Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTY8A3SVYST9S3ES1N2K1VA

The rain hammered against the pavement, turning the neon reflections into liquid streaks of green and red. Harlow Quinn sprinted past the flickering sign of The Raven’s Nest, her boots splashing through puddles that swallowed the sound of her footsteps. Ahead, a figure darted around the corner—Tomás Herrera, his dark coat flapping like a wounded bird’s wing. "Stop! Police!" Her voice cut through the downpour, but Tomás didn’t slow. She vaulted over a stack of overturned crates, her breath sharp in her lungs. The alley narrowed, walls pressing in, slick with grime. Tomás slipped through a rusted gate, vanishing into the shadows. Quinn didn’t hesitate. She shoved through after him, the metal shrieking against concrete. The passage dropped steeply, stairs slick with moss and rainwater. The air thickened, damp and sour, the stench of old earth and something sharper—ozone, maybe, or magic. Her pulse thudded in her throat. At the bottom, a dim glow pulsed from an archway carved into the tunnel wall. A single green lantern swung above it, casting jagged shadows. Tomás stood just inside, silhouetted against the light, his medallion glinting gold against his chest. "You don’t want to follow me in there, Detective." His accent curled around the words, frayed at the edges. Quinn wiped rain from her face, fingers brushing the grip of her sidearm. "Then come out." Tomás shook his head. "This isn’t your world." She took a step forward. "You’re wanted for questioning in three assaults. That makes it my business." A laugh, low and humorless. "Those men weren’t human." The words settled between them, heavy as a stone. Quinn’s jaw tightened. Morris had said something like that, once. Right before he vanished. Tomás turned, slipping deeper into the archway. Quinn hesitated. The lantern’s light flickered, distorting the shadows. Beyond the arch, murmurs rose and fell like tide—voices, but none sounded quite right. Too many syllables. Too many teeth. Her hand hovered over her gun. Then she stepped through. The air shifted, pressing against her skin like a living thing. The tunnel opened into a cavernous space—an abandoned Tube station, its tiles cracked and stained. Stalls lined the platform, draped in moth-eaten velvet and strung with fairy lights that burned without heat. The Veil Market. Figures moved between the stalls, hooded, masked, some not bothering with human shapes at all. A vendor with too-long fingers offered vials of something that writhed inside the glass. Another displayed knives that whispered as Quinn passed. Tomás was already halfway down the platform, weaving through the crowd. She moved after him, shoulders tense. Eyes tracked her—yellow, black, pupil-less. A creature with skin like polished bone tilted its head, nostrils flaring. "Fresh meat," it hissed. Quinn kept walking. Tomás ducked into a stall at the far end, its curtains embroidered with silver thread. She pushed through after him, hand on her gun. The space inside was cramped, shelves crammed with jars of pickled things that twitched. A woman sat behind the counter, her face hidden behind a veil of smoke. Tomás leaned against the counter, breathing hard. "Told you not to follow." Quinn’s fingers flexed. "Who are these people?" The veiled woman chuckled. "People. That’s cute." Tomás rubbed his scarred forearm. "You shouldn’t be here, Quinn. This place… it eats cops." The words landed like a punch. Morris’s badge had been found in the Thames, rusted through, though he’d only been missing a day. Quinn exhaled. "Then tell me what you know." Tomás exchanged a glance with the woman. The air smelled like burnt sugar and blood. Outside, the Market murmured on, hungry.