Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTYFB0WK7DTXCTH9KVKR3MJ

Rain hammered the pavement of Soho, turning the cobblestones into slick, black ribbons that reflected the city’s dying neon. Harlow Quinn spat a mouthful of street grime, the taste of copper sharp on her tongue. Her lungs burned, a harsh reminder that forty-one years of desk work and paperwork hadn't fully prepared her for a nocturnal footrace through the mud. She slowed her stride, adjusting the grip on her service weapon. The rain plastered her salt-and-pepper hair to her forehead, dripping down the sharp line of her jaw. She checked her left wrist. The worn leather strap of her watch was soaked, but the time was ticking. Morris had been gone three years. Three years since they’d found the wreckage of that unmarked car at the edge of the Severn Bore, or what was left of it. No body. No explanation. Just a trace of sulfur and rainwater. She caught sight of him ahead. Tomás Herrera moved through the crowd like he was part of the shadows themselves. His dark curls were plastered to his head, showing off the olive skin of his face, but he didn't look winded. That made her blood boil. "Tomás, keep your hands where I can see them!" He didn't stop. He slipped between two pedestrians, a broad-shouldered figure that seemed to occupy more space than the lane he was taking. Quinn broke into a sprint, her boots skidding on the wet asphalt. She vaulted a retaining barrier near a bakery, the iron edge biting into her thigh. The target was turning the corner onto Chamberlayne Road, heading toward the north side of town, away from the bustle of the city center and toward the decaying ruins of the industrial district. Herrera glanced over his shoulder, his warm brown eyes locking onto hers for a split second before he ducked under a lowered awning. He didn't run anymore. He moved with a predatory precision, sliding through the maze of warehouses and back alleys that led out of the city proper. It took Quinn twenty minutes to close the gap. The cold seeped through her uniform, settling into her bones. She skidded to a halt at the edge of a jagged drop-off overlooking an excavation site. Down below, an old Tube station vented steam, the iron framework glowing faintly red in the distance. Herrera stood at the precipice, facing the gaping maw of the station entrance. It was a gaping wound in the earth, dry and smelling of dust and ozone. "Not here," Herrera said. Quinn stepped up behind him, her weapon drawn. "I'm not leaving until you tell me why you were meeting the men from the docks." "The docks are irrelevant." He turned slowly, placing his hands out flat against the railing. "You're chasing ghosts, Quinn. You want the truth about what happened to your partner, you need to stop chasing shadows and come inside." "Inside where?" "The Veil Market." Herrera’s voice dropped, barely audible over the rising gale. "I know you’ve heard the whispers. I know you’ve seen the files they redact." "I’m a cop. I follow procedure." "Procedures don't stop things that don't play by the rules." Quinn hesitated. Her finger hovered over the trigger. Down there, beneath the city streets, where the gaslights wouldn't reach, was the territory of the unexplained. It was dangerous. It was unauthorized. It was everything she had dedicated her career to destroying. "You're leading me into a trap." "I'm leading you to a truth." Herrera unbuttoned his jacket, revealing the heavy leather cross hanging from his neck, the Saint Christopher medallion catching a stray beam of lightning. "If you walk away, you'll never know if Morris died of a bullet or a spell. You’ll go to your grave wondering." Quinn’s jaw tightened. The thought of it—the endless questions, the suicide notes, the creeping realization that everything she believed in was a lie—weighed heavier than the lead in her gun. She took a step forward. "You have a bone token?" she asked, nodding toward the dark tunnel. Herrera fished into his pocket, extracting a small, jagged shard of white bone. He held it out to her. "You need this to get in. I don't have the clearance to bypass the wards." "You shouldn't be helping me, Herrera." "Nobody's helping you. I'm just making sure the detective finds the answers before the men who hired her do." He stepped aside, sweeping his arm toward the darkness. The wind howled through the station entrance, a lonely, mournful sound. Qu Quinn stared into the abyss. The rain slashed at her face, blurring the line between the dark, damp concrete and the night sky above. If she went down there, she wasn't just risking her badge. She was risking her sanity. She looked at the bone token, then at Herrera’s steady gaze. There was no turning back now. The hunt for DS Morris had led her to the edge of the known world, and down here, in the underground, the rules of humanity didn't apply. "Make it fast," she said, extending her hand. Herrera didn't hesitate. He slipped the token into her palm. As his fingers brushed hers, he pulled the iron door forward with a groan of rusty metal. The world of Soho, the rain, and the neon lights faded as the heavy steel slab slammed shut, sealing them into the darkness below.