Run: 2026-02-19-01KHVPRPQWTM4FS66ATDKFNV7D

Rain lashed against the cracked pavement of Camden High Street. Detective Harlow Quinn adjusted the high collar of her trench coat, letting her brown eyes track the figure bolting through the midnight downpour. Drops cascaded from her closely cropped salt-and-pepper hair, stinging her face. Her worn leather watch, strapped tight to her left wrist, clicked past midnight. Quinn maintained her pursuit, her movement dictated by strict military precision. Eighteen years serving the Metropolitan Police taught her the mechanical rhythm of a foot chase. Conserve breath. Anticipate the corner. Close the gap. Fifty yards ahead, Tomás Herrera sprinted through the flooded gutters. Streetlights illuminated his olive skin and short curly dark brown hair, plastered to his forehead from the storm. The twenty-nine-year-old moved with relentless, desperate stamina. A silver Saint Christopher medallion slapped hard against his chest with every long stride. "Police! Drop to the ground!" "¡Mierda!" Herrera ignored the command. He banked hard into an alleyway, vaulting a rusted chain-link fence blocking off a condemned industrial lot. The fabric of his jacket caught the top wire, tearing upward. A jagged, angry scar running along his left forearm flashed bare under the amber glow of a distant streetlamp. Quinn hit the fence seconds later. She scaled the links without breaking momentum, hurling her weight over the top. Her boots slammed into the slick concrete on the other side. She drew her tactical flashlight, clicking the rear switch. The blinding white beam cut through the sheets of rain, tracking Herrera down the narrow passage. "You have nowhere to run, Tomás." "Stop following me, Harlow!" His voice bounced off the tight brick walls, ragged and breathless. "We need to discuss your off-the-books clinic! The NHS took your license for a reason." "You lack the capacity to understand my treatments!" He took a sharp left, plunging into the shadows between two decaying warehouses. Quinn rounded the corner, her flashlight beam sweeping over overturned dumpsters and shattered glass bottles. The alley terminated in a hulking brick structure. A heavy iron gate sat pried open at the base of the building, flanked by a wide stone archway. The faded lettering carved into the stone read: *Camden Town – Underground*. Quinn halted at the threshold. A freezing draft pushed up from the gaping black hole. The scent of rusted iron and static ozone hit her nostrils. The smell was identical to the basement where DS Morris took his last breath three years ago. The pungent, coppery stench of blood mixing with unnatural energies. She clenched her sharp jaw. The memories threatened her composure. Blue fire consuming the room. Morris screaming in the dark. The precinct captains labeled it an animal attack. Quinn alone knew the truth hid deep beneath the streets of London, cloaked in bureaucratic cover-ups. Herrera’s wet footprints marked the dusty, cracked tiles past the iron gate. Quinn unholstered her baton. She stepped through the archway, abandoning the street level. The noise of the pounding rain faded into a dull drone as she descended a broken, stationary escalator. Water cascaded down the metal grooves, spilling onto the wide underground platform below. Her flashlight beam bounced off decaying transport posters and shattered ceramic tiling. The transit platform stretched out into the gloom. At the far end, past the rusted parallel tracks, a soft, unnatural violet light pulsed from the mouth of the tunnel. "Show yourself." Silence answered her challenge. The hum of the violet light vibrated through the soles of her boots. Quinn navigated the debris-strewn platform. The rusted train tracks lay bone-dry. She hopped off the platform edge, boots crunching on the loose gravel between the wooden sleepers. She followed the curve of the tunnel toward the violet glow. A makeshift tollbooth blocked the subterranean path. Two towering figures draped in heavy, oil-stained canvas stood absolute watch. Herrera approached the figures. He stood tall, reaching deep into his damp jacket pocket. Quinn killed her flashlight. She pressed her back against the damp, curved wall of the tunnel. The violent violet bleed offered enough illumination to observe from the shadows. Herrera pulled a jagged, white object from his pocket. A bone token. He handed the token to the first figure. The canvas shifted. Bandaged hands accepted the pass. The guard stepped aside, clearing the path into a massive underground cavern. Through the opening, Quinn witnessed the Veil Market. The sprawling subterranean black market defied basic architecture. The tunnel opened into a massive vault illuminated by glowing artifacts. Stalls constructed from salvaged metal grates and hollowed-out train cars lined the curved tunnel walls. Patrons draped in heavy wool cloaks bartered with merchants in hushed, guttural dialects. Glass vials filled with banned alchemical substances illuminated the merchants' faces in harsh greens and blinding whites. Informants whispered about a supernatural bazaar demanding a bone for entry. Metro intel considered it a myth, an urban legend spun by junkies. The market navigated the underground network, shifting locations every full moon. By tomorrow sunrise, this entire cavern would sit empty. Herrera stepped past the guards. He melted into the thick crowd of cloaked patrons and illicit dealers. Quinn tightened her grip on the steel baton. Her heart hammered a heavy, steady beat against her ribs. Confronting a rogue paramedic operating an illegal clinic fell within standard operational procedure. Pursuing a suspect into a den of forbidden alchemy crossed the hard boundary into absolute madness. "I smell burning wax and copper." The gruff voice belonged to the second guard. The figure shifted, pulling a heavy pipe from the folds of its canvas robe. The tip of the pipe ignited. A green flame sparked to life, burning without a fuel source or a single trail of smoke. "Someone walks the tunnel." The guard stepped toward the tracks. Quinn holstered the baton. She placed her right hand on the textured grip of her service sidearm. Herrera paused at the edge of the market stalls. He turned his head toward the entry tunnel, his warm brown eyes catching the green light. "Leave it, Kael. It’s a stray dog." "Dogs do not wear rubber-soled boots." "The storm forces animals into the grates. Keep your eyes on the stalls. I have business with the flesh crafter." Herrera’s intervention stalled the canvas-draped sentry. Kael lowered the steel pipe. The green flame extinguished, plunging the mouth of the tunnel back into deep, shifting shadows. Herrera turned his back, vanishing into the chaotic throngs of the underground bazaar. Quinn remained frozen against the wall. The subterranean cold seeped through her trench coat, chilling her skin. The scent of crushed lotus root and burning brimstone drifted outward from the market floor. Retreat offered immediate safety. She possessed the option to climb the rusted escalator, step back onto the rain-soaked Camden streets, and call for tactical backup. The market would vanish before the strike teams mobilized. Herrera would slip through the cracks, taking the answers about off-the-books supernatural treatments with him. The truth about DS Morris's final case would evaporate into the London fog. Pursuing the objective demanded she walk into the hostile territory alone. Quinn unclenched her sharp jaw. She drew her service sidearm, racking the slide and chambering a round with a loud, violent metallic crack. Both guards snapped their heads toward the noise. Quinn stepped out of the shadows. She squared her shoulders, bringing the weapon up into a flawless, steady firing stance. The front sight sat directly dead center of Kael’s canvas chest. "Step away from the gate." "You carry no bone." Kael raised the steel pipe. The green flame roared back to life. "I carry nine millimeters of solid hollow-point persuasion. Drop the weapon onto the tracks." Kael offered a low rumble. The noise sounded like grinding stones. "A peacekeeper. In the Veil Market. The shadows will consume you down here." "Open the gate." Quinn took a measured step forward. Her brown eyes never left Kael's bandaged hands. The guard hesitated. The barrel of the sidearm remained steady. Kael dropped the pipe onto the rusted tracks. It landed with a dull clang. Both guards took a slow, unified step backward, clearing the entrance. "The walls have teeth, Detective." Quinn maintained her firing stance. She maneuvered past the massive guards, crossing the invisible threshold into the cavern.