Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTYHE14V3K5A7EAW27RSDNR

Detective Quinn's boots splashed through puddles as she ran, her breath coming in sharp bursts that fogged the cold night air. The suspect—a wiry man in a dark hoodie—darted around a corner, nearly slipping on the wet pavement. Quinn didn't slow. Her leather watch caught the dim glow of a streetlamp as she rounded the bend, catching a glimpse of her quarry disappearing down a narrow alley. She followed, gun drawn, rain pelting her face. The alley dead-ended at a rusted metal door. Quinn tested the handle—locked. She scanned the brick walls, spotting a keypad. Her fingers flew across the numbers, trying combinations from her notes. The fourth attempt clicked green. Inside, she found herself on a narrow metal staircase descending into darkness. The air grew thick with the scent of damp earth and something else—ozone and herbs, like a chemistry lab crossed with an apothecary. At the bottom, she emerged into a cavernous space that made her pause. The Veil Market stretched before her, an underground bazaar lit by strings of flickering bulbs. Stalls lined the walls, their wares spilling into the central walkway. Quinn's eyes widened as she took in the scene—bottles of glowing liquid, crystals that hummed with energy, books bound in what looked disturbingly like human skin. She spotted her suspect weaving through the crowd, his hoodie now pushed back to reveal a shock of white hair. He moved with purpose toward a stall draped in black velvet. Quinn followed, keeping her distance, her hand never leaving her weapon. As she navigated the market, she caught fragments of conversation: "—three drops at moonrise, no more—" "—the binding won't hold if you use hawthorn—" "—told you, the eyes only work if they're fresh—" A stall owner, a woman with skin like polished mahogany, caught Quinn's eye and smiled knowingly. "Looking for something special, detective?" Quinn ignored her, pressing forward. The suspect had reached his destination and was now speaking with a tall figure in a hooded cloak. She couldn't make out their words, but the exchange looked tense. She was close enough now to hear the suspect's voice, low and urgent. "I need more. The last batch wasn't enough." The hooded figure's reply was lost as a group of revelers stumbled past, laughing and singing off-key. When they'd gone, Quinn moved closer, using a display of what appeared to be fossilized insects as cover. The suspect was holding out a wad of cash. "I don't care about the price. Just give me what I need." The hooded figure's hand emerged from their sleeve, revealing long, delicate fingers tipped with black claws. They took the money and produced a small vial filled with swirling silver liquid. Quinn's instincts screamed at her to intervene, to arrest them both. But something held her back—the realization that this was bigger than she'd thought. Whatever was in that vial, whatever the suspect needed it for, it was connected to the case that had haunted her for three years. She watched as the suspect pocketed the vial and turned to leave. Their eyes met Quinn's for a split second, and she saw the panic there. He bolted. Quinn gave chase, pushing through the crowd. The suspect was fast, but Quinn had the advantage of knowing where she was going. She cut through a stall selling what looked like bottled shadows, scattering the merchandise. Ahead, she saw her opening. A narrow gap between two stalls led to a maintenance corridor. She sprinted for it, bursting through just as the suspect reached the other end. He turned, eyes wild, and threw the vial at her feet. It shattered, releasing a cloud of silver mist. Quinn stumbled back, coughing, her vision blurring. When it cleared, the suspect was gone, and the corridor behind her had sealed shut with what looked like living vines. Quinn stood alone in the maintenance corridor, her heart pounding. She'd lost him, but she'd gained something more valuable—confirmation that the supernatural world was real, and it was tangled up in her case in ways she'd never imagined. She pulled out her phone, her thumb hovering over the speed dial for her captain. Then she hesitated. If she reported this, they'd call her crazy. Worse, they might shut down her investigation. Quinn pocketed her phone. She had a new lead to follow, a whole hidden world to explore. And she wouldn't rest until she uncovered the truth about what happened to DS Morris—and what other secrets lurked in the shadows of London's underworld. The detective squared her shoulders and headed deeper into the maintenance corridor, determined to find her way back to the market. She had questions that needed answers, and she wouldn't stop until she got them.