Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMQE6PA1HFF8FQT8WW1MJ86

The rain fell in silver sheets, turning the Soho streets into a slick, reflective maze. Detective Harlow Quinn moved like a shadow between the neon glow of the Raven’s Nest and the deeper dark of the alleyway beyond, her breath steady despite the burn in her lungs. The suspect—*Herrera*—had slipped through the back door of the bar like a rat down a drainpipe, but she wasn’t about to let him vanish again. Not after three years of dead ends and half-truths. Her boots splashed through puddles as she rounded the corner, the green neon sign of the Raven’s Nest bleeding into the downpour behind her. The alley stank of damp brick and stale beer, the kind of place where secrets festered in the cracks. She pressed her back against the wall, listening. Somewhere ahead, a metal door clanged shut. *Too late to be casual.* She pushed off, her fingers brushing the grip of her service pistol—*not yet, not unless she had to*—and moved forward, her steps silent despite the rain. The alley dead-ended at a rusted fire escape, its ladder dangling just out of reach. Quinn didn’t hesitate. She jumped, her fingers closing around the cold metal, and hauled herself up with the efficiency of a woman who’d done this a hundred times before. The platform groaned under her weight, but she was already moving, her eyes scanning the rooftops. There—*a flicker of movement.* Herrera’s dark curls, his olive skin slick with rain, as he dropped down onto the next building over. She didn’t call out. Words were for negotiations, for suspects who hadn’t already slipped through her fingers once. Instead, she ran, her boots pounding against the wet gravel of the rooftop. The gap between the buildings was narrow—*too narrow for a safe jump, but she wasn’t here for safe.* She took a running start, her muscles coiling, and launched herself across the void. For a heartbeat, she was weightless, the city sprawled beneath her like a living thing, then her feet hit the opposite ledge, her knees absorbing the impact. She didn’t slow down. Herrera was already at the far edge, his back to her as he fumbled with something at his belt. A *bone token.* Quinn’s stomach twisted. She’d seen those before—*in evidence photos, in the pockets of bodies that shouldn’t have been possible.* Supernatural bullshit. The kind of thing that had gotten her partner killed. “Herrera!” Her voice cut through the rain, sharp as a blade. “Stop right there!” He didn’t. Of course he didn’t. The token glowed faintly in his palm, and then the air in front of him *ripped,* like a curtain being torn aside. A doorway—*no, a wound in the world*—yawned open, revealing a set of crumbling stone steps descending into darkness. The Veil Market. She’d heard the whispers, the rumors from informants who swore they’d seen it. A black market for things that didn’t belong in this world. Herrera didn’t look back. He stepped through, and the doorway *snapped* shut behind him, leaving only the rain and the cold and the sickening certainty that she was out of her depth. Quinn didn’t hesitate. She pulled her torch from her belt, flicked it on, and followed. The moment she crossed the threshold, the world *shifted.* The rain vanished. The air turned thick, humid, like the breath of something ancient. Her torch beam cut through the dark, illuminating a tunnel of cracked tile and peeling posters—*advertisements for things that hadn’t existed in decades, in centuries.* The walls pulsed faintly, as if alive. She swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the torch. *No turning back now.* The tunnel sloped downward, the steps uneven beneath her boots. The deeper she went, the more the air pressed in, heavy with the scent of ozone and something metallic, like old blood. Voices drifted up from below—*not human, not entirely.* A language that slithered into her ears and made her teeth ache. She gritted her jaw and kept moving. The tunnel opened into a vast chamber, its ceiling lost in shadow. Stalls lined the walls, their wares glowing with an eerie light—*jars of swirling mist, weapons that hummed with unseen energy, bundles of herbs that writhed like serpents.* Figures moved between them, their forms shifting in the dim light. Some had too many limbs. Others had none at all. A few looked almost human, but their eyes—*their eyes were wrong.* Quinn’s pulse hammered in her throat. She should turn back. This wasn’t her world. This wasn’t *her* case. But then she saw him—Herrera, standing at a stall near the far wall, his back to her as he spoke to a figure draped in tattered robes. The robed figure’s hands—*too long, too many fingers*—handed him a small vial of something that glowed like liquid fire. Quinn’s stomach twisted. *Drugs. Weapons. Something worse.* She stepped forward, her torch beam sweeping over the crowd. Heads turned. Eyes—*too many eyes*—locked onto her. The chatter died. Herrera’s shoulders tensed. He knew she was there. “Herrera,” she said, her voice steady despite the way her skin crawled. “Step away from the stall. Now.” He turned slowly, his warm brown eyes meeting hers. There was no fear in them. Only resignation. “Detective Quinn. You shouldn’t be here.” “Neither should you.” She took another step forward, her free hand hovering near her pistol. “But here we are. Let’s go. Before this gets ugly.” A low chuckle rippled through the crowd. The robed figure tilted its head, its too-wide mouth stretching into a smile. “Oh, it’s already ugly, little detective.” Quinn didn’t look at it. She kept her gaze locked on Herrera. “Last chance.” He exhaled, his fingers tightening around the vial. “You don’t understand what’s happening here.” “Then explain it to me.” She took another step. The crowd pressed in, their breath hot against her neck. “But not here. Not like this.” For a moment, she thought he might listen. Then his jaw set, and he shook his head. “I can’t. Not yet.” The robed figure’s hand shot out, its fingers closing around Herrera’s wrist. “Enough talking.” Quinn’s pistol was in her hand before she could think. “Let him go.” The crowd *hissed.* The air thickened, pressing in on her like a living thing. The robed figure’s smile widened. “Or what, detective? You’ll shoot me? In *my* market?” She didn’t lower the gun. “Try me.” A beat of silence. Then Herrera twisted free, his voice low and urgent. “Quinn, *run.*” The ground *shuddered.* The stalls trembled, their wares clattering. The robed figure’s form *unraveled,* its edges blurring, its body stretching, twisting—*becoming something else.* Something with too many teeth. Quinn didn’t wait to see the rest. She fired. The shot *echoed,* the sound swallowed by the dark. The robed figure *screamed,* a sound like tearing metal, and the crowd *erupted.* Figures lunged at her, their forms shifting, their hands grasping. She fired again, then again, her back pressing against the cold stone wall. *No exit. No way out.* Herrera was at her side in an instant, his hand closing around her arm. “This way!” She didn’t argue. She let him pull her through the chaos, her torch beam cutting through the dark as they ran. The tunnel sloped upward, the air growing thinner, colder. Behind them, the market *roared,* a sound like a storm given voice. They burst back into the alley, the rain hitting them like a wall. Quinn gasped, her lungs burning, her hands shaking. Herrera didn’t stop. He dragged her forward, his grip bruising. “We can’t stay here. They’ll come after us.” She yanked her arm free, her breath coming in ragged bursts. “What the *hell* was that?” He didn’t answer. His eyes were wild, his skin pale beneath the neon glow of the Raven’s Nest sign. “You shouldn’t have followed me.” “Damn right I shouldn’t have.” She holstered her pistol, her fingers still trembling. “But I did. And now I want answers.” Herrera’s jaw clenched. He looked back at the alley, at the darkness that seemed to *pulse* behind them. Then he met her gaze, his voice low. “Not here. Somewhere safe.” Quinn studied him—the scar on his forearm, the Saint Christopher medallion glinting at his throat. A former paramedic. A man who’d lost everything. A man who knew too much. She exhaled, the rain mixing with the sweat on her skin. “Fine. But if you run again, Herrera, I *will* shoot you.” He almost smiled. Almost. “Noted, detective.” She turned, her boots splashing through the puddles as she led the way back to the street. The rain fell harder now, washing away the blood, the fear, the impossible. But she knew the truth. Somewhere beneath the city, the Veil Market waited. And it had her scent.