Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMPD7NCQYMVWK53M9RAJEC6

The rain was a relentless downpour, pounding the cobblestones of Soho like a thousand impatient fingers. Detective Harlow Quinn's boots splashed through puddles as she sprinted down the narrow alley, her breath coming in sharp gasps. The woman she pursued—blood-mેએred arms outstretched, unnatural grace in her every step—glanced back with a cruel grin that gleamed fang-white in the dim glow of a gas lamp. "C'mon, copper. You're losing your touch," the woman taunted, her voice a throaty purr. Quinn snarled and redoubled her efforts, ignoring the throb of her . Ahead, the woman skidded to a halt at a dead end, a wall of damp brick barring her path. She turned, a slow, predatory pivot, and flashed a smirk. "Looks like my lucky night." But as Quinn closed in, the woman lunged, not at her, but the wall. Her hand closed around a rusted door handle, hidden in the shadows. With a curse, Quinn dove, fingers scrambling for purchase as the door swung shut, plunging the alley into darkness. For a moment, the detective sprawled on the wet ground, the cool, stinking rain plastering her hair to her skull. Then she was on her feet, groping feverishly for the handle. The door yielded with a groan, revealing a narrow flight of . She took the stairs three at a time, the pain in her ribs forgotten in the heat of pursuit. The stairs ended in a vast, echoing space. Quinn blinked, rainwater dripping from her lashes. An abandoned station, ancient brick arches stretching into shadow. The , bones bleached and glistening under the sickly fluorescent lights. A dozen pedestals topped with cloaked figures, low murmurs of conversation. The market was laid out before her like a feast. Her suspect stood a few yards away, leaning against a cracked pillar, ankles crossed as if waiting for a bus. "Took you long enough," she said, enjoying the detective's surprise. Quinn planted her feet, every sense on high alert. "Where is it?" she demanded, touching the . "Tell me now, and walk away." The woman laughed, a cold, sharp sound. "You really have no idea where you are, do you?" She pushed off from the pillar and sauntered closer, hips swaying. "Welcome to the Veil Market, Detective. The place where your kind isn't welcome." Quinn's grip tightened on her baton. Her experience told her to run, to get help, to surround the area. But her instincts screamed to pursue. Three years, three years since Morris disappeared, and her last lead was staring her in the face, smirking like it had a secret. She couldn't let her slip away. "Last chance," Quinn said, leveling the baton. The woman rolled her eyes and spun on her heel, disappearing into the Market's maw. The detective followed at a wary trot, her gaze darting from stall to stall. A peddler in a shabby cloak offered her worn tomes with flowery titles like "Rituals of the Old Religion" and "The Summoner's Compendium." A stall frequented by pale, translucent figures jostled for space, reaching rotting fingers for a vile that glowed an angry red. Quinn's nose wrinkled at the rank, metallic scent. Her quarry led her to a dead-end - a handful of stalls radiating an aura of menace. The wall of a . "Bomei." A tall figure in a stark white lab coat emerged from the shadows, gold-spectacled gaze fixed on Quinn. "And who have you brought me?" The woman, Bomei, inclined her head in deference. "Detective Quin, I present Doctor fulfillment stacks Doctor Kesari. She and her colleagues specialise in off-the-books treatments."