AI Rain lashed against Detective Harlow Quinn’s trench coat, plastering the fabric to her legs. Each breath fogged the air in front of her face. The suspect, a wiry man with a nervous flinch, darted between overflowing bins, his shoulders hunched against the downpour. Quinn’s boots slapped against the slick pavement, the echo swallowed by the city's hum. She kept a steady distance, close enough to pursue, far enough to assess.
He weaved through a cluster of late-night revelers spilling from a pub, a flash of dark hair disappearing into a narrow alley. Quinn cursed under her breath, pushing past a group of laughing students. This guy, whoever he was, knew the city like the back of his hand.
The alley opened onto a wider street, the rain intensifying. He broke into a sprint. She matched his pace, the worn leather watch on her wrist a familiar anchor against the rising adrenaline. Eighteen years on the force. She’d chased down plenty of shadows, but this one felt different. Tangled with something she couldn’t quite name . Morbid curiosity mingled with the professionalism drilled into her.
He didn't falter, disappearing through a wrought-iron gate. Quinn followed, her hand instinctively moving towards the Glock holstered under her coat. The gate led to a crumbling courtyard, the gargoyles perched on the buildings leering down at her.
A metal door, tucked into the base of a soot-stained wall, stood ajar. He vanished inside. Quinn approached cautiously, her senses on high alert. The air grew noticeably colder, carrying a faint, metallic tang.
She should call it in. Get backup. But something in the way he moved, the sheer desperation clinging to him, stalled her. This wasn't a common thief. This was someone running from something – or to something.
She pushed the door open.
The courtyard vanished. She stood instead at the foot of a curving staircase, descending into darkness. The metallic scent intensified, overlaid with the earthy smell of damp stone and something else... something acrid, almost chemical. A single bare bulb flickered overhead, casting long, distorted shadows.
Each step creaked under her weight , the sound unnervingly loud in the oppressive silence . The air thickened, making it hard to breathe. She gripped her Glock tighter, her gaze fixed on the murky depths below.
Then she heard it. A low hum, a murmur of voices. A sense of life, of activity, emanating from the darkness below. It wasn't a normal London hum.
The staircase ended abruptly, spilling onto a vast, cavernous space. Quinn froze.
She stood on the fringes of a market.
Not a market of fruits and vegetables, or trinkets and souvenirs. This market pulsed with an alien energy. Merchants hawked their wares under the glow of flickering gas lamps, their faces obscured by shadows and elaborate masks. Stalls overflowed with bizarre items: vials filled with shimmering liquids, intricately carved bone pendants, bundles of dried herbs that smelled faintly of decay. The language spoken was a mishmash of tongues, some familiar , some not.
The crowd was a tapestry of the bizarre: pale, gaunt figures in long coats, beings with eyes that glowed in the dim light, and others whose forms were too indistinct to classify.
This was it. The Veil Market. Rumors whispered in the darker corners of the police force – a black market for the supernatural, a place where anything could be bought or sold. She’d dismissed them as just that: rumors. Until now.
She scanned the crowd, searching for the suspect. He was at a stall near the center of the market, haggling with a hooded figure. The figure held aloft a small, ornate box, its surface covered in strange symbols.
Quinn took a step forward, then paused. This was far beyond her jurisdiction. This was a rabbit hole she wasn’t sure she was ready to fall down. The memory of DS Morris's vacant eyes, the inexplicable circumstances surrounding his death, resonated in her mind. A cold dread coiled in her stomach .
She risked a glance over her shoulder. The staircase leading back to the surface looked miles away, a fragile lifeline to the world she knew. Every instinct screamed at her to turn back, to report this to the higher-ups, to let someone else deal with it.
But the suspect... what if he was running from something bigger? Something that threatened the city, the world? And what about that box? What secrets did it hold?
A hand landed on her arm. She spun around, her gun raised.
“Looking for something, Detective?”
The voice was smooth, laced with an unsettling amusement. Quinn lowered her weapon slightly , her eyes fixed on the man who had spoken. He was tall, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, his face partially hidden by the shadow of a wide-brimmed hat. A thin scar bisected his left eyebrow .
"Just observing," Quinn replied, her voice carefully neutral . “Seems like an… unusual market.”
He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. “Unusual? Perhaps. Let’s just say it caters to a specific clientele.” He gestured towards the throng of shoppers. “You don't seem to belong here, Detective. This isn't a place for law enforcement.”
“Someone ran in here,” Quinn countered. “A man. He was being chased.”
The man’s smile didn't reach his eyes. “People run to all sorts of places, Detective. Seeking refuge, seeking opportunity. It’s hardly my concern.”
He inclined his head slightly . “However, I can offer you some advice. Some places are best left undisturbed. This is one of them.”
Quinn stared at him, assessing his every move. There was something familiar about him, something she couldn’t quite place .
“Who are you?” she asked, her grip tightening on her Glock .
“A concerned observer,” he replied smoothly. “Someone who wishes you well. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” He began to walk away, disappearing into the crowd.
Quinn watched him go, her mind racing . She could still turn back. Walk away. Pretend she hadn’t seen this. She could file a report, let them handle it. But she knew, with a certainty that settled deep in her bones, that this was just the beginning.
She glanced back at the suspect, still haggling over the ornate box. He caught her eye across the crowded market, his expression unreadable . He gave a barely perceptible nod.
Quinn made her decision.
She plunged deeper into the Veil Market.
The crowd parted for her, wary eyes following her every move. She navigated the labyrinthine stalls, the cacophony of voices and the pungent aromas assaulting her senses. Where to begin?
A figure bumped into her, nearly sending her sprawling. A young man. He recovered quickly , muttering a hasty apology. Quinn noticed a Saint Christopher medallion hanging around his neck. A familiar detail.
“Sorry, Detective,” he blurted out, his face flushing . “Didn’t see you there.”
Quinn recognized him immediately. Tomás Herrera. The former paramedic. She’d interviewed him once, regarding a string of unexplained injuries. He’d been cooperative, if a little evasive. He’d worked with the clique.
“Herrera,” she said, her voice low . “What are you doing here?”
He wrung his hands nervously . “Just… helping out.”
“Helping out with what? Selling enchanted snake oil?”
He glanced around, his eyes darting nervously . “It’s not like that, Detective. I’m… I’m providing medical assistance.”
"To who? Demons?" Quinn folded her arms, scrutinizing him. "What's the suspect doing?"
"He's buying something for Silas," Herrera muttered, his voice barely audible above the din .
"Silas?"
"Silas Blackwood . Runs this place. Don't go looking for him."
Quinn ignored him, focused on the suspect. He’d secured the box, tucking it carefully inside his coat. He began to push through the crowd, heading towards a darkened archway at the far end of the market.
She started to move, but Herrera grabbed her arm.
“Detective, wait! You don’t understand. This place... it’s not safe.”
“Safe for who?” Quinn yanked her arm free. “For you? For Blackwood ? Or for the people hiding in the shadows?”
She didn’t wait for an answer. She pushed past him, weaving through the crowd, her eyes fixed on the suspect’s retreating figure. She was closing the distance, the rain from the outside world a distant memory in this subterranean realm.
He passed under the archway, disappearing into the darkness. Quinn hesitated for a moment, then followed.