Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTR7HNR1BPB9AE5094D0822

Rain hammered against the pavement, the night swallowing the city in a pall of shadows and slick reflections. Detective Harlow Quinn's breath steamed in the cold air as she sprinted through the deserted streets of Soho. Her worn leather watch glinted faintly under the scant glow of streetlights, seconds ticking sharp as her sharp jaw clenched with determination. Ahead, a figure darted out from beneath the flickering green neon sign of The Raven’s Nest, dripping wet, the soaked trench coat clinging to his lean frame. Tomás Herrera. She couldn't afford to lose him. Not now. "Tomás!" she called, voice slicing through the storm’s noise. The man glanced back, eyes wild with panic, warm brown orbs gleaming with urgency. Without hesitation, he kicked a dumpster aside and vaulted over the railing down a narrow alleyway. Quinn followed, boots splashing in ankle-deep water pooling on the cobbled stones. She kept pace despite the weight of her service belt and the exhaustion clinging to her muscles from years on the force. The figure reached a graffitied wall and, without breaking stride, pressed on a loose brick just below an ancient engraving. The brick gave way with a dull creak, revealing a jagged metal ladder descending into darkness. Quinn hesitated only briefly, mind racing with the grim possibilities. The Veil Market. Underground. Hidden. Dangerous. He disappeared into the black hole of the hatch, water dripping from his soaked coat. She tore off her rain-sodden jacket and shoved it into a pocket. The cold bit through her undershirt as she grasped the ladder’s metal rungs. Her muscles tensed, fingers numbing against the slick iron. Below, the muffled chaos of whispered deals and clacking alchemical glass drew her down deeper into the secret heart of the city. She reached the abandoned Tube station that housed the Veil Market, its cavernous and eerie silence a sharp contrast to the storm overhead. The flickering fluorescent light above buzzed weakly, casting long shadows on grimy tiled walls. Rainwater seeped through cracks, pooling on the cracked platform. A group surrounded a handcart stacked with bottles of iridescent liquid, glowing faint blue and green, humming softly. Yet Quinn’s focus was razor-sharp on her target. Tomás moved through the crowd—half-human, half-ghost. His Saint Christopher medallion swung in rhythm with every nervous step. She could see the scar slicing diagonally across his left forearm as he tried to navigate these forbidden stalls, his breath coming shallow. She called out again, voice low but crackling with fury. "What the hell are you doing here?" He skidded between two vendors selling enchanted masks and whispered charms. "You don't understand," he hissed, eyes darting nervously. "They’ll come after me if I don’t bring them what they want." Quinn felt her hands clench into fists. "No one’s chasing you except the law if you run like this." A tall figure approached from behind Tomás, cloaked in shadow, face hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat. The murmuring crowd parted like a sea, eyes reflecting suspicion and fear. Quinn tightened her grip on the concealed pistol at her side. The stranger’s voice was calm, deliberate. "You’re far from home, Detective." Quinn’s heart pounded. "I’m here for Herrera." The man smiled thinly, teeth like sharpened glass catching the flickering light. "Most don’t survive long in the Market, let alone chase prey. Why do you persist?" She stepped forward, boots splashing over spilled water. "Because this isn’t just about some petty crime. There’s more — dangerous things connected to that clique of yours. I lost my partner three years ago. There are forces here I won’t let fester without answers." Tomás’s eyes betrayed a flicker of fear. "You don’t know what you’re walking into." Quinn met the stranger’s gaze, unflinching. "Then help me understand." The crowd murmured again, tension spiraling. The stranger motioned behind the bookshelf disguised as a storage room. “Come with me if you value your life.” Tomás glanced over his shoulder, dread etching his face. Quinn knew the moment required a choice: retreat into the safety of London’s night streets or plunge into the shadows below, where loyalty twisted, and secrets bled danger. Her fingers brushed the watch on her wrist, the weight grounding her. One step forward, then another into the hidden chamber. The air shifted, thick with incense and murmur of forbidden deals. The walls closed in; the scent of damp stone and alchemical residue filled her lungs. The journey had just begun.