Run: 2026-02-17-01KHNFMANMWYNHVECVT1JDKNYH

The rain lashed thepavement like a thousand tiny fists, turning the London street into a mirror of wet asphalt and blurred neon. Detective Harlow Quinn’s breath misted in the chill air as she pushed her salt-and-pepper cropped hair from her sharp jawline, the worn leather watch on her left wrist ticking a frantic rhythm against her wrist. Her boots splashed through a puddle, the sound swallowed by the relentless drumming of the downpour. Ahead, a figure darted between the yellow glow of a streetlamp, vanishing around the corner onto a narrow alley choked with overflowing dumpsters and the sour tang of decay. Quinn’s military precision kicked in. She didn’t run, but moved with a controlled urgency, her long coat flapping open to reveal the dark blue uniform beneath. The alley was a labyrinth of shadows, the only light coming from the occasional flickering sign for a closed kebab shop. She followed the faint, frantic scuff of footsteps, her senses honed to a razor’s edge. The figure was fast, but Quinn’s years of tracking criminals through the Metropolitan’s most dangerous precincts had taught her patience. She waited, crouched low behind a rusted dumpster, her eyes scanning the gloom. The figure emerged, slipping through a rusted fire escape ladder and onto a fire escape. Quinn followed, her boots silent on the metal rungs. They climbed, the city lights below a distant, blurred constellation. At the top, the figure vanished into the darkness of a rooftop. Quinn paused, her breath catching in her throat. The view was breathtaking – the sprawling city lights of London, a sea of humanity below. But the figure was gone, swallowed by the night. A low, guttural growl echoed from the shadows behind her. Quinn spun, her hand instinctively drifting towards her holster. A figure emerged from the darkness, silhouetted against the city lights. It wasn’t the suspect. It was Tomás Herrera, his short, curly dark hair plastered to his olive skin, a Saint Christopher medallion glinting weakly in the rain. A jagged scar, pale against his tanned forearm, traced a path from wrist to elbow. He looked terrified, his eyes wide with a primal fear. “Harlan?” he whispered, his voice thick with rain and strain. “You shouldn’t be here.” “Where is he?” Quinn demanded, her voice low and dangerous, her gaze flicking back towards the rooftop edge. “The one who ran.” Herrera shook his head, backing away. “I don’t know. He just… disappeared. Like smoke.” He gestured vaguely towards the rooftop. “This isn’t the place for you, Detective. Not tonight.” Quinn’s gaze hardened. The rain soaked through her coat, chilling her to the bone, but the fire in her eyes remained. Three years ago, her partner, DS Morris, had vanished under circumstances she still didn’t understand, circumstances that had supernatural origins she didn’t yet comprehend. This chase, this feeling of being hunted, it echoed that loss. She couldn’t turn away now. “He’s connected to this,” she said, her voice tight. “To whatever this is.” She gestured towards the rooftop, then back towards the alley. “Where does he go?” Herrera’s eyes darted nervously. “There’s a place. Below. The Veil Market. It moves. Every full moon. You need a bone token to get in. It’s… not safe, Detective. Not for you.” Quinn’s brow furrowed. The Veil Market. She’d heard whispers, rumors of a hidden supernatural black market beneath the city, dealing in enchanted goods and forbidden knowledge. But entering it? It was uncharted territory, dangerous even for her. Yet, the suspect had vanished into it. The bone token requirement meant it was heavily guarded, exclusive. Someone powerful was involved. “Where?” she pressed, ignoring the chill and the warning in Herrera’s eyes. “Follow me,” Herrera said, his voice barely a whisper. He turned and melted back into the shadows of the alley, his footsteps silent on the wet pavement. Quinn hesitated for only a second, the weight of her watch on her wrist a constant reminder of the ticking clock, the unresolved past, and the dangerous path she was about to tread. The rain continued to fall, washing the city streets clean, but the shadows held secrets, and Quinn was about to step into one of them. She drew her coat tighter and followed Herrera into the darkness, the neon sign of The Raven’s Nest blinking a distant, indifferent green above them, unaware of the storm brewing beneath its neon glow.