Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMPB7G1N43S866BG41RCJH0

Rain lashed down on the deserted streets of Soho, casting a misty veil over the neon signs that lined the pavement. Detective Harlow Quinn sprinted down the center of the road, her eyes fixed on the fleeing figure of Tomás Herrera, his dark curls plastered to his forehead. The worn leather strap of her watch dug into her wrist as she pumped her arms, her military-honed bearing propelling her forward with precision. "Stop! Police!" she bellowed, the words lost in the deluge. Tomás didn't flinch, his olive skin glistening with rain as he dodged between pedestrians huddled under awnings. Harlow followed, her sharp jaw set in determination. She had been trailing him for hours, ever since a tip linked him to the clique she suspected of orchestrating a string of bizarre occurrences across the city. As they approached the abandoned Tube station beneath Camden, Tomás suddenly veered toward the entrance, a nondescript metal door with a small, unmarked slot beside it. Harlow's instincts screamed warning, but her gaze locked onto Tomás as he produced a small, pale object from his pocket and slipped it into the slot. The door creaked open, revealing a set of dimly lit stairs that plunged into darkness. Harlow hesitated, water pooling around her feet. She knew this place – the Veil Market, a clandestine bazaar rumored to deal in the occult and supernatural. Her gut told her to wait for backup, to surround the location and contain whatever dangers lurked beneath. Yet, if Tomás slipped into the Market, she might lose her only lead on the clique. With a deep breath, Harlow drew her pistol and descended into the unknown, the door thudding shut behind her. The air grew thick with the scent of incense, smoke, and something sweetly acrid. She found herself in a narrow, makeshift corridor, the walls constructed from rusty Tube carriages and scavenged timber. The murmur of hushed voices and the faint hum of enchanted goods guided her through the twisting passage. As she emerged into the Market proper, Harlow's eyes widened. The abandoned Tube station had been transformed into a labyrinthine emporium, stalls and kiosks tucked into every available niche. Lanterns fashioned from human skulls, their eyes aglow with soft, ethereal light, cast flickering shadows on the walls. Patrons of all shapes and sizes – some decidedly not human – milled about, inspecting wares that ranged from glowing, iridescent orbs to leather-bound tomes adorned with strange symbols. Harlow's gaze darted through the crowd, searching for Tomás's distinctive curls. She spotted him near the far wall, his Saint Christopher medallion glinting as he haggled with a vendor over a small, ornate box. Her pistol, still clutched in her hand, felt woefully inadequate against the unpredictable dangers surrounding her. She began to weave through the crowd, earning wary glances from the Market's patrons. Some recognized the detective's badge clipped to her belt, and whispers spread like wildfire. Harlow's skin prickled, her senses on high alert. One misstep could ignite this volatile environment. As she approached Tomás, the vendor, a spindly figure with eyes that shimmered like the surface of water, looked up and met Harlow's gaze. His smile was a thin, cruel line. "Welcome, Detective Quinn. I see you're... shopping for something." Tomás's eyes locked onto hers, a fleeting expression of warning crossing his face before he returned to the negotiation. "I'm here for him," Harlow stated, her voice firm, as she nodded toward Tomás. The vendor's smile grew, his eyes glinting with malevolence. "I'm afraid Tomás is a valued customer. His business is with me, not you." Harlow's grip on her pistol tightened. She knew the risks of escalating the situation, but she couldn't let Tomás slip away. Not now, when she was so close to unraveling the clique's mysteries. With a calculated breath, she holstered her pistol and reached for her badge, a deliberate show of authority. "I can make this very simple, or very complicated. Your choice." Tomás's gaze flashed to hers once more, this time with a hint of desperation. The vendor, however, merely chuckled, the sound like the gentle lapping of waves on a summer shore. "Complicated, then," he said, his voice dripping with anticipation, as he vanished into thin air, leaving behind only the faintest whisper of enchanted smoke and the promise of chaos to come.