Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTXCDMJQGKGYZ8XR2197HX8

The rain hammered down in sheets, turning the London streets into rivers of reflected neon. Detective Harlow Quinn's boots splashed through puddles as she rounded the corner onto Camden High Street, her eyes locked on the figure weaving through the late-night crowd ahead. Tomás Herrera moved with purpose, not quite running but walking too fast for someone with nothing to hide. His Saint Christopher medallion caught the streetlight as he glanced back, olive skin glistening with rain. "Herrera! Stop!" He didn't stop. Instead, he cut left into an alley, disappearing between two Victorian buildings. Quinn's breath came hard as she pursued, her worn leather watch slapping against her wrist with each stride. Eighteen years on the force had taught her to trust her instincts, and every instinct screamed that the former paramedic knew something about the string of unexplained disappearances in Soho. Three missing persons in two months, all last seen near The Raven's Nest, all with connections to what her sources whispered was "the supernatural community." She'd thought the supernatural angle was rubbish until she'd pulled Herrera's file. Terminated from the NHS for "unauthorized treatments." No specifics. Just sealed records and a trail that went cold. The alley narrowed. Quinn's hand moved to her hip, fingers brushing her telescopic baton. Ahead, Herrera had stopped at what looked like a dead end, brick wall blocking any exit. "There's nowhere to go, Tomás. Just talk to me." He turned, those warm brown eyes calculating. Rain plastered his curly hair to his forehead. The scar on his left forearm stood out white against his wet skin. "You don't want to follow me, Detective Quinn. Trust me on this." "That's not how this works." She moved closer, measuring the distance. "Three people are missing. You treated one of them two days before she disappeared. I have the prescription bottle with your handwriting." "She was sick. I helped her." "With what? What illness requires treatments that get you struck off?" Herrera's jaw tightened. His fingers moved to his medallion, thumb rubbing the worn silver surface. "Go back to your station. File your report. Say you lost me in the rain." "Not a chance." "Then I'm sorry." He pressed his palm against the brick wall. Quinn lunged forward, but stopped as the wall shimmered like water disturbed by a stone. The bricks rippled, parted, revealed a passageway leading down into darkness. The smell that wafted up made her step back—earth and incense, copper and something else. Something that reminded her of the night DS Morris had died. Herrera descended three steps, then paused. "Last chance, Detective. What's down here isn't part of your world. The rules you know don't apply." Quinn's heart hammered against her ribs. She thought of Morris, of finding him in that warehouse with no marks on his body, no explanation for why his eyes had been wide open and filled with terror. The coroner had ruled it a heart attack. Quinn had known better but couldn't prove otherwise. "What rules?" Her voice came out steadier than she felt. "The Veil Market operates outside Metropolitan Police jurisdiction. Outside all conventional jurisdiction. You enter, you're on your own." "The Veil Market?" The name meant nothing to her official databases, but she'd heard it mentioned once in a wiretap recording. The conversation had gone dead when the speaker realized they were being recorded. "You've been chasing shadows, Detective. Now you've found one." Herrera took another step down. "Those missing people? They're not missing. They asked to disappear. I helped facilitate it. That's all." "Facilitate how? Where are they?" "Safe. Away from things that wanted to hurt them." "I need more than cryptic answers, Tomás." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Then follow me. But understand—some questions have answers that'll change everything you think you know about this city. About what lives in it alongside you." The passage gaped like a mouth. Quinn could hear sounds now, echoing up from below. Voices speaking languages she didn't recognize. Music that seemed to come from instruments that shouldn't exist. The air itself felt different, charged with something that made her skin prickle. Her radio crackled. Dispatch requesting her location. She could call it in. Wait for backup. Do this by the book. But Morris had done everything by the book. He'd followed procedures right up until the moment something had stopped his heart with fear. "How do I know you won't disappear the moment we're down there?" Herrera reached into his jacket. Quinn's hand went to her baton, but he only pulled out a small white object. He tossed it up to her. She caught it reflexively—bone, carved with symbols that hurt to look at directly. "Entry token. You'll need it to get past the threshold. It's also a guarantee I'll bring you back out. Those things are worth more than my life down there." Quinn turned the bone token over in her palm. It felt warm, almost alive. Everything in her training screamed to retreat, call this in, get a full team down here. But Herrera was already descending, his form growing darker as the passage swallowed him. In seconds, he'd be gone. The brick wall would probably close. She'd have questions and no answers, three missing persons still unaccounted for, and another dead end in a case that had consumed her for weeks. The token pulsed against her palm like a heartbeat. Quinn stepped into the passage. The temperature dropped immediately, ten degrees in as many steps. Behind her, she heard the brick wall ripple closed, sealing her in. The stairs spiraled down, deeper than should have been possible. The Camden Tube station was down here somewhere, but these stairs predated the Underground by centuries. The walls were older brick, then stone, then something that might have been carved directly from the earth itself. The sounds grew louder. The air grew thicker with that strange copper-incense smell. Herrera waited at the bottom, standing before an iron gate covered in the same painful symbols as the token. Beyond the gate, Quinn saw lights. Movement. Shapes that might have been human and might have been something else entirely. "Welcome to the Veil Market, Detective." Herrera's expression was unreadable. "Remember—you chose this."