Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTQRN0TRHDXFH1CT1M66NV6

Rain lashed down on the Soho streets, casting a misty veil over the neon signs that lined the pavement. Detective Harlow Quinn's eyes, narrowed against the downpour, locked onto the fleeing figure of Tomás Herrera as he dodged pedestrians on Wardour Street. Her military-honed bearing allowed her to eat up the distance, her worn leather watch glinting in the fragmented light. "Herrera, stop!" Quinn's voice cut through the rain's patter, but Tomás didn't flinch, his short curly brown hair plastered to his skull. He vanished into the crowd surging towards the Tube entrance. Quinn sprinted after him, shouldering through the throng with a curt "Met Police, move!" Her sharp jaw set in determination, she burst through the Tube gates just as the doors slid shut behind Tomás. A train roared out of the station, leaving Quinn panting on the deserted platform. Tomás reappeared at the far end of the platform, his Saint Christopher medallion glinting as he leapt down onto the tracks. Quinn hesitated for a heartbeat, her eyes adjusting to the dimmer light below. The air was heavy with the stench of decay and grease. "You bloody idiot, Herrera!" she muttered, holstered pistol heavy against her hip, as she dropped down onto the tracks, her eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of movement. The only sound was the creaking of old infrastructure and the distant thrum of a hidden generator. As she followed Tomás into the depths of the tunnel system, the walls began to change – peeling advertisements gave way to ancient brickwork, and the air thickened with the scent of smoke and something else... incense? Quinn's grip on her pistol tightened; this was no ordinary part of the Tube. The tunnel opened up into a vast, abandoned station, the vaulted ceiling lost in darkness. Quinn's footsteps echoed off the walls as she entered, her eyes gradually adjusting to the warm, golden light that permeated the space. Stalls and makeshift vendors filled the platform, peddling goods that made her skin crawl – jars of glowing, pulsing liquids, and artifacts that seemed to ripple with a malevolent energy. "Welcome to the Veil Market," a low, husky voice drawled from a nearby stall, "where the rare and... unobtainable are within your grasp." Quinn's gaze swept past the speaker, locking onto Tomás as he wove through the crowd, disappearing into the heart of the market. Her mind reeled – this was what she'd been searching for, the clandestine underbelly of the city's supernatural scene. But with every step, she felt the ground beneath her feet becoming increasingly treacherous. A figure emerged from the crowd, a delicate bone token held out on a velvet cushion. "Entry fee, Detective?" the figure asked, eyes glinting with amusement, as if daring her to take the token. Quinn's hand instinctively went to her pistol, then hesitated. She knew the stories – once you accepted a token, you were bound by the Veil Market's rules... rules that often ended with the 'guest' becoming a permanent resident. But Tomás was slipping further away by the second. "Decision time, Detective," she whispered to herself, the rain-soaked streets above a distant memory. The token seemed to pulsate in the dim light, a siren's call into the unknown. "A question," Quinn said finally, her voice firm, "what's the price of the token... tonight?" The figure chuckled, the sound like ice clinking in a glass. "Oh, just a little memory, Detective... one you'll hardly even miss." Quinn's eyes narrowed, her mind racing with the implications. She could back out, call for backup, and risk losing Tomás in the labyrinthine market. Or she could take the token, and descend into a world where the rules of her city no longer applied. As she looked out into the sea of faces, all watching her with bated breath, Quinn knew that the decision she made next would change everything. The bone token remained, poised, waiting for her response... Tomás's Saint Christopher medallion glinted in the distance, a fleeting glimpse before he vanished into the crowd, leaving Quinn with a single, haunting word: "Run."