Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTRARYHX6NNPSNCM60PAQ64

The rain came down in sheets, turning the London streets into a slick, shimmering maze. Harlow Quinn’s boots splashed through puddles as she sprinted, her breath coming in sharp, controlled bursts. The suspect—some wiry kid with a hood pulled low—darted ahead, weaving between late-night stragglers and parked cars. A neon sign flickered above a side alley, casting jagged green light across the wet pavement. Quinn’s fingers twitched near her radio, but she didn’t call it in. Not yet. Not until she had answers. The kid glanced back, eyes wide under the hood. He ducked into a narrow passage between two buildings, his sneakers slapping against the wet stone. Quinn followed, her shoulder brushing the brick wall as she took the turn. The alley opened into a dead end—just a rusted fire escape and a boarded-up door. The kid was gone. She slowed, scanning the shadows. A manhole cover lay slightly askew near the back wall. The edges glistened with fresh rainwater. Quinn crouched, prying it up with a grunt. A ladder descended into darkness, the rungs slick with moisture. The air rising from below carried the scent of damp earth and something sharper—copper, maybe, or old smoke. She hesitated. The rational part of her brain screamed to wait for backup. But the other part, the one that still heard Morris’s voice in the static of her radio, knew this was the only lead she’d had in months. Her boots hit the ladder. The descent was longer than she expected. The tunnel walls pressed in close, the only light coming from the faint glow of distant bulbs strung along the ceiling. The kid’s footsteps echoed ahead, quick and uneven. Quinn moved faster, her hand resting on the grip of her sidearm. The tunnel opened into a cavernous space—an abandoned Tube station, by the looks of it. But the tracks weren’t empty. Stalls lined the platform, draped in deep purples and blacks, their wares glinting under flickering lanterns. A woman with silver-streaked hair haggled over a vial of swirling liquid. A man in a long coat examined a dagger that hummed when he turned it in the light. The kid was already halfway down the platform, weaving through the crowd. Quinn stepped onto the platform, her pulse hammering. The air was thick with the scent of incense and something metallic. A vendor with too many teeth grinned at her, holding up a jar of something that pulsed like a heartbeat. She ignored him, pushing forward. The kid glanced back again, then ducked behind a curtain of beads. Quinn followed, shoving through the strands. The space beyond was smaller, darker. A man with a scarred face leaned against a table covered in bones. “You’re not supposed to be here,” he said, voice low. Quinn’s fingers tightened around her radio. “Metropolitan Police. I’m pursuing a suspect.” The man’s eyes flicked to the curtain. “No police down here.” She didn’t have time for this. “Where’d he go?” The man exhaled through his nose, then jerked his chin toward a narrow passage at the back. Quinn didn’t wait for more. She moved, her boots silent on the worn stone. The passage twisted, then opened into another chamber. This one was quieter, the stalls sparse. A figure stood at the far end, talking to someone in a hooded cloak. The kid. Quinn stepped forward— A hand clamped onto her shoulder. She spun, fist raised, but the man in front of her was already stepping back, palms up. Tomás Herrera. The Saint Christopher medallion around his neck glinted in the dim light. “Easy,” he said. “You don’t want to do this.” Quinn’s jaw tightened. “I’m not here for you.” “Doesn’t matter.” His dark eyes flicked toward the figures at the end of the chamber. “You follow him any further, you won’t like what you find.” She didn’t lower her hand. “You know what’s going on here?” Tomás hesitated. “I know you’re out of your depth.” The kid and the cloaked figure were moving again, slipping through a side passage. Quinn’s radio crackled in her ear—dispatch, asking for her location. She ignored it. Tomás sighed. “You’re gonna get yourself killed.” Quinn met his gaze. “Not tonight.” She turned and ran.