Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTRNVC0C9YANNCC8JV7NEWV

The rain hammered down in relentless sheets, gutters spilling over as Detective Harlow Quinn darted through the flickering neon glow of Soho. The suspect had just slipped past a cluster of dodging pedestrians, disappearing into an alley clogged with garbage bags and puddles that swallowed her footsteps. Quinn’s boots splashed loudly as she closed the gap, breath fogging in the chilled air. “Stop! Police!” Her voice reverberated, swallowed by the storm. The figure in front, a shadow with hurried, uncertain motions, glanced back once, lips pressed in a thin line. She quickened her pace, her sharp jaw clenched, eyes narrowing. Rain blurred her vision, but the steel in her gaze cut through the darkness. She darted into the alley, where the brick walls smelled of wet concrete and mould. A faint glint caught her eye near a rusted fire escape—a broken latch, loose enough to lift. She hesitated for half a second, then shifted her weight, pushing the door open just enough to slip inside. Inside, the air turned damp and colder, shadows hugging tightly around the narrow corridor. Low light flickered from a dangling bulb overhead, casting creeping shadows on graffiti-smeared walls. She clutched her rain-soaked coat tighter as she followed the faint sounds of hurried footsteps echoing ahead. Her senses sharpened, every sound amplified—the drip of water from pipes, the distant clatter of something metal, the muffled heartbeat of her target. The alley morphed into a staircase spiraling downward, the air growing mustier and thicker with each step. Quinn descended, the faint glow of her flashlight revealing peeling paint, graffiti depicting strange symbols. The temperature dropped several degrees, and she pulled her coat closer. The stairwell ended at a metal door, slightly ajar. Peering through the gap, she saw a faint flicker of candlelight pressing against the darkness beyond. Curiosity warred with caution. She gripped her holstered pistol, slowly pushing the door open. The narrow room beyond was cluttered with crates, tangled wires, and strange artifacts cluttered on makeshift shelves. An odd hum vibrated through the space, almost like a low chant, though distant. Through a cracked window, she could see the rain still pouring, the city lights blurred streaks beyond the grime-covered glass. Her target—she recognized the silhouette now—paced near a table stacked with books and odd trinkets. The figure suddently froze, sensing her presence. Quinn’s finger twitched on the trigger but kept it steady. “Freeze!” she barked, voice echoing in the cramped chamber. The suspect spun around, eyes wide with panic. “You shouldn’t have come here,” they whispered, voice trembling. Quinn’s gaze shifted, taking in the scene—arcane symbols drawn in chalk, broken ceramic shards scattered across the floor. “This is a dead end. Step away from whatever this is.” Their lips curled into a bitter smile. “You have no idea what you’re walking into.” She tightened her grip on the gun. “I’ve got a pretty good idea. Come peacefully.” But the figure’s hand darted to the pocket of their jacket. A flash of metal caught her eye—an object she couldn’t quite identify, glinting under the candlelight. Before she could react, a sharp clang echoed through the room as the suspect knocked over a pile of books, scattering pages and bindings. In that instant, the figure lunged toward a concealed door behind a tapestry. Quinn moved swiftly, but her ears caught the faintest sounds—footsteps approaching from above, the faint rumble of more than one person. A choice formed in her mind as quick as a blink. Stay and engage, trusting her firearm might hold them back. Or chase into the unknown depths where who knew what awaited. Her instincts screamed to pursue, to stop this ritual or whatever hidden assembly was happening. The door swung open with a creak, revealing a narrow passage spiraling downward into darkness. She hesitated for a second—the chalk symbols, the strange hum, something about this felt even deeper than her suspect. Storm clouds rumbled overhead outside, rain pounding against the roof, masking any sounds from above. She took a breath, felt the weight of her badge and gun. Confidence in her instincts made her step forward. Her boot scraped the stone as she descended into the abyss, the passage opening into a cavernous space underground—part market, part sanctuary. Lanterns and flickering candles illuminated stalls stacked with peculiar objects—crystals, vials, forged medals bearing strange sigils. It was the Veil Market, she realised. The black-market nexus of supernatural dealings. Moving through the crowd, she glimpsed figures cloaked in shadow, bartering in hushed voices over enchanted goods. She caught sight of Tomás Herrera, elbows resting on a counter, offering a guarded nod to a hooded figure. His scarred forearm was visible as he handed over a small vial. The man’s eyes flicked to her then away, as if he knew she was trouble. Behind her, the footsteps of her target quickened. She spun around, scanning the crowd. They had vanished into the chaos, swallowed by stalls or cloaked in a spell of concealment. Rain’s sound receded beneath the murmur of the market. She knew without a doubt: stepping further in meant risking everything. But she also knew this was where the trail led now. No turning back. The rain’s distant roar was drowned out by the endless chatter, by secrets whispered behind stalls. She tightened her grip on her gun, heart pounding. Somewhere in this dark underground, her suspect was buried in the web of the supernatural, and she had to find them before they slipped away again.