Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXQHEY5W16GZ3HVCBFCGX6D

The rain came down in sheets, turning the London streets into a slick, shimmering maze of neon and shadow. Detective Harlow Quinn moved with the precision of a woman who had spent half her life chasing ghosts through worse weather. Her boots splashed through puddles that reflected the flickering glow of streetlamps, her breath coming in sharp, controlled bursts. The suspect—Tomás Herrera—was fast, but Quinn was relentless. She had spotted him slipping out of *The Raven’s Nest* like a man who knew he was being watched. The green neon sign above the bar had buzzed and sputtered as he vanished into the alley, his dark curls plastered to his forehead, the Saint Christopher medallion glinting at his throat. Quinn had given chase without hesitation, her leather watch creaking against her wrist as she pumped her arms, her sharp jaw set. Herrera was no ordinary suspect. He was connected—too connected. The clique he ran with, the ones who moved through the city’s underbelly like smoke, they weren’t just criminals. They were something else. Something *worse*. And Quinn had spent three years trying to prove it, ever since Morris had died in that alley, his body found with wounds no knife could explain. The chase led them deeper into Camden, the streets narrowing, the crowds thinning. Herrera ducked into a side street, his boots skidding on the wet pavement as he cut left. Quinn followed, her pulse hammering in her throat. She wasn’t losing him. Not tonight. Then he vanished. One second, he was there—a flash of olive skin, a glimpse of the scar on his forearm—and the next, he was gone. Quinn skidded to a halt, her breath ragged, her eyes scanning the alley. A rusted metal door stood slightly ajar, its hinges groaning in the wind. She pushed it open, the scent of damp earth and something older, something *wrong*, hitting her like a fist. Stairs. Narrow, spiraling down into darkness. Quinn hesitated. She was armed, but this wasn’t a part of the city she knew. This wasn’t *her* territory. But Herrera was down there. And if he was running, it meant he had something to hide. She descended. The air grew thicker, warmer, laced with the scent of burning herbs and something metallic. The walls were lined with strange symbols, glowing faintly in the dim light. Quinn’s fingers brushed the cold stone as she moved, her instincts screaming at her to turn back. But she didn’t. The stairs opened into a cavernous space, the ceiling lost in shadow. Stalls lined the walls, their wares hidden beneath tattered cloths. A low hum of voices filled the air, the murmur of deals being struck in hushed tones. The *Veil Market*. Quinn’s stomach twisted. She had heard whispers of this place—Morris had, too, before he died. A black market for things that shouldn’t exist. Things that *moved* on their own. Things that *watched* you back. Herrera was ahead, weaving through the crowd, his head down. Quinn followed, her shoulders tense, her hand resting on the grip of her sidearm. The market was a labyrinth of shadows and secrets, the air thick with the scent of old magic and older sins. A woman with too many teeth offered her a vial of swirling liquid. A man with hollow eyes tried to sell her a knife that hummed when she touched it. She ignored them all, her focus locked on Herrera. He turned a corner, disappearing behind a stall selling what looked like jars of *teeth*. Quinn quickened her pace, shoving past a group of cloaked figures. She rounded the corner— And found herself face to face with a wall of muscle and menace. A man—if he could be called that—blocked her path. His skin was the color of old parchment, his eyes black pits. He smiled, revealing rows of needle-thin teeth. "Bone token," he rasped. Quinn’s hand twitched toward her gun. "I don’t have one." The man’s smile widened. "Then you don’t belong." Behind him, Herrera glanced back, his warm brown eyes locking onto hers. For a second, something flickered in his gaze—fear, maybe. Or guilt. Then he turned and melted into the crowd. Quinn made her choice. She lunged.