Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTQS53S5V68228FRH6A2EY3

Rain hammered down on the empty pavement, splattering like gravel thrown against glass. The streetlights flickered irregularly, casting a sickly yellow glow over slick cobblestones as Detective Harlow Quinn sprinted past puddles that swallowed her footsteps. Her breath billowed out in ragged bursts, each inhale heavy with dismal air and the scent of damp concrete. Somewhere ahead, her quarry darted into the shadows—the figure she’d been trailing for blocks, weaving through alleyways with reckless urgency. Quinn’s eyes flicked to the figure’s back, determined, desperate not to lose him. He clutched something in his hand, a glint under the flickering lampposts—maybe a weapon, maybe a package. Whatever it was, he didn’t slow. Not even when she shouted, “Stop!” He didn't turn, only increased his pace, weaving past a stack of trash bins spilling their contents onto the street. Quinn pressed on, pulse hammering in her temples, ankle muscles searing. The suspect turned sharply down a narrower alley, lined with wet, crumbling bricks. Quinn followed, her boots skidding on the slick cobblestones. A hand gripped her wrist from behind, and she spun, bringing her elbow up in a practiced arc. A rough voice in her ear. “Go. He's gone in that door.” It was a homeless man they’d talked to earlier—jerking his thumb toward a weathered metal entryway set into the alley’s brickwork. Quinn hesitated for a split second, eyes flickering to the doorway. The doorway was unremarkable, save for the faint, green neon sign flickering above, casting a sickly hue across the alley. She could see the suspect’s shadow through a crack in the door, shifting rapidly. The alley was silent except for the rain hammering down and the steady drip from the overhanging gutters. It looked abandoned, but somehow, she knew better. A decision hung loose in her mind. The police in her shoes usually didn’t shy away from the unknown. Yet, something about this—something about that flickering sign and the way the shadows danced—made her hesitate. Her hand hovered over her belt, gripping her badge, weighing her options. Usually, she’d breach the door, but tonight, something mulled in her gut. She knew what was down there was more than just some street rat hiding out. That alley, that door—that was a gateway to something darker. She stepped back, tugging her leather coat tighter. The rain lashed harder now, and her watch’s bezel gleamed as her gaze flicked to the time. Almost midnight. The city seemed to fold in on itself, the calm before something more sinister. The flickering neon sign buzzed and sputtered. Quinn spotted a faint glow beneath the door’s edge, a yellowish shimmer. Even in the storm, she saw the faint outline of a hand slipping through a crack. “Too risky,” she muttered, voice almost lost to the rain. She retreated, eyes never leaving the door. Then, instinct kicked in. In her line of work, hesitation could kill. She reached for her radio, voice steady but low. “Control, this is Quinn. Suspect just went into an abandoned alley—door at the back of the brick building. Need backup.” No response. Just static for a moment, then a crackling reply. “Copy, Quinn. Be careful.” A gust of wind pushed her back, rain slamming into her face. Her brow furrowed as she looked again at the alley. Something about it felt wrong—like the whole street was holding its breath. She slung her coat off a bit, hearing the dull clang of her badge rattling at her hip, ready for quick access. The alley remained silent, waiting. Then she saw it—the faint shimmer again, through the crack, like something was trying to emerge. Quinn’s gaze sharpened. She pulled out her gun, flicked the safety off, and pressed the barrel to the door’s edge. The door groaned as she pushed, resisting her at first, then swung inward with a slick, wet scrape. Inside, darkness enveloped her, thick and tangible. The faint smell of moss and something metallic greeted her—an inexplicable scent that didn’t belong in the city. Quinn’s eyes adjusted, scanning the dimly lit space. The walls were lined with shelves, stacked high with odd trinkets, jars filled with unrecognisable substances, and what looked like ancient manuscripts. A faint green glow emanated from a corner, casting strange shadows. She moved forward, gun low but ready, each step cautious. The place bucked away from her as though alive. A noise echoed—soft, almost beneath hearing. She froze, pressing her back to the cold brick wall, instinct guiding her. That’s when she saw him. The suspect stood just beyond a tattered curtain, clutching his mysterious package. His face was half-hidden, shadows cloaking his features, but she recognized the strain in his shoulders. “Freeze,” she commanded, voice steady but firm. He turned slowly, eyes darting for an escape, hands raised just slightly. “I’m only here to look,” he said in a low, tense voice. “You wouldn’t understand.” Quinn’s finger ticked on the trigger. “Tell me what’s down here.” His lips pressed into a thin line, then, quick as lightning, he lunged toward a table cluttered with strange artifacts. She fired once—missed it by inches as he dove behind the clutter. Lightning cracked overhead, flashing through the darkness, illuminating shelves packed with potions, talismans, and forbidden relics. The air grew thick with whispered words and arcane energy. Quinn took a breath, the storm’s fury outside echoing the chaos inside her mind. She knew she’d crossed a line into territory she didn’t understand. And she wasn’t sure if she’d ever find her way back.