Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTQQZCTRYM90FPEZP8PSA6B

The rain fell in jagged sheets, turning the pavement to slick mirrors beneath Quinn’s boots. She moved like a shadow, her breath steady, her sharp jaw clenched tight. The suspect had bolted down a side alley near the river, and Quinn didn’t hesitate—she followed, her leather watch ticking against her wrist like a metronome counting down to the inevitable. She ducked beneath a flickering streetlamp, the neon glow painting her face in sickly green. The alley reeked of damp stone and something sharper—oil, maybe, or the faint metallic tang of blood. Her fingers twitched toward the holster at her hip, but she held back. No need for guns yet. Not here. Ahead, the suspect’s dark coat flapped as they turned a corner, vanishing into the labyrinth of Soho’s backstreets. Quinn’s boots splashed through puddles, her breath fogging in the cold air. She kept moving, her military precision honed over years of chasing ghosts and criminals alike. The rain drummed against her scalp, but she didn’t slow. Then, the neon sign. A jagged green glow pulsed above a door half-hidden by ivy. *The Raven’s Nest.* Quinn recognised it—Silas’ bar, a place rumoured to be a front for something darker. The suspect hesitated, glancing back over their shoulder before slipping inside. Quinn’s pulse spiked. This wasn’t just a bar. It was a door. She pushed through the door before the suspect could disappear, the bell above it jingling like a warning. The air inside was thick, stale, the kind of scent that clung to old secrets. The walls were lined with yellowed maps and black-and-white photographs—faces she didn’t recognise, places she’d never seen. A bartender, gaunt and silent, didn’t even look up as Quinn stepped inside. The suspect was already halfway to the back, weaving through tables draped in red velvet. Quinn’s boots thudded against the warped floorboards, her eyes locked on the target. The suspect didn’t turn. They knew she was there. A bookshelf. Quinn’s fingers brushed the spines, feeling the slight give of a hidden panel. The suspect didn’t wait. They shoved the books aside, revealing a narrow doorway. The air beyond was cooler, damp. Quinn’s breath hitched. *No.* The suspect stepped through, the door sealing shut behind them. Quinn’s hand closed around the edge of the panel, her knuckles white. She could leave. She could call for backup. She could— A voice cut through the silence. *"You’re either brave or stupid."* Quinn turned. Tomás Herrera leaned against the wall, his olive skin damp from the rain, his dark curls plastered to his forehead. The Saint Christopher medallion around his neck glinted in the dim light. His scar, a thin white line along his forearm, stood out stark against his skin. *"You’re not supposed to be here,"* Quinn said, her voice low. Tomás pushed off the wall, stepping closer. *"Neither are you."* She didn’t move. *"What’s in there?"* *"A market."* His voice was calm, almost amused. *"Underground. Dangerous. Not for the faint of heart."* Quinn exhaled through her nose. *"I don’t care."* Tomás studied her for a long moment. Then, with a slow nod, he reached into his coat and pulled out a small, white bone. *"Bone token,"* he said. *"Lets you in. But once you’re in, you’re in."* Quinn took it. The bone was cold, smooth. *"Why are you here?"* she asked. Tomás’ expression darkened. *"Same reason you are."* The suspect’s voice echoed from the other side of the door—*a sharp curse, a scuffle.* Quinn’s grip tightened on the bone. *"Then let’s go,"* she said. Tomás didn’t argue. He stepped aside, and Quinn slipped through the doorway, the bone token burning in her palm. The air beyond was thick with the scent of damp earth and something older—something that made her skin prickle. The market stretched before her, a labyrinth of stalls and shadows. Lanterns flickered, casting long, dancing shadows on the walls. People moved like ghosts, their faces half-hidden in the gloom. A woman in a long coat haggled over a vial of dark liquid. A man in a tattered suit offered something wrapped in black silk. And the suspect— They were already disappearing into the crowd. Quinn’s fingers closed around the bone token. She didn’t hesitate. *"Let’s find them."*