Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTX2RKWEF9X4YY30NFEYXTD

Rain lashed against the pavement, turning London's streets into mirrors of fractured neon. Detective Harlow Quinn's feet splashed through puddles as her lungs burned with cold air. Thirty yards ahead, the suspect—Tomás Herrera—glanced back, his olive skin pale under the streetlights. His Saint Christopher medallion bounced against his chest with each desperate stride. She'd been following him for three blocks, ever since he'd spotted her surveillance outside The Raven's Nest. Herrera ducked into a narrow alley between two brick buildings. Quinn followed, her worn leather watch catching the dim light as she rounded the corner. The alley dead-ended at a rusted metal door with peeling paint. Herrera fumbled with something in his pocket—a bone token—and pressed it against the door. A faint blue light pulsed from the lock before the door creaked open. Quinn hesitated at the threshold. Her military training screamed against entering an unknown space alone, but three years of unanswered questions about DS Morris's death pushed her forward. She slipped through the door just as it began to close. The air changed instantly. The smell of wet pavement and exhaust fumes gave way to something ancient—incense, ozone, and something metallic. Concrete steps led downward into darkness. Quinn pulled her torch from her jacket, its beam cutting through the gloom. She could hear Herrera's footsteps echoing below. The stairs opened into a vast space—an abandoned Tube station, its platform stretched into shadows. Above her, the arched ceiling disappeared into darkness. This was the Veil Market. Quinn had heard whispers of it in her investigations—a supernatural black market that moved like a ghost through the city's underground veins. Stalls lined the platform, their awnings sagging. Some were empty, others covered with dust sheets. But deeper in the market, Quinn saw movement. Figures hunched over tables, their features obscured by hoods and poor lighting. The air hummed with low conversation and the occasional chime of something unseen. Herrera was heading toward the far end of the platform, where a group gathered around something glowing. Quinn kept to the shadows, her torch off now. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light provided by enchanted lanterns that flickered with blue flames. A woman with hair like spun moonlight turned as Quinn passed. Her eyes, solid black, tracked the detective's movement. Quinn's hand went to the weapon at her hip, but she kept it concealed. The woman smiled, revealing teeth too sharp to be human. "New blood?" The woman's voice was like gravel. "Just browsing," Quinn said, keeping her tone neutral. The woman's smile widened. "The Veil doesn't like liars." Quinn moved past quickly, her heart pounding. She spotted Herrera near a stall selling bottled liquids that seemed to contain captured lightning. He was speaking with a man whose face was covered in intricate tattoos that moved across his skin like living creatures. Herrera handed over a small pouch and received a vial of dark liquid in return. This was her chance. Quinn stepped forward, her badge held up. "Tomás Herrera. Metropolitan Police. You're under arrest." The market went silent. All eyes turned toward her. Herrera's warm brown eyes widened in panic. The tattooed man vanished into thin air. Herrera bolted, the vial clutched in his hand as he ducked between stalls. Quinn gave chase, weaving through startled vendors and patrons. A tentacle reached out from one stall, wrapping around her ankle. She stumbled but managed to pull free, her boot scraping against the concrete platform. Ahead, Herrera disappeared through a stone archway marked with symbols that hurt Quinn's eyes to look at directly. She paused at the archway, catching her breath. The space beyond pulsed with an unnatural light. Through the opening, she could see trees and stars—impossible things underground. Herrera was halfway across what appeared to be a bridge spanning a bottomless chasm. Quinn pulled her radio. "Control, this is Detective Quinn. I need backup at—" Static. The radio was dead. Of course. No normal electronics worked in places like this. She stood at the threshold, the decision heavy in her chest. Follow Herrera into whatever lay beyond that archway, or retreat and call for proper reinforcements? But reinforcements wouldn't understand what they were walking into. They wouldn't believe her report about a moving tattooed man or a woman with solid black eyes. Herrera paused on the bridge, looking back at her. For a moment, their eyes met across the impossible distance. He raised the vial, as if to show her what he'd risked everything to obtain. Quinn stepped through the archway.