Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTXVYA0FQ72WC8FS9DKE5Y2

Rain hammered the slick pavement, turning the neon lights of Soho into bleeding watercolors. Detective Harlow Quinn’s lungs burned with, a figure darted around a corner, a dark shape made ghostly by the downpour and the steam rising from the grates. . Eighteen years on the force had taught her how a chase felt in her bones—the tightening step into that shadowed warehouse doorway. A feeling of the ground tilting, of the rules she a side alley choked with overflowing bins. Quinn, flickering security light. But the runner was gone. “Damn it,” she hissed, scanning the grimy walls darkness, the air carrying a faint, coppery tang that made the fine hairs on her arms stand up. wasn’t on any city blueprint she’d ever into a blind spot. Morris’s face flashed in her memory ground. She unclipped her radio from her belt. Static crackled in response, a hollow. The signal was dead. It was her choice. Go back, file a report, lose him. Or go down. Quinn descended. The metal steps groaned under her weight. The murmur grew into a cacophony—haggling, laughter, the clink of glass and metal. The air grew thick, smelling of damp stone, exotic spices, and. She emerged into a vast, cavernous space. An abandoned Tube station, its old tiled walls stained with damp and covered in intricate glyphs that shimmered in the lowused platform, lit by flickering lanterns and glowing crystals suspect was already thirty yards ahead, slipping through the crowd with practiced ease. The crowd itself was a shock. A woman with iridescent scales tracing her cheekbones examined a vial of swirling liquid. A tall figure shrouded in shadows seemed to have too many joints in its arms. A vendor with eyes like molten gold gestured to a cage containing something that looked like a winged lizard made of smoke. Quinn’s training screamed at her to observe, to assess threats, to identify exits. There were none she could see. The way she’d come was the only visible entrance. Her sharp jaw was set, her body thrumming with a tension she hadn’t felt since her first tour overseas. This was a different kind of warzone. She moved forward, keeping her head down a lie. She lost sight of him near a stall selling what looked like miniature, mummified hands. Pushing past a h curtained-off alcove near the end of the platform. She closed Saint Christopher medallion gleamed at his throat. He didn’t look like security. He looked worried. “Metropolitan Police,” Quinn said, her voice low, a command. “Release my arm.” He didn’t let go. His eyes darted past her, toward the alcove, then back to her face. His Spanish accent was subtle but distinct. “This is not a place for your jurisdiction.” “I’m pursuing a suspect. That gives me jurisdiction anywhere.” “That might be true up there,” he said, his gaze intense, sincere hurt. Permanently. The man you are following… he is not worth it. Turn around. Cl“My name is Tomás.” He finally released her arm, but his posture remained between her and the alcove. A former paramedic’s bearing, she noted automatically. Used to standing between people and danger. “And I am not obstructing. I am providing medical advice. This past him. The curtain to the alcove was still. Her suspect was in there, maybe listening. This man, Tomás, knew it. He was protecting. “What’s in the alcove, Tomás?” “Trouble you do not need.” “My partner thought that once. He decided to walk away from a lead crossed his face. “I am sorry. Truly. But following this man will not bring your partner back. It will only mean I have another patient I cannot save. Or a body I cannot explain. Walk away, Detective.” The curtain twitched. A sliver of darkness showed from within the the unknown. She could assert the authority of her badge she could listen to the fear in this medic’s eyes, a fear that felt less like a threat and more like a warning. She could feel the weight of hundreds of unseen eyes upon her, the unnatural stillness that had fallen over the nearest stalls. The market was watching. Waiting to see what the surface-worlder would do. Quinn took a half-step back, her own training warring with a new, primal instinct. The instinct that had saved her life in back alleys and dark houses. The instinct that told her when a door was too dangerous to open. She met Tomás’s gaze and gave a single, sharp nod.