Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTQX5VZ7M7JH593TG779SWG

Thunder cracked above London, sending shudders through the city’s labyrinthine streets. Detective Harlow Quinn advanced through the downpour, her trench coat clinging to her like a second skin. Her eyes, sharp and unyielding, never left the figure darting ahead of her. Each step felt like a war against the storm. "He can’t get away, not tonight," she muttered to herself, pushing rain-soaked hair from her eyes. The figure, barely visible amidst the torrent, rounded a corner. Quinn's pulse hammered in her ears as she quickened her pace, boots splashing in filthy puddles. The suspect was quick, a blur, weaving through people huddling under umbrellas and sheltering in doorways. Quinn cursed, her attention split between maintaining her speed and keeping track of her quarry. The neon signs of Soho's endless bars and clubs glowed deceitfully through the rain. "You should've stayed in Seville, Tomás," she called out, voice nearly lost in the storm. But Tomás Herrera, with that familiar Saint Christopher medallion bouncing against his damp shirt, did not slow. Quinn felt the weight of her revolver under her coat—comforting, albeit slightly damp. The memory of her partner, DS Morris, flashed before her eyes. The supernatural interference in that case had cost her dearly, and she wouldn’t let Tomás slip through her fingers, not when he was connected to the same elusive web. Tomás ducked into an alley, and Quinn followed. The darkness seemed to swallow them both. Her steps echoed off the narrow walls, mingling with distant echoes of club music. She spotted Tomás's figure ahead and kicked into gear, closing the distance. The alley ended in an old iron gate, thrust open by Tomás. Beyond it lay a set of worn stone steps leading down. Quinn hesitated for just a breath. An underground market? She hadn’t set foot in one since... since Morris. Her jaw tightened; she couldn’t afford to let fear stop her. Tomás vanished down the steps and Quinn followed, determined. The stairs spiraled down, and she took them two at a time. The echoes grew louder, a cacophony of voices and unidentifiable sounds. The descent ended in a cavernous, dimly lit space—the Veil Market. Quinn was hit with the mingled scents of ancient incense and musty decay. Enchanted goods sparkled faintly under weak fluorescent lights, and hooded figures sold banned substances and darker secrets. Quinn's eyes adjusted, scanning the bustling chaos. Tomás was threading through the crowd, hoping to disappear. Quinn moved, her bearing unmistakably military, reminding her of earlier days when order was simpler. She avoided eye contact with the vendors and patrons, keeping her attention on the olive-skinned man slipping deeper into the market. “Good evening, Detective,” a raspy voice came from her right. A figure she vaguely recognized, cloaked in shadows, nodded at her. She ignored the greeting, pushing past him. The crowd shifted, parting unconsciously as if sensing the storm that was Harlow Quinn. Tomás cast a glance over his shoulder, his eyes wide as he realised she was still on his tail. He picked up his pace. “Not this time, Tomás,” Quinn growled. The market grew less inviting as she progressed. Stalls made of ancient wood and bone tokens dangled ominously. She knew the full moon meant the market would disappear soon, sealing Tomás’s escape. Her chase was against more than just Tomás—it was against time itself. Tomás darted left, slipping through a narrow gap between two stalls. Quinn shoved through after him, ignoring the startled hisses of cloaked vendors. The passage opened into another section of the market, its floor rough cobblestones. Harlow’s training, years of it, had prepared her for foot chases, but supernatural contexts added unpredictable variables. Tomás was nearing the back end, where the market’s light dimmed almost to nothing. Quinn pushed herself harder, legs burning. She drew her revolver, keeping it low but ready. She wasn’t looking for a fatal end. Just answers. The suspect reached the end, skidding to a halt in front of a bookshelf. Panic flashed in his eyes as he shoved the shelf aside with a strength borne of desperation. It revealed a hidden door, just as the codex she had stolen had indicated. This was the clique's main sanctum. Quinn acted on instinct. She lunged, catching Tomás by the arm before he could disappear behind the door. He struggled, his scarred forearm twitching in her grip. “Tommy. Enough. Where do you think you're going?” she challenged, voice steady as her rain-drenched fingers tightened around his wrist. “Detective, you don’t understand... you can’t be here,” he pleaded, eyes darting. Quinn’s resolve did not waver. Memories of Morris's death flared in her mind, driving her to hold her ground. “You owe me,” she spat, voice just above a whisper. “You owe Morris.” The corridor behind the concealed door beckoned—an unknown, dangerous territory. Quinn felt it in her gut, the shift of the air, the promise of dark secrets. This was what she had been seeking, the heart of the clique’s operations. The mad rush of decision-making churned through her. Tomás could lead her straight into a trap, or he could provide the breakthrough she needed to finally understand what happened to Morris. There was no guarantee she would come out unscathed. But hesitation wasn’t an option. Not anymore. “Show me what you’re hiding,” she demanded, releasing her grip slightly, enough for him to understand she wasn’t messing around. Tomás’s shoulders slumped in submission. He stepped into the corridor, Quinn close on his heels. The door closed behind them with a resounding thud, cutting off the noise of the Veil Market. Lanterns with flickering light lined the walls, casting eerie shadows. “This way,” Tomás murmured, leading her into the bowels of the sanctum. It smelled of old paper and something else—something ancient and alive. They moved in silence, the path twisting until Quinn could no longer orient herself. They emerged into a large chamber adorned with mystical symbols and alchemical equipment. Devices she had only seen in Morris's case files lay scattered around, glinting ominously under the dim light. “Welcome to the heart of the clique,” Tomás said bitterly. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Answers?” Quinn holstered her revolver, surveying the scene. She felt the weight of impending revelations pressing on her. “Start talking,” she ordered, her voice a mere whisper in the thick, charged air. “And don’t leave anything out.” Tomás took a deep breath, his eyes shifting from the glowing symbols to meet hers. “Alright, Harlow. I’ll tell you everything. But once you know, there’s no going back.” In the silence that followed, the storm raged on outside, tearing through the streets of London. And deep underground, amid secrets and darkness, Detective Harlow Quinn prepared to confront the truths that had eluded her for so long.