Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTR7WG48AXDW9ZFAJY47KPG

The rain pounded London's streets like a relentless drum solo, each drop a staccato note on the city's concrete skin. Detective Harlow Quinn, her salt-and-pepper hair plastered to her skull, pursued her suspect through the neon-drenched alleys of Soho. The man, Tomás Herrera, darted around a corner, his dark figure swallowed by the night. Quinn's breath fogged in the chilly air, her heart pounding in sync with the rain's rhythm. She rounded the corner, her sharp jaw set, eyes scanning the shadows. There— Herrera's olive skin stood out against the gloom, his Saint Christopher medallion glinting under a flickering streetlight. He glanced back, panic etched on his face, then disappeared down a narrow staircase leading to an abandoned Tube station. Quinn hesitated, her worn leather watch ticking against her wrist. The station was a known haunt of the supernatural clique she'd been investigating. It was a rabbit hole, dark and dangerous, but Herrera was her key to unraveling the mystery of her partner's disappearance three years ago. She drew her gun, the metal cool and familiar in her hand, and descended into the unknown. The air grew colder, damp and heavy with the scent of decay. The station was a labyrinth of crumbling brick and rusted iron, the tracks swallowed by darkness. Quinn's footsteps echoed ominously, her flashlight beam slicing through the gloom. She caught sight of Herrera's silhouette, heard his ragged breaths. He was close. Suddenly, he stopped, turned. His eyes, warm brown in the light, widened in fear. "Detective, wait—" he began, but Quinn was already lunging, her gun trained on him. "Herrera, you're under arrest," she growled. He held up his hands, a bone token clutched in one. "Please, it's not what you think. I can explain—" A low rumble echoed through the station, the ground vibrating beneath their feet. A hidden door in the wall groaned open, revealing a dimly lit corridor. Herrera took a step back, towards the opening. "I can't let you stop me, Detective. Not now." Quinn's grip tightened on her gun. "You're not going anywhere, Herrera." He looked at her, resignation in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Detective. I truly am." Then he turned and disappeared into the corridor, the door slamming shut behind him. Quinn cursed, holstering her gun. She approached the door, her military precision faltering. It was a heavy wooden affair, reinforced with iron bands. A symbol was carved into the wood, glowing faintly: a stylized eye, the pupil a swirling vortex. She'd seen it before, in her partner's case notes, scrawled in the margins of pages detailing the inexplicable. She placed her hand on the symbol. It was warm, pulsing with an otherworldly energy. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and pushed. The door creaked open, revealing a vast, cavernous space filled with stalls and makeshift shops. The Veil Market, the underground black market for the supernatural. She was in way over her head, but she'd come this far. She stepped inside, her heart pounding in her ears. The market was a riot of color and sound, a stark contrast to the gloom of the station. Creatures of every shape and size bustled about, their voices a cacophony of languages and tones. Quinn scanned the crowd, looking for Herrera. She spotted him at a stall, bartering with a hooded figure. She started towards him, her hand hovering near her gun. Suddenly, a hand clamped down on her shoulder. She spun, her fist flying, but it was caught mid-air. She looked up into the face of a man with eyes like ice chips and hair like a raven's wing. He smiled, a slow, dangerous curve of his lips. "Welcome to the Veil Market, Detective," he said, his voice a low rumble. "I'm Silas. And you're not welcome here." Quinn wrenched her arm free, her breath coming in short gasps. "I'm looking for someone. Tomás Herrera. I need to speak with him." Silas' smile didn't reach his eyes. "Tomás is a friend. And you're a problem, Detective. I can't allow that." Quinn stood her ground, her gaze unwavering. "I'm not leaving without him." Silas' laugh echoed through the market, turning heads. "Brave, aren't you? Stupid, but brave." He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low growl. "This is my domain, Detective. You're out of your depth. Leave now, while you still can." Quinn met his gaze, her expression unchanging. "I can't do that." Silas sighed, a sound like distant thunder. "Very well. But don't say I didn't warn you." He turned, his cloak billowing behind him. "Come, Detective. Let's find Tomás. But remember, once you're in, there's no going back." Quinn followed, her heart pounding in her chest. She was stepping into the unknown, into a world she barely understood. But she was close, she could feel it. Close to answers, close to justice. And she wouldn't back down, not now, not ever. The rain might pound the streets above, but here, in the Veil Market, a different storm was brewing. And she was right in the eye of it.