Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMPDZ67RPSKWB364879M5SQ

In the heart of London, rain slashed down like silver needles, turning the city into a slick, glistening beast. Detective Harlow Quinn, her salt-and-pepper hair darkened by the downpour, pursued her suspect through the labyrinthine streets of Soho. The man, Tomás Herrera, darted around corners, his olive skin a stark contrast against the neon lights reflecting off the wet cobblestones. Quinn's breath misted in the chilly air, her worn leather watch ticking away the seconds on her left wrist. She wasn't about to lose him, not again. Quinn's sharp jaw was set, her brown eyes narrowed against the rain. She'd been chasing Herrera for blocks, ever since he'd bolted from The Raven's Nest, Silas' bar, where she'd been waiting for him. The bar's distinctive green neon sign had been a beacon in the storm, but now it was just a distant glow, swallowed by the night. She could still see Herrera, though, his dark form weaving through the crowds, his Saint Christopher medallion glinting under the streetlamps. Herrera suddenly veered left, disappearing down a narrow alley. Quinn pushed herself harder, her military precision driving her forward. She rounded the corner, her shoes slipping on the wet ground. The alley was a dead end, but Herrera was nowhere to be seen. Then she noticed the grate, half-hidden in the shadows. It was open, revealing a dark hole leading downwards. Quinn hesitated, her heart pounding in her chest. She'd heard rumors about the Veil Market, the supernatural black market that operated beneath the city. It was said to move locations every full moon, and tonight, the moon was full. She glanced back at the street, then down at the gaping hole. Herrera was her key to the clique, to understanding what had happened to her partner, DS Morris. She couldn't let him slip away. She holstered her gun, grabbed the edge of the grate, and swung herself down into the darkness. Her feet hit the cold, damp ground, and she found herself in a tunnel, the air heavy with the scent of earth and something else, something acrid and unfamiliar. She could hear Herrera's footsteps echoing ahead, and she set off after him, her flashlight cutting through the gloom. The tunnel opened up into a vast cavern, and Quinn found herself staring at the Veil Market. It was like nothing she'd ever seen. Stalls made of bone and shadow sold everything from glowing potions to cages filled with writhing, otherworldly creatures. The air hummed with energy, and the chatter of the market-goers filled the space, a cacophony of languages and voices that grated against her ears. Quinn spotted Herrera up ahead, weaving through the crowd. She followed, her heart pounding in her chest. She was out of her depth, but she couldn't stop now. Not when she was so close. Herrera suddenly turned, disappearing behind a stall. Quinn quickened her pace, pushing past a group of hooded figures. She rounded the stall, her breath catching in her throat. Herrera was gone, but there was a door set into the rock face, a bone token inserted into a slot above the handle. She reached out, her fingers brushing the token. It was warm to the touch, pulsing with an otherworldly energy. She looked around, her heart pounding. She could hear voices on the other side of the door, low and urgent. She could turn back, leave the market, forget she'd ever seen this place. But she thought of Morris, of the empty space in her life where he'd once been. She thought of the clique, of the secrets they hid. She couldn't turn back now. Quinn took a deep breath, pulled the bone token from the slot, and pushed open the door. The voices stopped, and she found herself in a small, dimly lit room. Herrera was there, along with two other men, their faces hard and cold. They were all looking at her, surprise etched on their faces. "Detective Quinn," Herrera said, his voice barely above a whisper. "What are you doing here?" Quinn looked around the room, her eyes landing on a table in the corner. It was covered with files, photographs, evidence. Evidence of the clique, of their activities. She felt a thrill of triumph, but it was short-lived. She was outnumbered, and she was in their territory. "I could ask you the same thing, Herrera," she said, her voice steady despite the fear coiling in her stomach. "But I think I already know the answer." Herrera sighed, running a hand through his short curly hair. "I'm afraid you do, Detective. And I'm afraid you've made a very big mistake." Quinn's hand inched towards her gun, but she knew it was too late. She'd made her choice, and now she had to face the consequences. But she wasn't going down without a fight. Not again. Not ever again. The room was silent, the tension palpable. Then, suddenly, one of the men lunged at her, his face contorted with rage. Quinn reacted instinctively, her training kicking in. She dodged his attack, her hand finally reaching her gun. She fired, the sound echoing loudly in the small room. The man fell to the ground, clutching his leg, a look of shock on his face. Herrera and the other man exchanged a look, then turned to face her. Quinn backed up, her gun trained on them, her heart pounding in her chest. She was outnumbered, but she wasn't outmatched. Not yet. "Stay back," she warned, her voice steady despite the fear coursing through her veins. "I don't want to hurt anyone else, but I will if I have to." Herrera held up his hands, a sad smile on his face. "I believe you, Detective. But I'm afraid it's too late for that." Quinn felt a chill run down her spine, a sense of unease settling over her. She looked around the room, her eyes landing on a mirror in the corner. She could see her reflection, but it was distorted, warped. And behind her, in the reflection, she could see a figure, a figure that wasn't there. She spun around, her gun raised, but it was too late. The figure was already on her, its hands cold and clammy as they closed around her throat. She struggled, kicking and punching, but it was like fighting smoke. She could feel the life draining out of her, her vision starting to swim. And then, everything went black. When Quinn came to, she was back in the alley, the rain still pouring down around her. She gasped for breath, her hand going to her throat. It was sore, but there was no mark, no sign of the attack. She looked around, her heart pounding in her chest. The grate was closed, the tunnel sealed. There was no sign of Herrera, no sign of the Veil Market. She stumbled to her feet, her body aching. She felt disoriented, confused. Had it all been a dream? No, she thought, her hand going to her pocket. Her fingers closed around the bone token, still warm, still pulsing with energy. It hadn't been a dream. It had been real. And now, she had proof. Quinn looked up at the sky, the rain still falling, the moon still full. She knew she should go back, report what she'd seen. But she also knew that no one would believe her. Not without more evidence. And she knew where to find it. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come. Then she turned, her eyes on the grate, on the darkness below. She wasn't going to let this go. Not now. Not ever. She was going to find the truth, no matter what it took. No matter where it led her. Even if it meant going back into the darkness, back into the Veil Market. She was going to find her answers. And she was going to bring the clique to justice. No matter what the cost.