Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTXP350TAZDGT0M0TE7NJYM

Rain hammered the pavement of Camden High Street. Harlow Quinn sprinted. Her boots slapped against wet concrete. Breath tore at her throat. She checked the worn leather watch on her left wrist. Ten minutes since the suspect fled the Raven's Nest. She wiped water from her eyes. Salt-and-pepper hair plastered to her skull. The sharp line of her jaw tightened. She scanned the shadows. Streetlights flickered above. Puddles reflected the orange glow. Ahead, a figure darted between parked cars. Olive skin gleamed under the streetlights. Short curly dark brown hair bounced with each stride. Tomás Herrera. He favoured his left leg. The scar running along his forearm flashed white when he pushed off a brick wall. He vanished into the shadows of the high street. Harlow drew her service weapon. The metal felt cold against her palm. She moved with military precision. No wasted motion. She swept the corner. The street stood empty. Puddles rippled. Steam rose from a grate. She holstered the gun. Tomás headed for the old Tube station. The entrance stood boarded up. Chains hung loose. Rust flaked onto her hands when she grabbed the metal. She kicked the door. Wood splintered. Darkness swallowed her. The air grew heavy. Damp rot filled her nose. She descended the stairs. Tiles cracked underfoot. Graffiti covered the walls. Her footsteps echoed. A draft blew upward. It smelled of sulphur and burnt sugar. She reached the platform. Light glowed below the tracks. Not electric. Firelight. She crept to the edge. A cavern opened beneath the station. Stalls lined the tunnels. People wore masks made of bone and cloth. She spotted Tomás near the edge. He touched a medallion around his neck. Saint Christopher. He handed something to a vendor. A bone token. The vendor nodded. Harlow pressed against the concrete pillar. She watched the crowd. Creatures with too many joints bartered in the shadows. Glass vials bubbled with green liquid. Maps floated in mid-air. This was the Veil Market. The rumours held truth. Her partner Morris died three years ago. No body. No explanation. She suspected the clique then. Now she stood at the entrance of their stronghold. A guard stepped onto the platform. He wore a coat made of feathers. He scanned the tunnel. Harlow held her breath. Her hand hovered over her holster. The guard turned away. He walked toward the stairs. She needed to follow Tomás. The market moved every full moon. Tonight was the night. If she lost him, the trail went cold. She looked at the drop. Ten feet to the stalls. Below, the noise grew. Laughter mixed with screams. A man sold eyes in a jar. A woman traded memories for gold coins. Harlow checked her watch again. Backup stood twenty minutes away. She stood alone. The rain dripped from the ceiling. It hit her shoulder. She thought of Morris. He trusted her. She failed him. She would not fail this case. She stepped onto the rusted tracks. Gravel crunched. The guard paused. He listened. Harlow froze. Her heart beat against her ribs. The guard continued down the stairs. He disappeared into the dark. She reached the edge of the platform. The heat from below washed over her face. The market thrived. Illegal alchemy flowed like water. Banned substances sat on open shelves. This evidence buried her suspects for life. Or it got her killed. Tomás vanished into the crowd. He merged with the shoppers. She lost visual. She needed to move. Now. She gripped the edge of the platform. Her knuckles turned white. The drop waited. A vendor looked up. He pointed at her. He shouted to the guard. The guard spun around. He drew a blade. It glowed blue. Harlow calculated the distance. She could shoot. The noise would bring everyone. She could jump. The landing would break her ankle. She could retreat. The case would die. She looked at the bone token in the vendor's hand. It matched the description from the files. Morris found one in his pocket before he vanished. She touched her own pocket. She carried a spare magazine. No token. She could not buy entry. She would take it. The guard climbed the stairs. His boots clanged on the metal. He reached the landing. He saw her. He smiled. His teeth were filed to points. Harlow drew her weapon. She aimed at his chest. He stopped. He raised his hands. The blade vanished into his sleeve. You do not belong here. Harlow kept the gun steady. Her finger rested on the trigger. She stepped forward. The gravel shifted. I belong wherever justice leads. The guard laughed. The sound scraped against the walls. He stepped closer. The blue glow returned to his hand. Justice does not walk these tunnels. Only survivors. Harlow glanced at the market below. Tomás stood at a stall. He looked up. He saw her. He shook his head. He mouthed a word. Run. She ignored him. She focused on the guard. He lunged. She sidestepped. She struck his wrist with the barrel of the gun. The blade clattered to the floor. She kicked it over the edge. It fell into the dark. The guard stumbled. He regained his balance. He punched her stomach. Air left her lungs. She doubled over. He grabbed her collar. He lifted her off the ground. Harlow drove her knee into his groin. He grunted. He dropped her. She hit the tracks. Pain shot through her hip. She rolled. She came up swinging. She hit his jaw. He fell back. He hit the wall. He slid down. He did not move. She stood. She checked her watch. Five minutes. She looked at the drop. The market buzzed below. No one noticed the fight. They kept trading. They kept buying. She holstered her weapon. She wiped blood from her lip. She looked at the unconscious guard. She took his coat. She pulled the hood over her head. It smelled of bird musk. She stepped to the edge. She looked for Tomás. He waited near a stall selling enchanted maps. He watched her. He did not run. He waited to see what she would do. Harlow placed her foot on the ladder. The metal felt cold. She descended. One rung. Two. The heat rose. The smells intensified. Rot. Ozone. Blood. She reached the bottom. Her boots hit the dirt floor. She stood among the supernatural. They ignored her. They assumed she belonged. She walked toward Tomás. Her hand stayed near her holster. Tomás touched his medallion. He looked at the scar on his arm. He nodded at a stall behind him. You should not be here. Harlow stopped. She looked at the items on the table. Jars of smoke. Bones that whispered. I am here now. Tomás glanced at the crowd. A woman with no face walked past. She carried a cage with a beating heart inside. They will know you. Let them know. Tomás picked up a vial. He handed it to her. It felt warm. Then buy something. Blend in. Harlow took the vial. She looked at the liquid inside. It swirled without gravity. She looked at the vendor. The vendor held out a hand. Payment. She had no bone token. She had no gold. She had her badge. She kept it hidden. She reached into her pocket. She pulled out a coin. A standard pound coin. She placed it in the vendor's hand. The vendor looked at the coin. He looked at her. He laughed. He tossed the coin into the dark. This buys you nothing. Harlow leaned in. She stared into the empty space where the vendor's eyes should be. It buys you silence. The vendor paused. He tucked the coin away. He waved them off. Tomás grabbed her arm. He pulled her into the crowd. They moved deeper into the market. The stalls grew stranger. Shadows detached themselves from the walls. Harlow kept her eyes forward. She watched Tomás's back. The scar on his forearm disappeared under his sleeve. He moved with purpose. He led her to a curtain of beads. He stopped. He turned to her. This is the edge. Beyond here, the rules change. Harlow looked at the beads. They clicked together. They sounded like teeth. What lies beyond? Tomás looked at her brown eyes. He saw the determination. He saw the grief. Truth. Harlow pushed the beads aside. They chimed. She stepped through. The air changed. It grew colder. The noise faded. She stood in a quiet corridor. Tomás followed. He closed the curtain behind them. She checked her watch. The hands spun backward. She tapped the glass. They stopped. She looked at Tomás. Where are we? Tomás walked past her. He opened a door at the end of the hall. Light spilled out. The place where Morris ended. Harlow froze. Her hand went to her holster. She stepped toward the door. The light blinded her. She squinted. She saw a room. Maps covered the walls. Black-and-white photographs pinned to cork. A desk sat in the centre. She walked in. She recognized the desk. It belonged to Morris. She touched the surface. Dust covered the wood. She opened a drawer. It contained a file. Her name sat on the label. She looked at Tomás. He stood by the window. He looked out at the tunnel. Why bring me here? Tomás turned. He leaned against the sill. You wanted the truth. Harlow opened the file. Papers shuffled. She read the first line. Her breath caught. She looked up. Tomás watched her. He waited. She closed the file. She placed it on the desk. She looked at the door. Who else knows? Tomás pushed off the wall. He walked to the desk. He picked up a pen. He spun it in his fingers. Everyone who matters. Harlow straightened her jacket. She adjusted her watch. She looked at the door. She looked at Tomás. Then we have work to do. She walked past him. She opened the door. The market noise rushed back in. She stepped into the crowd. Tomás followed. They moved together. The crowd parted for them. They walked toward the centre of the market. The lights flickered. The ground shook. Harlow kept walking. She did not look back. She focused on the path ahead. The suspect was gone. The mission changed. She hunted a larger prey now. She touched her holster. She felt the weight of the gun. She felt the weight of the file in her pocket. She moved with precision. She moved with purpose. She moved into the dark.