Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTQW5TQGJFHZ8GFJ2BWVXAX

Detective Harlow Quinn pushed through the wet night, her boots splashing in the puddles that lined the narrow alleyways of Soho. Rain whipped at her face, each drop hitting her like tiny, cold slaps. The suspect was just ahead, a dark figure darting in and out of shadows, his movements hurried but calculated. Harlow’s breath came out in sharp puffs as her long legs carried her forward with determined strides. She couldn't lose him—not after all the effort it took to track him down. The distinctive green neon sign of The Raven's Nest flickered at the edge of her vision. The temptation to get Tommy’s help swirled in her mind but vanished just as quickly. There was no time. She grabbed at the worn leather watch on her wrist, feeling its familiar weight. 18 years on the force had taught her to trust her instincts, and right now, they screamed one thing: don’t let him out of sight. She rounded a corner just as the suspect disappeared down a staircase. Harlow blinked away raindrops, her sharp jawline tightening. The staircase led to the underground, notorious and labyrinthine. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, then plunged down the steps, a beast in pursuit of its prey. The stairwell twisted and darkened, the overhead lights diminished from grimy neglect. The pounding rain became a distant noise as she descended into the bowels beneath Camden. She gripped the railing through the slipperiness, concentrated on the dim figure ahead. Her breath echoed off the walls, forming a cadence with her racing heart. At the bottom, he turned sharply, sprinting toward a rusted gate entwined with faded bunting. A bone token dangled from his hand. She watched the gatekeeper accept it and lift the barrier. Without stopping to think, Quinn lunged forward, catching the gatekeeper’s attention. His eyes narrowed, but recognition flashed before he could block her path. "Herrera!" Harlow barked, catching the man’s eye for a split second. The gatekeeper, a man in his forties with an angular face, hesitated. It was enough. She slammed her shoulder into the gate. Once past, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. This was The Veil Market, the infamous supernatural black market. Her senses heightened immediately—the mingling scents of enchantments, the hushed whispers of illicit deals. The suspect wove through the crowd with practiced ease. Harlow clenched her jaw, accelerating her pace. Feeling eyes on her, she tightened her grip on her sidearm, unconsciously trying to meld into the crowd. Stalls lined the damp, grimy walls of the defunct Tube station, each peddling forbidden items. A flicker of movement to her left—a waft of potent incense—threatened to distract her, but she stayed focused. Enchanted wares glittered, promising everything from impossible strength to devastating curses. Information brokering likely thrived in these shadows as well, secrets whispered for a price. Harlow ducked beneath a low-hanging sign made of twisted iron and bone, faintly glowing with runes she couldn't decipher. It emitted an eerie hum, setting her teeth on edge. She stifled the discomfort and pressed forward, eyes locked on the suspect. He maneuvered effortlessly, communicating in nods and gestures with the vendors. A few more feet, she told herself. Her breath was strained but steady. The chase became a dance between predator and prey, steps mirroring each other until Harlow noted a subtle shift in the suspect’s rhythm. He was close to something—or someone. The hidden room behind the bookshelf, a layer of clandestine dealings overlaid on top of the visible market. "Damn it,” she muttered to herself. She wasn’t used to this kind of chase. Not since the Old Bailey Incident. The suspect turned, meeting her eyes in brief surprise. Then. He bolted towards the rear where a large wooden bookshelf stood, flanked by two gargoyles almost seeming to guard the entrance. Without breaking his stride, he reached into a crevice, twisting what appeared to be nothing more than a broken shelf end. The shelf groaned open, revealing a pathway to darkness. Harlow reached the entrance just as it groaned shut. She glanced over her shoulder. The Veil Market’s cacophony almost dulled as the customers' and sellers' eyes slid to her, unspoken questions hovering in the air. “Herrera!” she gasped, struggling against her breath and the weight of the decision. Follow into dangerous unknowns or pull back, regroup. A voice called from within her – not Tommy’s voice, but her old partner, Morris. The turmoil of that memory clenched her heart. Was this what got him killed? She shook it off, steeling herself. Without second thought, she plunged into the darkness after her suspect. The passageway loomed like a maw, swallowing her whole. The cool darkness replaced the oppressive heat and noise of the Market. For a moment, silence clung to her like a shroud, broken only by the hurried footsteps now echoing ahead of her. The floor was uneven, forcing her steps to follow an unfamiliar rhythm. Walls closed in, dampness seeping into her pores. Stale air accented with mold threatened to choke her resolve. Her fingers brushed the outline of her firearm, the cool metal a reminder of her duty. Each cautious step brought her deeper into the underbelly. Ahead, the faint shuffle betrayed the suspect’s position. Harlow moved, eyes adjusting to the dim light. Shapes emerged like spectres only to vanish just as quick. Suddenly, a silhouette lunged from cover, barreling into her. They crashed together, bodies skidding across the slick floor. Her training took over. Feet kicked up, she twisted, aimed to dislodge him. A flash of steel in the dim light—the knife thrusted towards her. Instinctively, she wrenched his arm, twisted, and felt the knife cut nothing but air. The fight was raw, desperate. “No more running!” her voice echoed. His eyes wild, glittering in anxiety and anger, he pulled free, tried another slash. Harlow caught his wrist, applied pressure till his grip faltered, then slammed his body against the wall. He grunted, a swear escaping his lips. “Who are you working for?” she demanded, breath rough, her voice carrying a dangerous edge. His eyes darted, seeking escape even now. Beaten, yet not broken. Shadows moved around them. Harlow knew she couldn't hold him here long. She pulled his arm twisted further, digging deeper into the pain. She saw Tommy’s scar, the memories of rule-breaking decisions. Tommy wouldn’t flinch now. Neither would she. “Talk!” she pressed, feeling the rare moment of human frailty. The suspect's breath hitched, trapped between pain and secrets. No words came. Nothing but the sound of rain from above, rushing ever forward. Choices echoed. A city soaked in shadows would eventually spit out the truth. For now, her eyes flickered to the darkness, waiting for the reveal. This chase wasn’t over. It had only just begun.