Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMQQC6ZH2R6W0SPZVRCVY8N

The rain hammered down in relentless sheets, turning the slick pavement into a mirror for the neon signs flickering overhead. Detective Harlow Quinn’s breaths came in sharp, controlled bursts as she darted through the soaked streets, her boots splashing through puddles that shimmered like fractured glass. Somewhere ahead, her suspect—a dark figure slipping between shadows—had just vanished into an alley shrouded in gloom. Quinn’s sharp jaw clenched as she pressed forward, the worn leather watch on her wrist catching glints of neon. She kept her eyes fixed on the fleeting silhouette, her military precision guiding every step. She knew this city, knew its secrets, but tonight, something lurked beneath its familiar veneer. Something she couldn’t quite identify. The suspect’s coat turned a quick corner, and she followed with deliberate urgency. Beyond the alley, the flickering glow of a green neon sign beckoned—a sign she’d seen many times but never during a pursuit. As she crossed the threshold, rain still pounding overhead, she found herself at the entrance of The Raven’s Nest. The bar’s interior was dim, thick with the scent of stale smoke and spilled beer. Walls lined with old maps and black-and-white photographs revealed a history both celebrated and shrouded in darkness. Quinn’s eyes immediately searched for her quarry, but the place felt too quiet, too apart from the chaos of the city. She hesitated, knowing this wasn’t just a bar. It was a nexus—a place where secrets steamed beneath the surface, hidden behind layers of alcohol and lies. A glance around told her the suspect hadn’t entered, or perhaps had already slipped through some other door. She looked for evidence—something, anything—that could give her a lead. Her gaze flicked to the back room, concealed behind a bookshelf. The secret door was a known feature—an aperture for those in the know, a portal into the clandestine world that thrived beneath the city’s surface. Surveillance cameras or alarms didn’t seem to catch fear or hesitation—just her own sharp focus. The rain’s relentless drumming seemed to echo through her ears, but she felt a strange pull, a prickling of instinct. The suspect was slipping into something darker, something off the map. Her hand rested lightly on her holster, fingers tensing against the cool leather. She drew a deep breath, knowing she had a choice: follow him into the depths, into the underground market she’d heard whispers of, or hold her ground here. Instead of lingering, she moved toward the hidden door. Her hand brushed the bookshelf, pressing aside the thick volumes until she found the lever or latch—something that would reveal the secret pathway. As her fingers curled around the wood, her watch beeped softly, a faint signal from the back of her mind. She hesitated again, torn. She remembered Morris—his face, his voice—lost in the darkness of that unexplained incident. She wasn’t sure if she was chasing shadows or real threats anymore. The air in the narrow passage was thick and damp, carrying a metallic tang. Quinn’s boots echoed softly as she descended into the underground labyrinth. The darkness was absolute, save for the faint glow of bioluminescent fungi clinging to damp concrete walls. The tunnel twisted and curved, leading her away from the bar’s familiar comfort toward a place shrouded in secrecy. She kept her steps measured, senses finely tuned, her eyes adjusting to the shadows. Somewhere ahead, her suspect’s silhouette might be hidden behind crates or stacked goods, maybe even in the act of trading illicit artifacts or supernatural relics. The network beneath the city was a spider’s web—full of danger, full of betrayal. In the corner of her mind, she weighed her options. If she entered the market, she was stepping into a world unfamiliar and unpredictable. The underground market—The Veil Market—moved every full moon, its location hidden behind a bone token, its schematics known only to those who traded in the shadows. It was a dangerous place, inhabited by entities equally comfortable in the dark—banned alchemical substances, enchanted objects, secrets so deadly they could destroy. But her suspect—struggling to escape, desperate—needed her. Or she needed him. Yet, she knew that if she followed into the market, her questions might never be answered. She would be swimming in a flood of supernatural currents, where friends were foes and nothing was clear. The echo of her own breathing sounded loud in her ears as she paused at a junction, glimpsing faint images—glinting metal, shadows darting just beyond her sight. Her hand hovered over her weapon, steadying herself. The rain’s voice was distant now—an unwelcome lullaby to the chaos inside her head. A faint shuffling noise drew her attention, and she turned toward it with the grace of a predator. Her eyes caught a flicker—a movement—just at the edge of her vision. The suspect. She recognized the quick, nervous dart of his figure, slipping behind a cargo container. She considered her options, weighing the risk of rushing him or waiting for him to reveal himself. The underground market awaited, a place where monsters cloaked themselves in human guise, where danger lurked behind each booth and alleyway. And yet, her instinct—her reckoning—told her she had to follow. Drawing a sharp breath, Quinn stepped forward, her boots muffling her approach. The sound of her own heartbeat thudded against the damp stone as she moved through the shadows, into the belly of the beast. Somewhere in this darkness was her suspect, and somewhere beyond, the truth that had eluded her for years—an echo of Morris’ last case, of supernatural forces she still didn’t fully grasp. She didn’t know what lay ahead, but she knew she couldn’t turn back now. Every step rooted her deeper into the night’s abyss, into a city hiding its darkest secrets beneath rain and neon light. The suspect’s figure paused, hesitant. Quinn’s hand tightened on her weapon, her eyes narrowing as she prepared to confront whatever haunted this underground world—because tonight, she wasn’t just chasing a man. She was chasing darkness itself.