Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY85DBVH8PB4RF4G52BK8XN

Rain hammered the pavement, each drop a tiny percussion against the relentless city hum. Harlow Quinn’s leather jacket offered little defense against the biting wind whipping off the Thames. Ahead, a figure—Silas Blackwood—cut a sharp angle through the crowded street, his tailored coat somehow managing to remain pristine despite the downpour. She pumped her legs, the soles of her boots slapping against the slick asphalt, gaining ground. Eighteen years on the force hadn't dulled her instincts, and her gut screamed Blackwood was running from something far deeper than a traffic violation. Something she was only beginning to understand. “Blackwood! Stop!” she bellowed, her voice swallowed by the storm. He didn't even glance back. Just lengthened his stride, disappearing into a narrow alleyway reeking of stale beer and desperation. Harlow followed without hesitation. The alley opened into a cobbled courtyard, and Blackwood was already wrestling with a heavy iron gate. It groaned in protest as he forced it open, revealing a darkened stairwell descending into the earth. Harlow reached the gate just as the last of the hinges gave way. “Going somewhere, Blackwood?” she asked, her breath misting in the cold air. He paused at the bottom of the stairs, a sliver of light illuminating his face. Amusement flickered in his eyes. “Detective Quinn. Always a pleasure. Though I confess, I’m surprised to see you so late.” “Don’t play coy. I know you've been meeting with individuals involved in…activities…that warrant a closer look.” She drew her weapon, the metallic click sharp in the damp silence. “What’s down there, Blackwood?” He shrugged, a gesture both casual and defiant. “Just a bit of business. Nothing you need concern yourself with.” The stairs spiraled downwards, the air growing heavy and thick. A faint, almost sickly sweetness drifted up from below, mingling with the damp earth smell. Harlow’s hand tightened on her gun. Something felt wrong, profoundly so. Beyond the normal shadows and gloom, a palpable sense of…otherness hung in the air. “Business that requires disappearing into a hole in the ground?” “Let’s just say some transactions are best kept discreet.” Blackwood started down the stairs, his movements surprisingly graceful despite the narrow space. “Unless you wish to intrude where you’re not wanted.” She hesitated at the foot of the stairs. The Metropolitan Police didn't have jurisdiction in…whatever this was. But she wasn’t about to let Blackwood vanish into the shadows. Not again. “I'm here to ask questions, Blackwood. And you’re going to answer them.” She started down the stairs after him, her boots echoing on the stone steps. The stairs terminated abruptly in a vast, cavernous space. The sickly sweet smell intensified, almost cloying. Harlow blinked, trying to adjust to the dim light which pulsed with a strange, internal rhythm. She found herself in a sprawling underground market, a chaotic labyrinth of stalls crammed with strange and unsettling wares. The air throbbed with a low, constant murmur of voices speaking in a dozen different languages—some she recognized, others she didn’t. This was not a typical black market. This was something…else. Cages held creatures she couldn’t immediately identify – feathered things with too many eyes, scaled beasts coiled around shimmering stones. Stalls overflowed with vials filled with bubbling liquids, dusty tomes bound in human skin, and ornate daggers that pulsed with faint, sickly light. The clientele were equally bizarre. Tall, gaunt figures with eyes like polished obsidian bartered with squat, goblin-like creatures. Imps darted through the crowd, their laughter echoing off the damp walls. “Welcome to the Veil Market,” Blackwood said, his voice casually loud over the din. “A little slice of…niche commerce.” He gestured around with a wave of his hand. Harlow’s eyes scanned the scene, taking in the surreal spectacle. This was beyond anything she'd encountered in her eighteen years on the force. “What is this place?” she asked, keeping her weapon trained on Blackwood. “An exchange. A place where things considered ‘unusual’ find a buyer.” A vendor with serpent eyes and pale skin offered her a goblet filled with a crimson liquid. “Care for a drink? It’s quite refreshing.” She ignored him. “A place that operates outside the law.” “Laws are…restrictive,” Blackwood said with a smirk. “Here, we operate on a different set of principles.” He began to move through the crowd, weaving effortlessly between the stalls. Harlow followed, her senses on high alert. Every shadow seemed to conceal a potential threat. “Where are we going?” she asked, her voice hard. “To meet with a contact. A gentleman who has some…information I need,” Blackwood replied without turning. They passed a stall piled high with bone tokens—small, intricately carved pieces of bone, each etched with glowing runes. “What’s that?” Harlow asked, nodding towards the tokens. “Entry requirements,” Blackwood explained. “One needs a token to gain access to certain areas of the Market. It verifies your…status.” “Status as what? A buyer of illegal artifacts?” Blackwood stopped abruptly in front of a towering bookshelf that seemed to blend seamlessly into the cavern wall. He pressed a hidden latch, and the bookshelf swung inward, revealing a narrow, dimly lit corridor. “Shall we?” he asked, gesturing into the passage. Harlow hesitated. This place…it exuded an aura of danger, of forces she didn’t understand. Her training screamed at her to retreat, to call for backup. But something— a nagging persistence, the memory of DS Morris and the unsolved case that haunted her—kept her rooted to the spot. This could be a break in Blackwood’s activities, a chance to uncover the truth behind the strange occurrences that had plagued her for months. But it could also be a trap. “What’s at the end of this corridor, Blackwood?” she asked, her voice low. “A conversation. Potentially…illuminating,” he responded, his eyes gleaming in the dim light. She considered her options. Go back, report what she’d found and risk losing the thread. Or step into the unknown, deeper into the heart of this bizarre market. “Do I have a choice?” Blackwood simply smiled. “In this place, Detective Quinn, choices are…rare.” He stepped into the corridor, disappearing into the darkness. Harlow took a deep breath, the sickly sweet aroma filling her lungs. She checked the chamber of her gun, the cold steel a familiar comfort in this alien world. Then, she followed.