Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTRNZH2FBXZCJGYKTKEC5B4

The rain hammered down in sheets, turning the city’s neon signs into blurred streaks of colour. Detective Harlow Quinn sprinted after her target, feet splashing through puddles that mirrored the flickering lights overhead. The suspect darted down the narrow alley, clutching something small and metallic in his hand—something that shimmered briefly even in the downpour. Quinn’s breath hissed in her mask as she focused on closing the gap. Her boots skidded on wet cobblestones, and she pushed harder, adrenaline crowding her senses. The suspect slipped through a tangle of fire escapes and trash cans, then dove into a doorway that hid beneath an overhang, vanishing into the darkness of a building she barely recognised. She slowed, her hand resting instinctively on her gun. The rain’s relentless drumming dulled the world. Only the flicker of a neon sign betrayed any hint of life: a green glow spilling over the thick fog that refused to lift. “Come on,” she muttered, voice muffled behind her mask. Her watch beeped softly—they were getting close to midnight, and she knew the city’s underground—the kind she’d only heard whispers of—was just beneath their feet. Rumours had circulated about a hidden market, the Veil Market, somewhere beneath Camden, accessible only with a bone token, moving locations every full moon. She’d always dismissed it as urban legend, until tonight. Footsteps echoed behind her. Turning, Quinn saw movement—an arched doorway with a faint, old brass handle, barely noticeable amid the grime. She hesitated, eyes narrowing. Her gut told her her suspect wasn’t just running from the law—they were after something more, something supernatural. The alley, dark and slick, looked like a trap. But the suspect was down there, just beyond her reach. She could lose him if she stayed above ground. Or she could dive in, risking the unknown. Her hand tightened on her weapon. In the dim glow, she caught sight of the suspect sprinting towards the doorway. With a deep breath, she edged closer, finger hovering near the trigger. A cough of thunder echoed overhead. She stepped forward, then hesitated. The old brass handle looked worn, the door cracked open just enough to slip inside. Soundlessly, she moved, eyes scanning the shadowed interior. Inside, the space was smaller than she expected—a narrow corridor lit by sporadic flickering bulbs. Dust drifted in the air, mixing with the wet scent of rain seeping through cracks. At the far end, a faint shimmer of light revealed a staircase descending out of view. Her instinct shouted to keep her guard up. The suspect’s silhouette vanished into the darkness below. She hesitated, forcing herself to consider the risks. Everything about this alley screamed dangerous: the weather, the abandonment, the sense that unseen eyes watched her from somewhere just beyond her sight. Still, the chase had led her here, and she wasn’t about to turn back now. She lowered her gun slowly, her pulse pounding so loudly it threatened to drown out everything else. Her fingers brushed the worn leather strap of her watch—a relic she’d kept since her partner’s death, a reminder that every second could be her last. Carefully, she stepped inside, the door closing behind her with a quiet finality. The staircase groaned under her weight as she descended into the darkness. The air grew colder, thicker with a strange, earthy scent. Shadows shifted along the walls, and for a moment she wondered if she was walking into a trap. Then she saw him—the suspect crouched by a low table, clutching the metallic object as if it were a treasure. He looked up, eyes wide but calculating. “You're following the wrong guy,” he rasped, voice rough. “It’s not what you think.” “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do,” Quinn said, guns still in her hand. “Drop it.” He hesitated, then let the object fall onto the table with a muted clink. It was a small, ornate bone token—the kind she’d read about, used to gain entry to the Veil Market. Now she remembered the rumours: the market’s moving location every full moon, every time someone uses one of those tokens. If this was true, the man in front of her had been down here before. She stepped closer. “What were you running from?” He frowned, eyes darting around. “You don’t belong here.” “I’m not leaving without answers. Who are you working with?” A flicker of something—fear or defiance—crossed his face. “This isn’t your world.” Her gaze sharpened. “Did you take something from the market?” His jaw clenched. “I only wanted to look.” She studied him, then looked past him into the shadowy depths of the underground space. Beyond the flickering bulbs, crates stacked high with strange objects—the glow of enchanted talismans, jars of dark liquids—evidence of a place she’d only half-believed existed. The rain pounded harder against the thin walls. Somewhere above, the city carried on indifferent. “What’s your name?” she asked. He hesitated, then said, “Tomás.” “Tomás,” she echoed, voice steady. “You need to come with me. If you’ve been here before, I want to know everything.” He looked down at the bone token, then back up. “This isn’t just about the market. Things are changing. Something’s coming.” She brushed past him, eyes fixed on the shadows, knowing this was just the beginning. The alley, the door, the market—none of it was coincidence. And somewhere beneath the streets, things she didn't understand were waiting.