendor, a hunched figure with milky eyes and a face like cracked leather. She shook her head and kept walking, her fingers brushing the medallion she’d seen Herrera wear. Saint Christopher. She’d find him. The deeper she went, the more the market seemed to close in around her. The crowd grew thicker, their whispers more urgent. Quinn’s instincts screamed at her to turn back, but she pressed on, her flashlight cutting through the gloom. Finally, she spotted him—Herrera, standing at the edge of a circle of tents, his olive skin glistening with rain and sweat. He was speaking with a figure cloaked in shadows, their voice too low to hear. Quinn approached slowly, her hand hovering near her weapon. “Herrera. Enough running.” He turned, his warm brown eyes meeting hers again. This time, there was no determination—only regret. “You shouldn’t have followed me, Detective.” “You shouldn’t have run,” she said curtly, stepping closer. “What’s going on here? What are you mixed up in?” Herrera glanced at the cloaked figure, then back at Quinn. “You don’t understand. This isn’t what you think.” “Then explain it,” she snapped, her voice sharp. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re involved in something illegal. Tell me the truth, and maybe I can help you.” He shook his head, his curls damp and sticking to his forehead. “You can’t help me. No one can. Not with this.” Quinn’s jaw tightened, but before she could respond, the cloaked figure stepped forward. Their voice was cold and distant, like the wind through a graveyard. “Leave now, Detective. This place isn’t for you.” She glared at them, her brown eyes hard. “I’m not leaving without answers.” The figure tilted their head, and Quinn felt a chill run down her spine. “Very well,” they said softly. “But remember—you chose this.” Before Quinn could react, the market seemed to shift around her. The stalls blurred, the whispers grew louder, and the air thickened with a strange, oppressive energy. She stumbled back, her flashlight flickering. Herrera reached for her, his scarred forearm catching the light, but she pulled away. “What the hell is going on?” she demanded, her voice shaking despite herself. “You shouldn’t have come,” Herrera said again, his voice filled with sorrow. “This is the Veil, Detective. It’s not your world.” Quinn’s mind raced, her training fighting against the surreal chaos around her. She gripped her flashlight tighter, her sharp jaw clenched. “I don’t care what this is. I’m not leaving without answers.” The cloaked figure chuckled, a sound that made Quinn’s skin crawl. “Answers, Detective? Very well. But the truth comes with a price.” Quinn hesitated, her instincts warring with her determination. She’d chased Herrera this far, but now she stood at the edge of something she didn’t understand. Something dangerous. Something that reminded her of the unexplained circumstances surrounding her partner’s death three years ago. She made her decision. “Name your price.” The cloaked figure smiled, and Quinn felt the ground shift beneath her feet as the Veil Market swallowed her whole.