Run: 2026-02-17-01KHNFF9X2GAFYN7Z21TSBZEAY

Rain hammered the pavement like machine-gun fire, ricocheting off puddles and turning the neon-soaked streets into a hall of mirrors. Detective Harlow Quinn's boots splashed through the growing flood, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she chased the figure ahead—a tall man with a dark coat flapping behind him like a wounded bird. The suspect cut right, vanishing down an alley that smelled of wet garbage and desperation. Quinn followed without hesitation, her worn leather watch ticking away the seconds. Eighteen years on the force had taught her never to let a lead go cold, especially not one this hot. She rounded the corner just in time to see her quarry duck through a rusted metal door marked with a symbol that made her pause—a circle with three diagonal slashes, something she'd only seen in cold case files. The door slammed shut behind him with a sound like a tomb closing. Quinn approached cautiously, her hand instinctively reaching for her sidearm. The door was locked, but she'd been a detective long enough to know that locks were meant to be picked. She knelt, pulling out her slim set of tools, and set to work. The rain continued to fall, soaking through her coat and chilling her to the bone. The lock clicked open just as a distant siren wailed through the night. Someone must have called in the chase. She had minutes, maybe less, before backup arrived—backup that wouldn't know about the supernatural angle she'd been tracking for months. The door opened into darkness. Quinn clicked on her flashlight, its beam cutting through the gloom to reveal a narrow staircase descending into the earth. She hesitated for only a moment before starting down, her footsteps echoing in the confined space. The stairs ended at another door, this one wooden and ancient-looking. Carved into its surface was the same symbol she'd seen above. Quinn pushed it open and stepped into another world. The space was vast, like a cathedral of commerce. Stalls lined the walls, their wares glowing with an otherworldly light. People—or things that looked like people—haggled and bartered in languages she didn't recognize. The air was thick with the scent of exotic spices and something else, something that made her skin crawl. And there, at the far end of the market, was her suspect, disappearing through a curtain of beads. Quinn moved forward, keeping to the shadows. She passed stalls selling crystals that hummed with power, books bound in what looked disturbingly like human skin, and potions in bottles of every color. A vendor with too many eyes tried to sell her a charm that promised protection from "those who walk between worlds." She declined with a shake of her head and kept moving. The market seemed to have its own rhythm, its own rules. No one paid her any mind, despite her obvious outsider status. It was as if she were invisible, or perhaps just beneath their notice. She reached the bead curtain and paused, listening. Voices came from the other side, low and urgent. She parted the beads just enough to see through. A circle of figures stood around a table, their faces obscured by hoods. At the center of the table was a book, its pages fluttering as if caught in an unfelt breeze. The suspect she'd been chasing stood at the head of the table, his face now visible in the candlelight. It was Morris. Her partner. The one who'd died three years ago in circumstances she'd never been able to explain. "Morris," she whispered, her voice catching in her throat. The figures at the table went silent. Slowly, as if in a dream, Morris turned to face her. His eyes were empty, black pits that seemed to swallow the light. "Detective Quinn," he said, his voice a perfect imitation of the man she'd known. "I've been waiting for you." The other figures began to chant, their words a language of hisses and clicks that made her head throb. The book on the table started to glow, its pages turning rapidly until it fell open to a particular passage. Quinn's training took over. She drew her weapon, the sound unnaturally loud in the sudden silence. "Step away from the book," she commanded, her voice steady despite the fear coiling in her gut. Morris smiled, and it was the most terrifying thing she'd ever seen. "You don't understand," he said. "This is bigger than you, bigger than all of us. The veil is thinning, Detective. Soon, nothing will separate our world from what lies beyond." The chanting grew louder, more insistent. The air around the table began to shimmer, reality itself seeming to warp and twist. Quinn felt a pull, a temptation to step forward, to join them, to understand... She shook her head violently, breaking the spell. Her finger tightened on the trigger. "Last warning," she said. "Step away from the table." Morris sighed, a sound of infinite sadness. "You always were stubborn," he said. Then he raised his hands, and the world exploded into chaos. The figures at the table began to change, their forms melting and reforming into creatures of nightmare. Tentacles sprouted from where arms had been, eyes multiplied and shifted, mouths opened to reveal rows of jagged teeth. Quinn fired, the bullet passing through the thing that had been Morris and embedding itself in the wall behind. The chant reached a crescendo, and the book burst into flames, its ashes scattering on an unfelt wind. The creatures lunged at her, moving with a speed that defied physics. Quinn dove to the side, rolling and coming up with her weapon trained on the nearest one. She fired again and again, but her bullets seemed to have no effect. A tentacle lashed out, wrapping around her ankle and yanking her off her feet. She hit the ground hard, her gun skittering away into the darkness. The creature dragged her across the floor, its touch burning like acid through her clothes. Desperately, Quinn reached for anything she could use as a weapon. Her hand closed around a broken bottle, its jagged edge cutting into her palm. She swung it wildly, feeling it connect with something soft and yielding. The creature shrieked, its grip on her ankle loosening. Quinn scrambled to her feet, searching for an escape route. The market was in chaos now, stalls overturned, their owners fleeing in every direction. She spotted a door at the far end of the room, half-hidden behind a collapsing stall. Ignoring the pain in her ankle, she ran for it, the creatures' shrieks echoing behind her. The door opened onto a narrow tunnel, its walls slick with moisture. Quinn plunged into the darkness, her only thought to put as much distance between herself and the nightmare behind her as possible. The tunnel seemed to go on forever, twisting and turning until she had no idea which direction she was heading. Finally, it ended at a ladder leading up to a manhole cover. She climbed quickly, pushing the cover aside and emerging into the night. She was in an alley she didn't recognize, the sounds of the city muffled and distant. Quinn leaned against the wall, trying to catch her breath and make sense of what had just happened. Her partner was alive. Or something was wearing his face. And there were others, creatures that could pass for human until they chose not to. A whole hidden world operating beneath the surface of the one she knew. Quinn checked her watch. Hours had passed since she'd entered the market, though it felt like minutes. She needed to report this, to warn someone. But who would believe her? Who could she trust with this knowledge? She looked down at her hands, still shaking from the adrenaline and the horror of what she'd seen. The cuts from the broken bottle had already stopped bleeding, healing with unnatural speed. Whatever was happening, whatever had caused the veil to thin, she was now a part of it. The question was, would she be its savior or its destroyer? Quinn pushed herself away from the wall, squaring her shoulders. She had a job to do, a mystery to solve. And she would do it alone if she had to. But first, she needed answers. And she knew just where to start looking.