Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8GVW4YAWABHH5PPB89EWR

Run Details

Model:
Grok 4
Duration:
1m 52s
Cost:
$0.051901
Provider:
xAI

Model input

System
You are an expert novelist with a gift for vivid, immersive prose. You write in tight third-person limited point of view with a strong narrative voice. Your prose is clean, precise, and engaging — you favor strong verbs, concrete details, and natural-sounding dialogue. You will be given a story bible (codex) containing canonical details about characters, locations, items, and lore. Use these details to ground your writing in the established world. Stay consistent with the codex. Write only the prose of the scene. Do not include titles, chapter headings, markdown formatting, or any commentary before or after the scene.
User/Human
<codex> <character id="4416" name="Detective Harlow Quinn" aliases="Quinn, Detective Quinn, Harlow" pronouns="she/her" species="Human" storyRole="Antagonist"> <eyeColor>brown</eyeColor> <hair>closely cropped salt-and-pepper</hair> <height>5'9"</height> <age>41</age> <jawline>sharp jaw</jawline> <watch>worn leather watch on her left wrist</watch> <bearing>military precision</bearing> <description>A Metropolitan Police detective with 18 years of decorated service who suspects the clique is involved in criminal activity.</description> <backstory>She lost her partner, DS Morris, during a case three years ago under unexplained circumstances that had supernatural origins she doesn't yet understand.</backstory> </character> <character id="4417" name="Tomás Herrera" aliases="Tommy, Tomás, Herrera" pronouns="he/him" species="Human" storyRole="Support"> <eyeColor>warm brown</eyeColor> <hair>short curly dark brown</hair> <height>5'10"</height> <age>29</age> <skinTone>olive skin</skinTone> <scar>scar running along his left forearm from a knife attack</scar> <medallion>Saint Christopher medallion around his neck</medallion> <birthplace>Seville, Spain</birthplace> <description>A former paramedic who provides off-the-books medical care for the clique.</description> <backstory>Born in Seville, Spain. He moved to London to work for the NHS but lost his license after administering unauthorized treatments to supernatural patients.</backstory> </character> <location id="854" name="The Raven's Nest" aliases="the Nest, Raven, Silas' bar" realm="Earth"> <signColor>distinctive green neon sign above the entrance</signColor> <secretRoom>hidden back room accessible through a bookshelf, used for clandestine meetings</secretRoom> <description>A dimly lit bar in Soho, London. The walls are covered with old maps and black-and-white photographs.</description> </location> <location id="856" name="The Veil Market" aliases="Veil Market, the Market, underground market" realm="Earth"> <currentLocation>abandoned Tube station beneath Camden</currentLocation> <entryRequirement>bone token</entryRequirement> <schedule>moves locations every full moon</schedule> <description>A hidden supernatural black market that sells enchanted goods, banned alchemical substances, and information.</description> </location> </codex> Write a fully fleshed out scene of at least 1000 words in the thriller genre. A detective is pursuing a suspect through rain-soaked city streets at night. The chase takes them from the street level down into an underground market. The detective must decide whether to follow the suspect into unfamiliar and potentially dangerous territory. Use the codex entries above as your world reference for characters and setting. Only include the prose of the scene without any markdown or commentary.

Model response

AI
Rain pelted the cobblestones of Soho like gunfire, turning the narrow streets into slick mirrors of neon and shadow. Detective Harlow Quinn gripped her soaked trench coat tighter, her sharp jaw set in grim determination. Eighteen years on the force had honed her instincts to a razor's edge, and tonight they screamed that the man bolting ahead of her was more than just a petty thief. He'd slipped out the back of The Raven's Nest, that dingy bar with its green neon sign flickering like a faulty heartbeat, right after she'd spotted him huddled in a booth with known associates of the clique she was investigating. Supernatural whispers clung to them—unexplained deaths, artifacts vanishing from evidence lockers. Her partner Morris had died chasing shadows like these, his body found twisted in ways no human hand could manage. She wouldn't let this one get away. Her boots slapped through puddles, water spraying up her calves. The suspect—a wiry figure in a hooded jacket, face obscured—darted left into an alley off Wardour Street. Quinn's brown eyes narrowed, her closely cropped salt-and-pepper hair plastered to her skull. She glanced at the worn leather watch on her left wrist: 11:47 PM. No backup for at least ten minutes; she'd radioed in, but London traffic was a beast even in the downpour. Military precision guided her steps, each one measured, efficient, closing the gap. "Stop! Metropolitan Police!" she shouted, voice cutting through the storm like a blade. The man didn't even glance back, vaulting a low chain-link fence with unnatural grace. Too graceful. Her mind flashed to the reports: suspects who moved like they bent physics. She vaulted after him, landing with a grunt, her 5'9" frame absorbing the impact. Pain shot through her knee—an old injury from a raid gone south—but she pushed it down, focusing on the chase. The alley twisted into a labyrinth of backstreets, trash bins overflowing with sodden refuse. Thunder rumbled overhead, masking the distant wail of sirens. The suspect shoved through a cluster of overflowing dumpsters, knocking one over in a cascade of garbage that nearly tripped her. She leaped it, heart pounding, rain stinging her eyes. He was heading north, toward Camden. Why? The streets blurred into a haze of red taillights and glowing shop fronts, pedestrians scattering like startled birds as they barreled past. She caught a glimpse of his face under a streetlamp—pale, eyes wide with panic, a tattoo peeking from his collar that looked like some arcane symbol. Clique markings. Morris had sketched something similar before he vanished. "You're done!" she yelled, lungs burning. He skidded around a corner onto Tottenham Court Road, dodging a black cab that honked furiously. Quinn followed, weaving through the thinning crowd, her hand brushing the holster at her hip. No shot; too many civilians. The rain intensified, sheets of it blurring the world into grays and blacks. Her coat weighed her down like lead, but she shed it mid-stride, letting it slap to the pavement. Lighter now, she gained ground. The suspect glanced back, his hood slipping, revealing a gaunt face slick with water. He bolted across the road, horns blaring, and plunged into the mouth of Goodge Street station. Underground. Smart—or desperate. Quinn hesitated for a split second, the entrance yawning like a trap. Subways at night were a nightmare of blind corners and echoing tunnels. But losing him wasn't an option. She descended the stairs two at a time, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, casting harsh shadows. The platform was sparse—a few late-night commuters huddled under umbrellas, oblivious. No sign of him. Her eyes scanned the tracks, the pillars, the service door cracked open at the far end. There. She sprinted, shoving past a man in a drenched overcoat who muttered curses. The door led to a maintenance tunnel, dim and dripping, the air thick with the scent of rust and mildew. Footsteps echoed ahead, fading fast. Quinn drew her torch, the beam slicing through the gloom. "Police! Freeze!" No response, just the patter of water and her own ragged breaths. The tunnel sloped downward, the walls closing in, graffiti scrawled in languages she didn't recognize. This wasn't standard Tube maintenance; the air grew heavier, charged with something electric, unnatural. Her gut twisted—memories of Morris's case file, pages filled with impossible details: rooms that shouldn't exist, air that hummed with unseen energy. The suspect's silhouette flickered at the tunnel's end, fumbling with something in his pocket. He pressed against a seamless wall, and to her disbelief, it shimmered and parted like mist. A hidden door. He slipped through, and it sealed behind him with a soft hiss. Quinn skidded to a halt, torch beam dancing over the spot. No handle, no seam—just cold brick. She pounded it with her fist, solid as stone. What the hell? Her mind raced. This had to be one of those Veil entrances she'd overheard in whispers from informants—supernatural black markets, hidden from the mundane world. The clique's playground. She pressed her ear to the wall, hearing muffled voices, the hum of a crowd. Unfamiliar territory, potentially deadly. No warrant, no backup, and whatever lay beyond could be a hive of the very elements that killed Morris. But the suspect was in there, and with him, answers. Her watch ticked: 11:59 PM. Full moon tonight; she remembered from a briefing that some of these places shifted locations then. Time was running out. She scanned the tunnel floor, spotting a small, ivory object glinting in the dim light—a bone token, dropped in his haste. Entry requirement. She snatched it up, feeling its unnatural warmth against her palm. Etched with a symbol matching his tattoo. This was it: the key. But stepping through meant crossing into a world she wasn't prepared for, where the rules she knew didn't apply. Visions of Morris's mangled body flashed—eyes vacant, limbs contorted as if by invisible forces. Was this how it started for him? A noise from behind—a scuffle of feet. She whirled, torch illuminating a figure emerging from the shadows: a man, 5'10", olive skin glistening with rain, short curly dark brown hair matted to his forehead. Warm brown eyes met hers, wary but not hostile. A scar ran along his left forearm, visible where his sleeve rode up, and a Saint Christopher medallion dangled from his neck. Tomás Herrera. She'd seen his file: former paramedic, license revoked for "unauthorized treatments." Linked to the clique, providing off-the-books care. What was he doing here? "Detective Quinn," he said, voice calm with a faint Spanish lilt, hands raised in a placating gesture. Born in Seville, moved to London—his backstory clicked in her mind. "You don't want to go in there." She kept her torch steady, other hand hovering near her weapon. "Herrera. Funny meeting you in a maintenance tunnel. Chasing a friend of yours?" He shook his head, water dripping from his curls. "Not chasing. Warning. That market—the Veil—it's not for outsiders. Especially not coppers sniffing around things they don't understand." "Things like what killed my partner?" Her tone sharpened, military bearing rigid. "Morris died because of your kind. Supernatural bullshit. That suspect knows something." Tomás's eyes flickered to the bone token in her hand. "And you think barging in there will get you answers? It's a black market, Detective. Enchanted goods, alchemical poisons, information that could get you killed just for hearing it. It moves every full moon—tonight, it's under Camden, in an abandoned station. But the people inside... they don't take kindly to uninvited guests." She glanced at the wall, the invisible door humming faintly now, as if alive. The rain's distant drumming filtered down from above, a reminder of the sane world she'd left. But pursuit was in her blood; hesitation had cost Morris his life. "Step aside, Herrera. This doesn't concern you." He didn't budge, his medallion catching the torchlight. "It does. I've patched up enough from your 'investigations' to know better. That man you chased? He's not the villain here. The clique— we're just trying to survive in a world that hunts us. Go in there without knowing the rules, and you'll end up like your partner." Quinn's jaw tightened. The token burned in her grip, almost pulsing. Voices swelled beyond the wall—bartering, laughter, a low chant that set her teeth on edge. Unfamiliar, dangerous. But the suspect was slipping away, and with him, the thread to unravel the clique's secrets. She could call for backup, seal the exits, but by the full moon's shift, the market would vanish, evidence gone. Tomás stepped closer, voice dropping to a urgent whisper. "Please, Detective. I've seen what happens to mundanes who cross the Veil unprepared. It's not just stalls and trinkets—there are wards that twist your mind, creatures that feed on doubt. Your gun won't help. Walk away. Live to fight another day." Her mind warred: caution versus the burning need for justice. Morris's face haunted her—unexplained, supernatural origins she couldn't grasp. This was the edge, the point of no return. She met Tomás's gaze, seeing genuine concern in those warm brown eyes, a scar from some past violence testament to the world's brutality. But she was a detective, not a victim. With a sharp exhale, she pressed the token to the wall. It shimmered, parting like water. A rush of warm, incense-laced air hit her, carrying scents of herbs and ozone. Beyond, stairs descended into a cavernous space—an abandoned Tube station, tracks overgrown with luminescent vines, stalls crammed into alcoves under flickering gas lamps. Figures moved in the dimness: hooded vendors hawking glowing vials, patrons with eyes that gleamed unnaturally. The market pulsed with forbidden energy, walls etched with runes that seemed to writhe. Tomás grabbed her arm. "Harlow—wait!" She shook him off, stepping through. The door sealed behind her, cutting off the tunnel's chill. No turning back now. The suspect's hooded form weaved through the crowd ahead, vanishing into the throng. Quinn's heart raced, every sense on high alert. The air hummed with power, making her skin prickle. Vendors eyed her suspiciously, whispers rippling like a wave. A woman with scales glinting on her cheeks offered a jar of writhing shadows; a man with elongated fingers peddled maps that shifted as she looked. She pushed forward, dodging a cart laden with banned alchemical substances—powders that shimmered like starlight, liquids bubbling in sealed phials. The crowd parted reluctantly, murmurs growing. "Mundane," someone hissed. "Copper." Her hand instinctively went to her hip, but Tomás's words echoed: Your gun won't help. The suspect ducked into a shadowed alcove, glancing back once—eyes locking with hers, a smirk playing on his lips. He knew she was out of her depth. Quinn quickened her pace, weaving through the press of bodies. A vendor grabbed her sleeve, thrusting a necklace of bones. "Protection, love? You'll need it here." She yanked free, focus unwavering. But doubt crept in—the market's energy clawed at her mind, whispers urging her to turn back. Images flickered: Morris screaming in the dark, his body breaking. Was this a trap? The full moon's light filtered through cracks in the ceiling, casting ethereal glows. The place would shift soon; she had minutes. Tomás appeared at her elbow, having followed. "This way's a dead end for you. Let me help—off the books, like always." She shot him a glare. "Why? So you can warn him?" "No. Because chasing shadows blind gets people killed." His scar flexed as he clenched his fist. "I've lost too many to this world. Your partner—he stumbled into something like this. Unprepared." Quinn hesitated, the alcove looming. The suspect was gone, but a hidden door—another bookshelf, like the one in The Raven's Nest—stood ajar, leading to gods knew where. Decision time: plunge deeper into this nightmare, or retreat with what little she had. The market's hum intensified, the full moon pulling at the edges of reality. Her watch beeped midnight. With a curse, she stepped toward the alcove, Tomás at her heels. The chase wasn't over—it had just begun in earnest. But as the shadows swallowed her, she wondered if she'd ever emerge whole.
created_at"2026-02-20T19:30:42.193Z" 2/20/2026, 7:30:42 PM
model"x-ai/grok-4-07-09" 4/7/2009, 12:00:00 AM
app_id182717
external_user(null)
streamedtrue
cancelledfalse
latency20231
moderation_latency(null)
generation_time112014
tokens_prompt914
tokens_completion3169
native_tokens_prompt1465
native_tokens_completion3289
native_tokens_completion_images0
native_tokens_reasoning653
native_tokens_cached813
num_media_prompt(null)
num_input_audio_prompt(null)
num_media_completion0
num_search_results(null)
origin"https://ncbench.com/"
is_byokfalse
finish_reason"stop"
native_finish_reason"completed"
usage0.05190075
router(null)
provider_responses
0
endpoint_id"d40bef9d-6936-4c57-9749-bf7399de4a77"
id"0ab58aa7-ff90-bf2a-6f59-ed041b78f932"
is_byokfalse
latency1398
model_permaslug"x-ai/grok-4-07-09" 4/7/2009, 12:00:00 AM
provider_name"xAI"
status200
api_type"completions"
id"gen-1771615842-CSOLsbZfTRzowsExKPEi"
upstream_id"0ab58aa7-ff90-bf2a-6f59-ed041b78f932"
total_cost0.05190075
cache_discount0.00182925
upstream_inference_cost0
provider_name"xAI"

Evaluation details

Result Evaluator Details Meta Data
100.00% Adverbs in dialogue tags
Target: ≤10% dialogue tags with adverbs
totalTags11
adverbTagCount0
adverbTags(empty)
dialogueSentences25
tagDensity0.44
leniency0.88
rawRatio0
effectiveRatio0
95.11% AI-ism adverb frequency
Target: <2% AI-ism adverbs (58 tracked)
wordCount2047
totalAiIsmAdverbs2
found
0
adverb"very"
count1
1
adverb"reluctantly"
count1
highlights
0"very"
1"reluctantly"
100.00% AI-ism character names
Target: 0 AI-default names (17 tracked, −20% each)
codexExemptions(empty)
found(empty)
100.00% AI-ism location names
Target: 0 AI-default location names (33 tracked, −20% each)
codexExemptions(empty)
found(empty)
7.18% AI-ism word frequency
Target: <2% AI-ism words (290 tracked)
wordCount2047
totalAiIsms38
found
0
word"measured"
count1
1
word"efficient"
count1
2
word"pounding"
count1
3
word"echoing"
count1
4
word"scanned"
count2
5
word"footsteps"
count1
6
word"echoed"
count2
7
word"gloom"
count1
8
word"standard"
count1
9
word"charged"
count1
10
word"electric"
count1
11
word"flickered"
count3
12
word"shimmered"
count3
13
word"dancing"
count1
14
word"raced"
count2
15
word"glinting"
count2
16
word"warmth"
count1
17
word"etched"
count2
18
word"glistening"
count1
19
word"lilt"
count1
20
word"reminder"
count1
21
word"unravel"
count1
22
word"whisper"
count1
23
word"testament"
count1
24
word"pulsed"
count1
25
word"chill"
count1
26
word"quickened"
count1
27
word"unwavering"
count1
28
word"looming"
count1
highlights
0"measured"
1"efficient"
2"pounding"
3"echoing"
4"scanned"
5"footsteps"
6"echoed"
7"gloom"
8"standard"
9"charged"
10"electric"
11"flickered"
12"shimmered"
13"dancing"
14"raced"
15"glinting"
16"warmth"
17"etched"
18"glistening"
19"lilt"
20"reminder"
21"unravel"
22"whisper"
23"testament"
24"pulsed"
25"chill"
26"quickened"
27"unwavering"
28"looming"
100.00% Cliché density
Target: ≤1 cliche(s) per 800-word window
totalCliches2
maxInWindow1
found
0
label"eyes widened/narrowed"
count1
1
label"clenched jaw/fists"
count1
highlights
0"eyes narrowed"
1"clenched his fist"
100.00% Emotion telling (show vs. tell)
Target: ≤3% sentences with emotion telling
emotionTells1
narrationSentences94
matches
0"e with panic"
82.07% Filter word density
Target: ≤3% sentences with filter/hedge words
filterCount3
hedgeCount1
narrationSentences94
filterMatches
0"watch"
hedgeMatches
0"seemed to"
100.00% Gibberish response detection
Target: ≤1% gibberish-like sentences (hard fail if a sentence exceeds 800 words)
analyzedSentences108
gibberishSentences0
adjustedGibberishSentences0
longSentenceCount0
runOnParagraphCount0
giantParagraphCount0
wordSaladCount0
repetitionLoopCount0
controlTokenCount0
maxSentenceWordsSeen102
ratio0
matches(empty)
100.00% Markdown formatting overuse
Target: ≤5% words in markdown formatting
markdownSpans0
markdownWords0
totalWords2008
ratio0
matches(empty)
100.00% Missing dialogue indicators (quotation marks)
Target: ≤10% speech attributions without quotation marks
totalAttributions13
unquotedAttributions0
matches(empty)
100.00% Name drop frequency
Target: ≤1.0 per-name mentions per 100 words
totalMentions51
wordCount1638
uniqueNames25
maxNameDensity0.61
worstName"Quinn"
maxWindowNameDensity1.5
worstWindowName"Quinn"
discoveredNames
Soho1
Harlow1
Quinn10
Raven2
Nest2
Morris7
Wardour1
Street2
London2
Camden1
Tottenham1
Court1
Road1
Goodge1
Veil1
Warm1
Saint1
Christopher1
Herrera1
Linked1
Spanish1
Born1
Seville1
Tomás8
Tube1
persons
0"Harlow"
1"Quinn"
2"Raven"
3"Nest"
4"Morris"
5"Saint"
6"Christopher"
7"Herrera"
8"Tomás"
places
0"Soho"
1"Wardour"
2"Street"
3"London"
4"Camden"
5"Tottenham"
6"Court"
7"Road"
8"Goodge"
9"Seville"
globalScore1
windowScore1
87.50% Narrator intent-glossing
Target: ≤2% narration sentences with intent-glossing patterns
analyzedSentences80
glossingSentenceCount2
matches
0"looked like some arcane symbol. Clique ma"
1"runes that seemed to writhe"
100.00% "Not X but Y" pattern overuse
Target: ≤1 "not X but Y" per 1000 words
totalMatches0
per1kWords0
wordCount2008
matches(empty)
100.00% Overuse of "that" (subordinate clause padding)
Target: ≤2% sentences with "that" clauses
thatCount2
totalSentences108
matches
0"screamed that the"
1"briefing that some"
95.68% Paragraph length variance
Target: CV ≥0.5 for paragraph word counts
totalParagraphs33
mean60.85
std29.5
cv0.485
sampleLengths
0144
185
276
382
478
599
681
780
874
9101
1086
1190
1235
1324
1427
1524
1662
1749
1856
1964
2050
2170
2272
235
2485
2545
2653
2756
2821
2911
3031
3158
3234
100.00% Passive voice overuse
Target: ≤2% passive sentences
passiveCount1
totalSentences94
matches
0"was gone"
100.00% Past progressive (was/were + -ing) overuse
Target: ≤2% past progressive verbs
pastProgressiveCount4
totalVerbs303
matches
0"was investigating"
1"was heading"
2"was running"
3"was slipping"
0.00% Em-dash & semicolon overuse
Target: ≤2% sentences with em-dashes/semicolons
emDashCount21
semicolonCount7
flaggedSentences23
totalSentences108
ratio0.213
matches
0"Supernatural whispers clung to them—unexplained deaths, artifacts vanishing from evidence lockers."
1"The suspect—a wiry figure in a hooded jacket, face obscured—darted left into an alley off Wardour Street."
2"No backup for at least ten minutes; she'd radioed in, but London traffic was a beast even in the downpour."
3"She caught a glimpse of his face under a streetlamp—pale, eyes wide with panic, a tattoo peeking from his collar that looked like some arcane symbol. Clique markings. Morris had sketched something similar before he vanished. \"You're done!\" she yelled, lungs burning. He skidded around a corner onto Tottenham Court Road, dodging a black cab that honked furiously. Quinn followed, weaving through the thinning crowd, her hand brushing the holster at her hip. No shot; too many civilians."
4"The rain intensified, sheets of it blurring the world into grays and blacks. Her coat weighed her down like lead, but she shed it mid-stride, letting it slap to the pavement. Lighter now, she gained ground. The suspect glanced back, his hood slipping, revealing a gaunt face slick with water. He bolted across the road, horns blaring, and plunged into the mouth of Goodge Street station. Underground. Smart—or desperate. Quinn hesitated for a split second, the entrance yawning like a trap. Subways at night were a nightmare of blind corners and echoing tunnels. But losing him wasn't an option."
5"She descended the stairs two at a time, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, casting harsh shadows. The platform was sparse—a few late-night commuters huddled under umbrellas, oblivious. No sign of him. Her eyes scanned the tracks, the pillars, the service door cracked open at the far end. There. She sprinted, shoving past a man in a drenched overcoat who muttered curses. The door led to a maintenance tunnel, dim and dripping, the air thick with the scent of rust and mildew."
6"Freeze!\" No response, just the patter of water and her own ragged breaths. The tunnel sloped downward, the walls closing in, graffiti scrawled in languages she didn't recognize. This wasn't standard Tube maintenance; the air grew heavier, charged with something electric, unnatural. Her gut twisted—memories of Morris's case file, pages filled with impossible details: rooms that shouldn't exist, air that hummed with unseen energy."
7"The suspect's silhouette flickered at the tunnel's end, fumbling with something in his pocket. He pressed against a seamless wall, and to her disbelief, it shimmered and parted like mist. A hidden door. He slipped through, and it sealed behind him with a soft hiss. Quinn skidded to a halt, torch beam dancing over the spot. No handle, no seam—just cold brick. She pounded it with her fist, solid as stone. What the hell?"
8"Her mind raced. This had to be one of those Veil entrances she'd overheard in whispers from informants—supernatural black markets, hidden from the mundane world. The clique's playground. She pressed her ear to the wall, hearing muffled voices, the hum of a crowd. Unfamiliar territory, potentially deadly. No warrant, no backup, and whatever lay beyond could be a hive of the very elements that killed Morris. But the suspect was in there, and with him, answers. Her watch ticked: 11:59 PM. Full moon tonight; she remembered from a briefing that some of these places shifted locations then. Time was running out."
9"She scanned the tunnel floor, spotting a small, ivory object glinting in the dim light—a bone token, dropped in his haste. Entry requirement. She snatched it up, feeling its unnatural warmth against her palm. Etched with a symbol matching his tattoo. This was it: the key. But stepping through meant crossing into a world she wasn't prepared for, where the rules she knew didn't apply. Visions of Morris's mangled body flashed—eyes vacant, limbs contorted as if by invisible forces. Was this how it started for him?"
10"A noise from behind—a scuffle of feet. She whirled, torch illuminating a figure emerging from the shadows: a man, 5'10\", olive skin glistening with rain, short curly dark brown hair matted to his forehead."
11"Born in Seville, moved to London—his backstory clicked in her mind."
12"But pursuit was in her blood; hesitation had cost Morris his life."
13"Voices swelled beyond the wall—bartering, laughter, a low chant that set her teeth on edge."
14"Morris's face haunted her—unexplained, supernatural origins she couldn't grasp."
15"Beyond, stairs descended into a cavernous space—an abandoned Tube station, tracks overgrown with luminescent vines, stalls crammed into alcoves under flickering gas lamps."
16"A woman with scales glinting on her cheeks offered a jar of writhing shadows; a man with elongated fingers peddled maps that shifted as she looked."
17"She pushed forward, dodging a cart laden with banned alchemical substances—powders that shimmered like starlight, liquids bubbling in sealed phials."
18"The suspect ducked into a shadowed alcove, glancing back once—eyes locking with hers, a smirk playing on his lips."
19"But doubt crept in—the market's energy clawed at her mind, whispers urging her to turn back."
20"The place would shift soon; she had minutes."
21"The suspect was gone, but a hidden door—another bookshelf, like the one in The Raven's Nest—stood ajar, leading to gods knew where."
22"The chase wasn't over—it had just begun in earnest."
94.00% Purple prose (modifier overload)
Target: <4% adverbs, <2% -ly adverbs, no adj stacking
wordCount1038
adjectiveStacks1
stackExamples
0"warm, incense-laced air"
adverbCount26
adverbRatio0.025048169556840076
lyAdverbCount7
lyAdverbRatio0.00674373795761079
100.00% Repeated phrase echo
Target: ≤20% sentences with echoes (window: 2)
totalSentences108
echoCount0
echoWords(empty)
100.00% Sentence length variance
Target: CV ≥0.4 for sentence word counts
totalSentences108
mean18.59
std20.53
cv1.104
sampleLengths
019
116
231
340
411
520
67
710
817
913
1013
1120
1212
1313
1414
152
1613
1734
1882
1978
2099
2181
2216
2364
2474
25101
2686
2734
289
2922
302
3118
325
3317
3411
357
3611
3713
389
3918
4012
4112
4210
4352
4414
4516
4612
477
488
4948
70.06% Sentence opener variety
Target: ≥60% unique sentence openers
consecutiveRepeats1
diversityRatio0.42592592592592593
totalSentences108
uniqueOpeners46
0.00% Adverb-first sentence starts
Target: ≥3% sentences starting with an adverb
adverbCount0
totalSentences90
matches(empty)
ratio0
82.22% Pronoun-first sentence starts
Target: ≤30% sentences starting with a pronoun
pronounCount31
totalSentences90
matches
0"He'd slipped out the back"
1"Her partner Morris had died"
2"She wouldn't let this one"
3"Her boots slapped through puddles,"
4"She glanced at the worn"
5"she shouted, voice cutting through"
6"Her mind flashed to the"
7"She vaulted after him, landing"
8"She caught a glimpse of"
9"She descended the stairs two"
10"Her mind raced. This had"
11"She scanned the tunnel floor,"
12"She'd seen his file: former"
13"he said, voice calm with"
14"She kept her torch steady,"
15"He shook his head, water"
16"Her tone sharpened, military bearing"
17"She glanced at the wall,"
18"He didn't budge, his medallion"
19"She could call for backup,"
ratio0.344
48.89% Subject-first sentence starts
Target: ≤72% sentences starting with a subject
subjectCount74
totalSentences90
matches
0"Rain pelted the cobblestones of"
1"Detective Harlow Quinn gripped her"
2"He'd slipped out the back"
3"Her partner Morris had died"
4"She wouldn't let this one"
5"Her boots slapped through puddles,"
6"The suspect—a wiry figure in"
7"Quinn's brown eyes narrowed, her"
8"She glanced at the worn"
9"Military precision guided her steps,"
10"she shouted, voice cutting through"
11"The man didn't even glance"
12"Her mind flashed to the"
13"She vaulted after him, landing"
14"The alley twisted into a"
15"She caught a glimpse of"
16"The rain intensified, sheets of"
17"She descended the stairs two"
18"Footsteps echoed ahead, fading fast."
19"The suspect's silhouette flickered at"
ratio0.822
0.00% Subordinate conjunction sentence starts
Target: ≥2% sentences starting with a subordinating conjunction
subConjCount0
totalSentences90
matches(empty)
ratio0
63.49% Technical jargon density
Target: ≤6% sentences with technical-jargon patterns
analyzedSentences54
technicalSentenceCount6
matches
0"The rain intensified, sheets of it blurring the world into grays and blacks. Her coat weighed her down like lead, but she shed it mid-stride, letting it slap to…"
1"She descended the stairs two at a time, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, casting harsh shadows. The platform was sparse—a few late-night commuters huddl…"
2"She scanned the tunnel floor, spotting a small, ivory object glinting in the dim light—a bone token, dropped in his haste. Entry requirement. She snatched it up…"
3"She glanced at the wall, the invisible door humming faintly now, as if alive."
4"The market pulsed with forbidden energy, walls etched with runes that seemed to writhe."
5"She pushed forward, dodging a cart laden with banned alchemical substances—powders that shimmered like starlight, liquids bubbling in sealed phials."
0.00% Useless dialogue additions
Target: ≤5% dialogue tags with trailing filler fragments
totalTags10
uselessAdditionCount3
matches
0"she shouted, voice cutting through the storm like a blade"
1"she yelled, lungs burning"
2"Her tone sharpened, military bearing rigid"
70.00% Dialogue tag variety (said vs. fancy)
Target: ≤10% fancy dialogue tags
totalTags3
fancyCount2
fancyTags
0"she shouted (shout)"
1"someone hissed (hiss)"
dialogueSentences25
tagDensity0.12
leniency0.24
rawRatio0.667
effectiveRatio0.16
76.5402%