Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTQZ2TF4NF6PMVQREX4X6RR

Detective Harlow Quinn dashed through the rain-soaked streets of London, her leather watch striking midnight. The suspect, a hooded figure, darted ahead, quickening their pace. Harlow's breath came hard as her 41 years weighed on her lungs. But the military precision instilled in her kept her legs pumping. The suspect veered around a corner into a narrow alley, their footsteps echoing off the brick walls. Harlow followed, hand ready at her hip. The alley spilled out into a wide courtyard of an abandoned Tube station beneath Camden. Graffiti and grime coated every surface. The hooded figure slowed, kneeling to retrieve something from their pocket – a bone token. They approached a rusted metal door and pressed the token to it. The door groaned open with an otherworldly red glow. Harlow hung back, pressing herself against the alley wall, hidden in shadow. She watched the suspect disappear inside, the door closing behind them with a heavy thunk. Her mind raced. Every instincts screamed to call for backup. But her gut told her if she didn't follow now, the trail would go cold. "Dammit," she hissed under her breath. She sprinted to the door, jamming her foot in the jamb just before it closed. Wincing, she pried it open and slipped inside. The air turned musty and thick as she descended a spiraling staircase. Flickering fluorescent lights cast eerie shadows on the curved walls. She could make out muffled voices and sounds below, growing louder with each step. The staircase opened into a cavernous underground chamber bustling with activity. Ramshackle stalls crowded together in haphazard rows, selling bizarre wares – glowing orbs, bubbling vials, jars of powdered bone. Alchemical substances and enchanted goods. The Veil Market. The detective had heard rumors of the supernatural black market but never saw it with her own eyes. Harlow pushed into the throng, scanning for the hooded figure. They couldn't have gotten far. She shouldered past a group of haggling warlocks, nearly knocking over a tray of amulets. The vendor shouted after her in a language she didn't recognize. She spotted the suspect four stalls ahead, examining a glass case of shimmering potions. Harlow ducked behind a curtained booth, nearly colliding with the proprietor – a wizened woman draped in tattered shawls, a third eye blinking from her forehead. "Blessed amulets? Enchanted charms?" the woman rasped, mistaking Harlow for a customer. "Just browsing," Harlow replied curtly. The hooded figure moved on from the potions, heading deeper into the market's depths. Harlow tailed them, keeping a discreet distance. The suspect navigated the twisting alleys with ease, apparently a regular. They finally stopped in front of a stall draped in dark curtains. Ominous symbols were painted on the tattered cloth. The hooded figure glanced around furtively before slipping inside. Harlow approached cautiously, senses on high alert. Even among the Market's oddities, this stall radiated a malevolent energy that made her skin crawl. She peeked through a gap in the curtains and bit back a gasp. The stall was empty inside, save for a shimmering oval portal hovering in the center. The edges crackled with unstable energy, revealing only darkness within. The suspect stood before it, speaking in hushed tones to the portal attendant – a gaunt man draped in ceremonial robes. Before Harlow could decide her next move, the hooded figure stepped through the portal and vanished. The portal attendant turned to her, his eyes flashing a sickly yellow. "Enter the Sanctum?" He extended a bone-thin hand, palm up. "The price is steep." Harlow's pulse pounded in her ears. Every instinct told her to get out now, far from this wretched place. She had no backup, no jurisdiction. And yet. Images of Morris' mangled body flashed in her mind's eye. Whatever lay beyond that portal held answers she'd pursued for three years. And she'd be damned if she let that hooded bastard escape again. Steeling herself, she met the attendant's reptilian gaze. "Name your price."