Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY9AGKNXA64CMCSXEAMJRHY

Harlow’s boot crunched a discarded kebab wrapper into the rain-slicked Soho pavement, her gaze pinned to the green neon sign of The Raven’s Nest flickering above the bar’s entrance. The rain had plastered her closely cropped salt-and-pepper hair to her sharp jaw, and she wiped a bead of water from her brown eyes before checking the worn leather watch on her left wrist—1:17 a.m. Eighteen years on the force had trained her to wait, to let the silence of the night peel back the lies, but the ghost of DS Morris lingered in the rain’s drumming, a reminder that waiting hadn’t saved him three years prior. She’d staked out the Nest for three nights straight, her intel linking the bar’s clandestine back room (accessible through a bookshelf, she’d confirmed with a tip) to the clique she’d been hunting—a group whose criminal activity she’d tied to unexplained disappearances, the same vague thread that had tangled Morris’s final case. Through the Raven’s Nest’s steamed windows, she could make out the faint glow of old maps and black-and-white photographs lining the walls—details she’d memorized from a confidential informant’s statement. A group of hooded figures had slipped into the back room an hour prior, their whispers muffled by the bar’s jukebox blaring a cracked vinyl of a 1960s blues track. She’d tensed then, her military bearing coiling like a spring, but had held back; rushing in would have alerted the clique to her presence, and she’d already lost too many leads to reckless action. Then the bar’s door creaked open. A figure emerged, hood pulled low, hands stuffed into the pockets of a frayed wool coat. Harlow recognized him immediately: Jake Voss, a low-level clique enforcer she’d spotted making drops to off-the-books clinics six times in the last month. His boots sloshed through a puddle, sending a spray of rain onto a nearby fire hydrant, and Harlow pushed off the brick wall she’d been leaning against, her steps silent despite the slick pavement. She adjusted her grip on her baton, her fingers tightening at the memory of Morris’s empty desk—his radio crushed beyond repair, no signs of struggle, a single red question mark scrawled on his final report next to “supernatural origins.” Voss cut through a narrow alley lined with overflowing bins, the stench of stale beer and wet cardboard stinging Harlow’s nostrils. She skidded on a patch of moss, catching herself on a rusted fire escape before continuing, her lungs burning with the cold rain. He emerged onto a main road heading north toward Camden, and Harlow’s pulse quickened—Camden’s abandoned Tube stations were rumored to be the current home of the Veil Market, a hidden supernatural black market that moved locations every full moon. She’d heard whispers of its trade in enchanted goods and banned alchemical substances, but she’d dismissed the tales until Morris’s body was found in a similar tunnel, his skin marked with faint, unidentifiable runes he’d never mentioned. Voss veered into a chain-link fenced lot, the gate screeching as he forced it open. Harlow slipped through behind him, her gaze falling on the mouth of an abandoned Tube station—boarded up, but with a loose plank pried free from the entrance. She paused, her watch ticking loudly in her ear, as Voss ducked through the plank and vanished into the darkness. She counted to ten before following, her baton raised, her boots crunching on broken glass and crumbling concrete. The tunnel air smelled of burnt incense and rot, and she could hear the distant murmur of voices. She crept forward, her back pressed to a damp stone wall, until she saw Voss standing in a dimly lit cavern off the main tunnel. He fumbled in his coat pocket before pulling out a small, yellowed bone—maybe a finger bone—and pressing it to a rusted metal panel on the wall. The panel clicked, and a section of the cavern wall slid open, revealing a glow of multicolored lights beyond. Harlow’s heart hammered. This was the supernatural element Morris had stumbled into, the one she’d refused to confront until now. Now she had to decide. Follow Voss into the market, where she’d be out of her depth, or turn back and report, letting the clique’s trail go cold again. She closed her eyes for a second, seeing Morris’s face—his laugh, the way he’d always bring her a coffee on early stakesouts, the way he’d vanished without a trace three years prior—before opening them again, determined. She’d find a way in, even without a bone token. She slipped into the cavern, her steps silent, and crept closer to the sliding wall. The murmur of voices grew louder, and she caught a familiar name: Tomás Herrera. She’d been looking into Herrera for weeks—a former NHS paramedic born in Seville, Spain, who’d lost his license for administering unauthorized treatments to supernatural patients. He now provided off-the-books medical care for the clique, and Harlow had been desperate to link him to their criminal activity. Then she saw them: Voss standing across from a man with short curly dark brown hair, olive skin, and a scar running along his left forearm. The man wore a Saint Christopher medallion around his neck, the metal glinting in the market’s neon light. That was Tomás. His fingers brushed the medallion—a nervous tic, Harlow noted—as he spoke, his voice low and urgent. “The clique’s new recruit took a blow from a warding charm,” Voss said, pulling a crumpled envelope of cash from his coat. “Need the enchanted salve you promised. And don’t skimp—they’re paying top coin.” Tomás held up a small vial of glowing blue liquid, the light casting faint shadows on his scar. “The salve’s ready, but the Veil Market’s guards are cracking down on non-token holders. You should have brought the extra bone tokens I asked for.” He nodded toward a stall in the distance, where a vendor sold piles of yellowed bones to a crowd of hooded figures. “This will muffle the charm’s residue, but it won’t last more than a day. Tell them to keep their distance from the council’s enforcers—they’re hunting anyone tied to your clique’s recent heists.” Harlow’s mind raced. This confirmed her suspicion: the clique was using supernatural goods from the Veil Market, with Tomás’s help to treat their wounded. She thought about Morris’s death—maybe he’d stumbled on a similar exchange, maybe he’d tried to confront a guard, maybe the supernatural elements had overwhelmed him before he could call for backup. She had to get proof, but she was without a bone token, and the market’s guards were patrolling the entrance, their eyes glowing with a faint, otherworldly light. She backed away slightly, her boot knocking a loose rock. A guard’s voice boomed from the market’s interior: “Who’s there?” Harlow ducked behind a pile of rusted train parts, her baton gripped so tightly her knuckles turned white. She could hear the guard’s boots approaching, the clink of a bone token in his pocket, and she closed her eyes, remembering Morris’s final words to her—“Don’t trust the silence, Harlow. It hides more than you know.” The guard paused next to the train parts, his nose twitching as he sniffed the air. Harlow held her breath, her mind racing through her options. She could jump him, steal his bone token, and blend into the market, but she’d be outnumbered. She could turn back, report her findings, and wait for backup, but the Veil Market would move with the next full moon—only three days away—and she’d lose her chance to link the clique to the supernatural trade. She thought about her 18 years of decorated service, about the promises she’d made to Morris’s family to find his killer. She thought about the clique’s victims, the people who’d vanished without a trace, their families left with no answers. She gripped her baton tighter, her military precision coiling into action, and prepared to move. The guard turned to walk away, and Harlow slipped out from behind the train parts, her eyes locked on the market’s entrance. She didn’t know what lay ahead, but she knew she couldn’t turn back—not when she was so close to unraveling the thread that had killed her partner, not when the clique’s supernatural crimes were finally within her grasp. She took a step forward, the rain still drumming in her ears, and vanished into the glow of the Veil Market.