Run: 2026-02-17-01KHNF64AABJM0G2G69KQKT35Y

The rain came down in sheets, turning the Soho pavement into a mirrored nightmare. Detective Harlow Quinn wiped water from her face with the back of her wrist, leather watchband scraping against her cheek. There—between the bouncing neon reflections—the suspect darted around the corner toward The Raven’s Nest. She pushed off the brick wall, combat boots splashing through oily puddles. The whiskey she’d nursed earlier burned in her gut. Not nearly enough to dull the edge. "Met Police! Stop!" The figure ahead—male, hooded, moving with unnatural speed—ignored her shout. Tommy Herrera had patched up enough bullet wounds in back alleys to recognize trouble when it knocked. Three years ago, Quinn might have hesitated before pursuing a civilian into the dark. But Morris’ absence had hardened her. She vaulted over a stack of soggy produce crates outside a shuttered market, landing hard enough to rattle her teeth. The green neon sign above The Raven’s Nest buzzed and flickered ahead like a guttering candle. The suspect didn’t head for the door. Instead, he veered toward the alley beside it, where the shadows swallowed him whole. Quinn drew her sidearm. Her pulse hammered against her ribs as she approached the alley mouth. Dumpsters lined the left wall, their rancid contents overflowing. Something moved near the far end—too quick, too fluid. Normal humans didn’t move like that. "Last warning, Herrera!" No answer. She edged forward, weapon steady. The back of her neck prickled. Too many odd-case reports passed through her desk lately—missing persons with claw marks on their doors, CCTV footage with inexplicable gaps. Morris would’ve teased her paranoia. But Morris wasn’t here. A glint of metal caught her eye near the ground. Quinn crouched, keeping her gun trained downrange. A Saint Christopher medallion lay discarded in the filth, chain snapped. Fresh scuff marks scored the brickwork beside a false-looking HVAC unit. Quinn pushed it—and the entire panel swung inward on silent hinges. A tunnel yawned beyond, sloping downward into darkness. The air smelled of wet stone and something sharper—ozone, maybe. Magic. "Christ." Her radio crackled at her hip. Backup was five minutes out. Five minutes too late. Steeling herself, Quinn stepped over the threshold. The panel clicked shut behind her, sealing her in. Only the dim glow of bioluminescent fungus clinging to the walls lit her path as the corridor twisted deeper underground. The sound of distant chatter drifted up—hundreds of voices layered over the rhythmic dripping of groundwater. She emerged onto an iron walkway overlooking a cavernous space. The abandoned Tube station beneath Camden had been transformed. Makeshift stalls sprawled across the tracks, their lanterns casting shifting shadows on vaulted ceilings. Patrons haggled over vials of swirling liquid, strange weapons, sacks of unidentifiable organic matter. The Veil Market. Quinn’s grip on her gun tightened. Whether this was a supernatural black market or some elaborate front for human trafficking, she was out of jurisdiction and out of her depth. Protocol demanded she withdraw and call in reinforcements. Then she spotted him. Tommy crouched near a stall selling carved bones, whispering urgently to a hooded merchant. Blood dripped from a gash on his forearm—the old knife scar bisected by fresh injury. inset of his sleeve. Quinn hesitated. If she revealed herself here, she’d blow any implementations. But letting him vanish into this den of monsters wasn’t an option. She took the first step down the rusted staircase. Every eye in the market flicked toward her. The ambient noise died. Tommy stiffened as Serbian curses hissed through the crowd. His head snapped up—their gazes locked across the underground expanse. For a heartbeat, neither moved. Then Tommy bolted deeper into the market. Quinn swore and gave chase, her badge glinting under the flickering lamplight. She was done letting mysteries slip through her fingers. Whatever waited in the shadows tonight, she’d drag it into the light—even if it dragged her down with it.