Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTX1T9V7WSAFEVPNSSR0705

The rain hammered down, turning the cobblestones slick beneath Detective Harlow Quinn’s boots. Her sharp jaw tightened as she pushed forward, the neon glow of The Raven’s Nest fading behind her. The suspect—a shadowy figure in a dark hood—darted through the narrow alley, their footsteps echoing off the brick walls. Quinn’s hand brushed against the worn leather strap of her watch, a reflexive gesture she’d picked up over the years. She didn’t need to check the time. She needed to keep moving. “Stop! Police!” Her voice cut through the drumming rain, sharp and commanding. The figure didn’t even glance back, just veered left, disappearing down a flight of stairs leading underground. Quinn hesitated at the top, her brown eyes narrowing. This wasn’t just any basement. She knew this part of Camden. She knew what lay beneath. The stairwell was dimly lit, the yellowed bulbs flickering like dying stars. The air smelled of damp concrete and something older, something faintly metallic. Her boots hit the steps with purpose, each stride calculated, each breath steady. She reached the bottom and paused. The corridor stretched ahead, lined with rusted pipes and peeling posters. The faint hum of voices drifted toward her, mingling with the distant clatter of machinery. She pressed forward, her military training keeping her movements precise. The corridor opened into a vast, cavernous space, and Quinn’s breath caught. The Veil Market stretched before her, a labyrinth of stalls lit by flickering lanterns and the occasional glow of enchanted objects. The scent of incense and spilled alchemical fluids filled the air. Stallkeepers hawked their wares—amber vials of potions, black-market spellbooks, and artifacts that pulsed faintly with an inner light. The crowd was a mix of humans and things that weren’t, their faces obscured by hoods, masks, or shadows that clung too closely. Her suspect was somewhere in that throng, weaving through the chaos. Quinn hesitated, her instincts warring with caution. This wasn’t her jurisdiction—wasn’t even her world. But she’d come this far. She adjusted her coat, the weight of her service weapon comforting against her ribs, and stepped into the market. The crowd parted reluctantly, murmurs rising as she passed. She ignored the stares, her focus locked on the figure ahead. They were good—darting between stalls, disappearing behind curtains of hanging beads and makeshift walls of crates. Quinn picked up her pace, her sharp jaw set in a determined line. She rounded a corner and nearly collided with a man carrying a tray of glowing crystals. He caught her arm, his olive skin warm despite the chill in the air. “Careful, señora. You’ll break something valuable.” His voice carried a Spanish lilt, his Saint Christopher medallion catching the light as he steadied himself. She pulled free, her eyes scanning the crowd. “Move.” His warm brown eyes followed her gaze. “Looking for someone?” “None of your business.” She stepped around him, her focus returning to the chase. He shrugged, adjusting the tray. “Good luck. You’ll need it.” She didn’t have time for cryptic warnings. The suspect was slipping away, disappearing into a narrower section of the market. Quinn followed, her boots splashing through puddles of rainwater that had seeped down from the streets above. The stalls here were darker, their wares more sinister—glossy black feathers, jars of unidentifiable organs, and weapons that seemed to hum with latent energy. The suspect vanished behind a heavy curtain, and Quinn pushed through it without hesitation. The room beyond was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of burning sage. Shelves lined the walls, crammed with books and artifacts. A figure stood at the far end, their hood pulled low. “Enough of this,” Quinn said, her voice steady. “You’re under arrest.” The figure turned, their face obscured by shadows. “Arrest? For what?” “For starters, fleeing an officer. That’s obstruction. Now come quietly.” The figure laughed, a low, grating sound. “You’re in the wrong place, Detective. This isn’t your territory.” Her hand moved to her sidearm, her fingers brushing the holster. “I’m not asking twice.” The figure tilted their head, their voice dripping with mockery. “You really think that’s going to work here?” Before she could respond, movement caught her eye—a hulking shape emerging from the shadows to her left. She pivoted, drawing her weapon in one fluid motion. The creature—its skin like cracked leather, its eyes glowing faintly blue—lunged toward her. She fired, the shot echoing through the room. The creature staggered but didn’t fall, its hand clutching at the wound in its chest. “Damn it,” she muttered, backing toward the door. Another shot wouldn’t stop it; she’d need something else. Her eyes scanned the shelves, searching for anything she could use. Her hand closed around a vial filled with iridescent liquid. No idea what it did, but she’d risk it. She hurled the vial at the creature. It shattered against its chest, the liquid erupting into a burst of blinding light. The creature roared, its body convulsing as the light consumed it. Quinn didn’t wait to see the outcome. She turned toward the exit, her heart pounding. The suspect was gone, the back of the room empty. She cursed under her breath, her sharp jaw tightening. She’d lost them. But she’d seen enough to know this wasn’t just a criminal case. This was something deeper, something darker. She stepped back into the market, the crowd parting silently this time. The man with the Saint Christopher medallion stood near the entrance, his arms crossed. “You alive?” She holstered her weapon, her expression grim. “For now.” He nodded, his warm brown eyes holding hers. “You’re in over your head, Detective.” “Don’t I know it,” she muttered, brushing past him. “If you need help,” he called after her, “look me up. Tomás Herrera.” She didn’t respond, just kept walking, her mind already racing ahead. The Veil Market wasn’t just a place. It was a doorway. And whatever lay beyond it, she was going to find out.