Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYA3RE2WWJ4DGJAM7DTKNXA

The neon glow of *The Raven’s Nest* flickered like a dying ember against the storm’s howl, casting jagged shadows across the slick pavement. Detective Harlow Quinn’s breath came in shallow bursts as she pressed her back against the cold brick of a lamppost, her fingers digging into the leather strap of her holster. The rain lashed her face, turning the air thick with the scent of wet asphalt and something older—something metallic, like old blood. She had been chasing Tomás Herrera for hours. The paramedic’s footsteps had been too light, too sure, as if he knew exactly where he was going. Quinn’s pulse hammered in her throat, her jaw clenched. Three years ago, she’d lost her partner, DS Morris, in a case that hadn’t been solved. And now, here she was, chasing a man who might be part of the same shadowy network that had taken him. The clique. The word slithered through her mind like a serpent, cold and insidious. Her watch—worn leather, the kind that had seen too many nights—ticked. *Twenty-three forty-seven.* She needed to move. But where? A flicker of movement caught her eye. A figure stood at the corner of the street, silhouetted against the dim glow of a flickering sign. Quinn’s instincts screamed at her to follow, but her training told her to stay sharp. Tomás wasn’t just some random suspect. He was a man who had once worked for the NHS, who had lost his license after treating supernatural patients. And now, he was selling them something far worse. She exhaled sharply, her fingers tightening around the grip of her pistol. The rain had turned the streets into a slick, reflective maze. Every shadow could be a threat. Every sound could be a trap. Then she heard it—a low, rhythmic *clink*. Quinn’s blood turned to ice. The sound came from the alley behind her. A metal token, dropped. A bone token. The Veil Market. She should have known. Tomás had mentioned it. The underground market beneath Camden, hidden beneath an abandoned Tube station. A place where the supernatural traded in secrets, in power, in things that should never be bought or sold. Her breath hitched. She could go back. She could press charges, get the clique’s hands off the next victim. But Tomás was already inside. And if he was selling something dangerous, she had to know what. A gust of wind sent a spray of water over her face, blurring her vision. She wiped it away, her vision sharpening as she took stock. The alley was narrow, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and something else—something sweet, like burnt sugar. Quinn’s stomach twisted. She didn’t like the way her instincts were screaming at her. But she also didn’t like the way Tomás had been acting. Too smooth. Too sure. She took a step forward, her boots splashing through the puddles. The alley sloped downward, the ground slick under her feet. The air grew colder, the shadows deeper. Then she saw it—a set of rusted metal stairs, half-buried in the dirt. Quinn hesitated. She could turn back. She could call for backup. But the voice in her head, the one that had been whispering since Morris’s death, urged her forward. *Trust your gut.* She climbed. The stairs led her down into darkness, the air thick with the scent of damp stone and something else—something ancient. Her flashlight flickered, casting long, wavering beams across the walls. The stairs ended in a narrow passage, the air growing heavier with each step. Then she heard it—a low, rhythmic *clink* again. This time, it wasn’t just a token. It was a chain. Quinn’s pulse spiked. She had to be careful. The Veil Market wasn’t just a place. It was a world. And in this world, the rules were different. She pressed on, her flashlight cutting through the gloom. The passage widened, the walls lined with strange symbols, with old maps that seemed to shift when she wasn’t looking. Then she saw it—a door. Not a door. A *gate*. It was made of blackened metal, the kind of metal that didn’t rust, didn’t bend. And it was locked. Quinn’s hands trembled. She had no key. No way in. But then she heard it—a whisper. Not a sound. A *presence*. She turned slowly, her flashlight sweeping the darkness. And there, just beyond the flickering light, she saw him. Tomás stood in the shadows, his dark curls damp with rain, his scar running along his forearm like a brand. He held a bone token in his hand, his eyes locked onto hers. And then he smiled. It wasn’t a friendly smile. It was a *challenge*. Quinn’s grip tightened on her pistol. She could go back. She could call for backup. But the voice in her head, the one that had been whispering since Morris’s death, urged her forward. *Trust your gut.* She took a step forward. The gate groaned as she pressed against it, the lock clicking open with a sound like a dying breath. The air inside was different. Thicker. Richer. And then she saw him. A man stood in the center of the room, his back to her, his hands clasped behind his back. He was tall, his skin pale, his eyes black as void. He turned slowly, his gaze locking onto hers. And Quinn knew, without a doubt, that she was in over her head.