Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTYPNA50FF6VDG389RXXCYX

Detective Quinn's boots slammed against wet pavement as she sprinted down the narrow Soho alley. Rain pelted her face, mixing with sweat that ran down her temples. Ahead, the figure in the dark hoodie vaulted over a stack of wooden pallets, sending them crashing behind him. "Stop! Metropolitan Police!" The suspect didn't slow. Quinn pushed harder, her breath coming in sharp bursts. Three years of desk work hadn't done her cardio any favors, but muscle memory from her beat days kicked in. She sidestepped the scattered pallets and maintained her pursuit. The alley opened onto Greek Street. The suspect skidded left, nearly colliding with a couple huddled under an umbrella. Quinn followed, catching a glimpse of olive skin and dark curls beneath the hood—Tomás Herrera. She'd been watching the former paramedic for weeks, tracking his movements between that bar with the green neon sign and various addresses across London. "Herrera! Don't make this worse!" He glanced back, Saint Christopher medallion bouncing against his chest as he ran. Recognition flashed across his face before he darted into traffic. A black cab screeched, horn blaring. Quinn waited for a gap, then plunged across, ignoring the driver's colorful assessment of her judgment. Herrera cut through Leicester Square, weaving between late-night tourists. Quinn's leather watch caught on someone's shopping bag, but she yanked free and pressed on. Her partner would have radioed for backup by now. Morris always had her six. No. Morris was gone. Three years, and the muscle memory still betrayed her. She shook off the thought and focused on Herrera's retreating form. He was heading northeast, away from the usual haunts she'd mapped. Smart. Taking her somewhere unfamiliar. They pounded through side streets, the city's neon bleeding into puddles like watercolors. Quinn's lungs burned, but she'd chased suspects through worse. Baghdad had prepared her for anything London could throw. Herrera ducked into Camden Passage. Quinn rounded the corner to find him yanking at a rusted grate in the ground. The metal shrieked as it lifted. "That's a dead end, Tomás." She slowed to a walk, hand moving to her radio. "Nowhere to run down there." He looked up, rain streaming down his face. "You have no idea what you're walking into, Detective." "Then educate me. What's down there?" "Nothing that concerns the Met." He dropped through the opening. Quinn reached the grate as his footsteps echoed below. A ladder descended into darkness. She clicked on her torch, revealing what looked like an old service tunnel. Or... she leaned closer. The walls had the distinctive curve of abandoned Tube infrastructure. Static crackled from her radio. "Control, this is DI Quinn. In pursuit of suspect entering underground structure near Camden Passage. Requesting immediate backup." The response came garbled, cutting in and out. "DI Quinn... unable to... signal breaking..." She tried again. Dead air. The opening yawned before her. Herrera's footsteps were fading. Every instinct screamed this was wrong. You didn't follow suspects into unknown underground locations without backup. First rule of survival. But Morris had followed protocol that night too. Waited for backup while their suspect disappeared into a warehouse. By the time support arrived, her partner was dead, and the suspect had vanished without explanation. The official report blamed an electrical accident. Quinn knew better, even if she couldn't prove it. She swung onto the ladder. The tunnel smelled of damp earth and something else—incense? No, more acrid. Like burnt bone. Her torch beam cut through the darkness, revealing graffiti in languages she didn't recognize. The symbols seemed to shift in the moving light. Voices drifted from ahead. Multiple people. Quinn killed her torch and let her eyes adjust. A faint glow emanated from around a bend in the tunnel. She pressed against the wall and edged forward. The passage opened into a vast underground chamber. Quinn's breath caught. It was a full platform, complete with rusted tracks and crumbling tile work reading "Camden Town." But this wasn't on any Tube map she knew. The platform teemed with people—if they were people. Stalls lined both sides, draped in dark cloth and lit by flames that burned without visible fuel. The air shimmered with heat despite the underground chill. Vendors hawked their wares in accents Quinn couldn't place, selling items that defied easy description. Glass orbs filled with swirling mist. Books bound in materials that weren't leather. Small creatures in cages that had too many eyes. This was impossible. This couldn't exist beneath London. Herrera stood twenty feet away, talking to a woman whose face was hidden beneath a deep hood. He pressed something into her palm—a small white object. Bone? The woman nodded and gestured deeper into the market. Quinn's hand found her radio again. Still dead. Her mobile showed no signal either. She was alone down here, surrounded by... what? What was this place? Movement in her peripheral vision. A man approached, wearing a long coat despite the warmth. His eyes reflected the firelight like a cat's. "You need a token, Detective." She tensed. "How do you—" "The stance. The way you scan for exits." He smiled, revealing teeth that were too sharp. "Also, you smell like the surface. Rain and righteousness." "I'm looking for someone." "Everyone here is looking for something. But without a bone token, you're just a tourist. And tourists..." He let the sentence hang. Herrera was moving again, heading toward a curtained alcove. Quinn stepped forward, but the man blocked her path. "Token first. Rules are rules, even for the law." "I don't have time for games." "Then you don't have time for the Market." His pupils dilated despite the bright flames. "Turn back now, Detective Quinn. Yes, I know your name. We all remember the one who lost her partner to our world. Morris died because she saw what she shouldn't. Don't make her mistake." Ice flooded Quinn's veins. "You know what happened to her?" "I know many things. But knowledge has a price here." Herrera had disappeared behind the curtain. Quinn calculated odds. She was outnumbered, in unknown territory, with no backup and no idea what half these people were capable of. The smart play was to withdraw, return with a full team. But they'd never find this place again. She knew that with certainty. It would move, vanish, slip away like every other lead in Morris's case. And Herrera would disappear with it, along with any answers about what he was really doing. What they were all doing. "Where do I get a token?" The man's smile widened. "Now you're asking the right questions."