Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYABMADJTF0EN6SGG682B1F

Rain lashed against Detective Harlow Quinn’s face, each drop a cold slap. She tasted grit and exhaust fumes. Twenty yards ahead, Herrera’s dark curls bobbed in the downpour, a fleeting punctuation mark against the neon smear of Soho. She’d lost him twice already. A former paramedic, conveniently unlicensed, patching up the city’s… clientele. That’s how the tip had described him. ‘Fixer for the shadows.’ A polite way of saying medic to monsters. Quinn lengthened her stride, the worn leather of her watchband cold against her wrist. Her soaked jacket clung to her like a second skin. He’d ditched the cab a block back, opting for the saturated alleyways. Smart. Trying to lose her in the warren. He wouldn’t. She rounded a corner, nearly colliding with a delivery driver wrestling a stack of cardboard boxes. “Sorry,” she barked, not bothering with politeness. The driver offered a mumbled acknowledgement, eyes fixed on securing his cargo. Herrera was nowhere in sight. Quinn cursed under her breath. She scanned the alley – a claustrophobic space choked with overflowing bins and ghostly shadows. Nothing. Dammit. She checked her radio. Static. Typical. The comms had been patchy all night. Then she saw it. A glint of green. The Raven’s Nest. Silas’ bar. A low-life haven, nestled between a shuttered music venue and a defunct laundrette. She’d paid it a visit before, fishing for information. Mostly found smoke and liars. But Herrera had headed straight for the distinctive green neon sign above the entrance. She pushed open the door, the smell of stale beer and something vaguely chemical washing over her. The bar was barely half-full. Muted conversation hummed beneath the low throb of a jazz record. Herrera wasn’t immediately visible. She moved towards the bar, her gaze sweeping across the faces in the dim light. A few regulars, nursing pints. Silas, the owner, a hulking man with a shaved head, polishing glasses with a practiced weariness. “Herrera,” she said, her voice cutting through the noise. “Seen him?” Silas didn’t even look up. “Don’t know anyone by that name, Detective.” His tone was flat, devoid of inflection. Quinn rested her hands on the sticky countertop, her sharp jaw tightening. “Don’t play coy, Silas. Dark curly hair, olive skin. Comes in here looking for trouble.” Silas finally raised his head, his dark eyes meeting hers with an unsettling calm. “I serve a lot of people, Detective. Trouble comes with the territory.” “He was heading this way. He didn’t just vanish into thin air.” She let the threat hang in the air. Silas shrugged. “Maybe he found another watering hole.” He returned to polishing glasses. Frustration gnawed at Quinn. She’d reached a dead end. She started to turn away, then noticed something. A section of bookshelves lining the back wall, seemingly crammed with antique maps and first editions. Except… one shelf looked subtly different. Too clean. Too organized. And Herrera had paused right in front of it a moment before disappearing from her sight on the street. She walked toward the bookshelf, ignoring Silas’s watchful gaze. She ran a hand along the spines, noting the titles – ancient geographies, forgotten folklore. Then, she found it. A slight give in one of the shelves. A hidden latch, cleverly disguised as a decorative carving. She pressed it. A section of the bookshelf swung inward, revealing a dark, narrow passageway. A musty odor wafted out, hinting at damp earth and something else… something indefinable and unsettling. Silas hadn’t said a word, but Quinn could feel his eyes boring into her back. “Where does that lead?” she asked, her voice low. Silas shrugged again. “That, Detective, is none of your business.” “It is when it leads to a man I’m trying to find.” “You’re walking into a world you don’t understand, Detective. A world best left alone.” Quinn ignored him. She glanced back at the rain-streaked window, then at the dark opening. She knew Silas wasn’t exaggerating. This wasn't just another dead end. This was something else entirely. But Herrera had gone through it. She had to follow. She took a deep breath, bracing herself. She hadn’t felt this uneasy since… since Morris. The case. A cold dread settled in her stomach, a familiar echo of that night three years ago. The passageway opened onto a steep flight of stairs, descending into darkness. She pulled out her service weapon, then hesitated. The air grew colder, heavier. The scent of damp earth intensified, mingled with an acrid, metallic smell. At the bottom of the stairs, a low hum vibrated through the floor, and a faint, flickering light illuminated a vast cavern. She stepped forward, her boots echoing on a stone floor. The air was thick with the smell of spices and decay. Before her lay the Veil Market. Stalls lined the cavern, crammed with strange and unsettling wares. Bottled eyes stared out from shelves. Dried herbs hung in pungent bundles. Glowing crystals pulsed with an eerie light. People moved through the market, their faces obscured by shadows and hoods. Most were human, but Quinn spotted a few… others. A woman with skin that shimmered like scales. A man with eyes that glowed faintly in the darkness. And there, weaving through the crowd, was Herrera. He was talking to a gaunt figure cloaked in black, handing over a small package. He hadn’t seen her yet. Quinn activated her radio, but still nothing. Dead as a stone. She was on her own. She moved forward, carefully navigating the throng. The whole place felt… wrong. A violation of everything she believed in. She’d chased criminals through some dark places in her career, but this was different. This wasn’t about petty theft or gang warfare. This felt… ancient. Corrupt. She could arrest Herrera now, push her way through the crowd. But something held her back. The faces in the market. The strange artifacts. The feeling that she was walking into a trap. She needed to understand what Herrera was doing here. What he was selling. She kept her weapon trained, her senses on high alert. She had a feeling that one wrong move could escalate things quickly. Very quickly. She was a detective, trained to follow leads, to bring criminals to justice. But as she plunged deeper into the heart of the Veil Market, she couldn't shake the growing sense that she was no longer in control. That she’d stepped into a world where the rules were different. A world where justice might be the least of her worries. The rain continued to fall on the streets above, oblivious to the darkness that lay beneath. And Detective Harlow Quinn, a woman forged in the fires of experience and loss, found herself on the precipice of something far more dangerous than she could have ever imagined.