Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTXPSWEZ9G55YME6PGWR5GH

Rain slicked the London streets, turning pavement into shimmering black mirrors under the orange glow of streetlights. Detective Harlow Quinn rounded the corner, her worn leather watch ticking away seconds as she pursued the shadow darting ahead. The suspect moved with unnatural speed, weaving through late-night crowds with ease. Quinn's military bearing kept her posture straight despite the burning in her lungs. Eighteen years on the force had taught her when to push and when to conserve energy, but this suspect was different. The alley behind The Raven's Nest had been their starting point, and now they were heading deeper into Soho's labyrinthine streets. The suspect glanced back, his warm brown eyes catching the light for a fraction of a second. Tomás Herrera. The former paramedic had been on her radar for months, providing medical care to members of that supernatural clique she'd been investigating. The Saint Christopher medallion around his neck had glinted when he'd noticed her surveillance outside the bar. "Herrera!" Her voice cut through the rain-muffled sounds of the city. "Stop! Metropolitan Police!" He didn't slow. Instead, he ducked into an narrow service alley between a closed curry house and a bookstore. Quinn followed, her closely cropped salt-and-pepper hair plastered to her forehead. The alley opened onto a small courtyard, and Herrera was already halfway across, heading toward what appeared to be a maintenance entrance for the Underground. "Every time," Quinn muttered, remembering how this case had taken over her life since Morris's death three years ago. How many corners of this city had secrets she was only beginning to uncover? Herrera paused at the entrance, glancing back. His olive skin glistened with rain in the dim light. "You shouldn't follow me, Detective." "Why? What are you hiding?" Quinn closed the distance between them, her sharp jaw set in determination. "The Veil Market? Is that where you're running to?" Herrera's eyes widened slightly. He hadn't expected her to know that name. "How do you—" "I'm a detective. It's my job to know things." Quinn's hand hovered near her waist, where her service weapon would normally be. Tonight, she was following protocol—no firearm during surveillance unless absolutely necessary. She was beginning to question that decision. Herrera reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small bone token, etched with strange symbols. "This world isn't what you think it is, Detective Quinn. Some doors, once opened, can't be closed." "Is that a threat?" "No. A warning." He held up the token to a seemingly ordinary patch of wall beside the maintenance door. The air shimmered, and an entrance materialized where none had existed before—darkness beyond. "Your partner Morris found out the same way. Look where that got him." Quinn froze. The mention of her dead partner struck like a physical blow. "What do you know about Morris?" "More than you can imagine." Herrera stepped through the newly appeared doorway. "Follow if you dare. But understand—once you're in, there's no going back to ignorance." The rain poured harder, plastering Quinn's shirt to her body. She stood at the threshold, the decision weighing heavily. This was it—the moment that would define her investigation, perhaps her career. The underground market. The Veil. The supernatural underbelly of London she'd been chasing since Morris died under those unexplained circumstances. She could call for backup, but by the time they arrived, Herrera would be gone. The entrance would seal. Any evidence would disappear. Quinn stepped through the shimmering doorway. The air changed instantly—warmer, thicker, smelling of ozone and something else she couldn't identify. The tunnel stretched before her, lit by floating orbs of blue light that cast eerie shadows on the curved walls. Herrera was already several yards ahead, moving with purpose. "Welcome to the Veil Market, Detective." His voice echoed slightly in the confined space. "Try not to stare. Some of the vendors don't like scrutiny." The tunnel opened into a vast cavern—what must have been an abandoned Tube station beneath Camden. Stalls lined the platforms, selling everything from glowing bottles to what looked like animal parts. Beings of various shapes and sizes haggled over goods, some appearing nearly human, others... not so much. Quinn's mind struggled to process what she was seeing. A woman with feathers instead of hair examined a set of intricately carved bones. A man whose skin shimmered like mother-of-pearl counted coins that vanished and reappeared in his palm. Something that resembled a large cat walked on two legs, examining herbs at a botanical stall. "Keep up," Herrera called back, weaving through the crowd. "And don't touch anything. Some of these artifacts have minds of their own." Quinn followed, her police training screaming at her that this was insane. She should be calling for armed backup, not following a suspect into what appeared to be a supernatural black market. But her curiosity—that trait that had made her such a good detective—pushed her forward. The market sprawled through the abandoned station, stalls occupying platforms and even extending onto the tracks where trains once ran. The air hummed with energy, and every few moments, a ripple would pass through the space, causing items to momentarily glow brighter. "What is this place?" Quinn asked, catching up to Herrera near a stall selling bottles of liquid that seemed to contain miniature storms. "The Veil Market." Herrera picked up one of the bottles, watching the tiny lightning flash inside. "It moves locations every full moon. Bone tokens grant entry. You're lucky I triggered the entrance when I did—otherwise, you'd still be standing in the rain wondering where I went." "Why show me this?" "Because you're not going to stop looking. Morris didn't stop either." Herrera's expression softened slightly. "He was here, months before he died. Asking questions. Buying protective charms. Trying to understand what he'd stumbled into." Quinn's heart raced. "What happened to him?" Herrera met her gaze, his brown eyes serious. "The same thing that could happen to you if you keep digging. But you won't stop, will you?" "No." Quinn's voice was firm. "I won't." "Then you'll need this." Herrera reached into his jacket and pulled out a small leather pouch, pressing it into her hand. "Salt from the Dead Sea. It offers some protection against... less friendly entities." He gestured to his scarred forearm. "Learned that lesson the hard way." Before Quinn could respond, a commotion erupted across the market. Shouts in a language she didn't understand. Herrera's head snapped toward the sound. "Time to go," he said, his expression suddenly urgent. "They're here." "Who's here?" "The collectors. And they're not interested in buying." Herrera grabbed her arm. "Run, Detective. And remember—not everything here fears a badge."