"Tomás Herrera—Tommy to his friends, the off-the-books healer to the shadowy clique she suspected of everything from drug trafficking to something far darker—darted ahead like a fox sensing the hounds."
1
"Three years, and the unexplained horror of that night still clawed at her dreams—shadows that moved wrong, a scream cut short."
2
"The underground entrance to the abandoned Tube station—everyone knew about these relics, sealed off decades ago after the war."
3
"A ladder, maybe stairs—didn't matter."
4
"She holstered the gun; firing blind into the dark would only get her killed."
5
"The wind howled up from the depths, carrying the faint, acrid tang of something unnatural—sulfur?"
6
"No backup tonight; she'd shaken her tail for this solo stakeout after a tip from an informant at The Raven's Nest."
7
"Her boots hit solid ground with a wet thud. She crouched in the shadows of the platform, the abandoned station unfolding before her like a fever dream. Cracked tiles lined the walls, graffiti twisting into symbols she couldn't place—runes? The air buzzed with voices, low and urgent, mingling with the scent of incense and something metallic, like blood. Straight ahead, a makeshift archway loomed, framed by tattered curtains that billowed slightly, as if breathing. No ticket booth, no turnstiles. Just a hooded figure at the threshold, skeletal hands outstretched."
8
"Herrera was already there, fumbling in his pocket. He produced a small object—a bone token, carved smooth and yellowed, like a relic from a forgotten grave. The guard snatched it, eyes gleaming unnaturally in the dim light, and waved him through. The curtains parted with a whisper, revealing a warren of stalls stretching into the gloom. Voices rose: haggling in accents from every corner of the world, laughter that grated like broken glass."
9
"Harlow's pulse thundered in her ears. This was The Veil Market, the underground pulse of a hidden London she'd only glimpsed in case files. Banned substances that could melt steel or mend flesh in seconds. Information brokers peddling truths that governments buried. And the clique—Herrera's people—right in the thick of it. She could turn back now, call for SWAT, flood this pit with light and law. But by the time they arrived, it would be scrubbed clean. Morris's ghost demanded more."
10
"The guard laughed, a wet, bubbling sound, and reached into his robes. Not a weapon—a mirror, small and cracked, held up to reflect her face. Her reflection stared back, but distorted, eyes hollow, mouth twisted in a scream she hadn't made. The guard's lips peeled back. \"No badge passes the veil, copper."
11
"The curtains parted for her, and Harlow crossed the threshold. The world shifted. The platform's decay gave way to a labyrinth of tunnels repurposed into a bazaar from hell. Lanterns hung from hooks, casting erratic shadows that danced like living things. Stalls crammed every inch: one hawking vials of glowing liquid that whispered promises of eternal youth; another displaying amulets pulsing with inner light, warding off \"the unseen.\" A woman with scales for skin bartered a dagger that sang when swung. The air thrummed with magic—real, impossible, terrifying."
12
"Quinn. Her name on his lips sent a jolt through her. They knew. The clique knew she was hunting them. She stepped forward, hand on her gun, but a hand clamped her shoulder—firm, unyielding."
13
"Harlow's training kicked in. She twisted free, elbow driving into the figure's gut. It grunted, staggering, and she bolted after Herrera. The crowd parted like water, but not in her favor—vendors shouted, alarms of sorts wailed, ethereal and piercing. Herrera glanced back now, eyes widening in true alarm. He sprinted toward a side tunnel, marked by a sign in flickering script: \"Exits Shift.\""
14
"She pursued, lungs burning, the thrill of the chase mingling with raw fear. This wasn't just a market; it was a trap, alive and hungry. Bullets might not matter here—stories from cold cases spoke of officers vanishing, chalked up to \"accidents.\" But Morris's face flashed in her mind, twisted in that final scream. She couldn't stop. Not now."
15
"The tunnel narrowed, walls slick with moisture and something viscous. Herrera reached a dead end—or so it seemed. He pressed a panel, and a section of wall ground open, revealing stairs plunging deeper. He hesitated, looking back one last time. \"Quinn!"
16
"\"Neither do you, Herrera!\" she shouted, closing the gap. Rainwater from above dripped into her eyes, but she saw the conflict in his warm brown gaze—fear, yes, but something like pity."
17
"He vanished down the stairs. Harlow skidded to a halt at the threshold, breath ragged. Below, voices echoed, more of the market's denizens converging. The porcelain-masked figure was gaining, flanked by others—claws glinting, spells crackling in their palms."
Target: ≤6% sentences with technical-jargon patterns
analyzedSentences
35
technicalSentenceCount
7
matches
0
"He yanked at the grate, muscles straining under his soaked jacket, and it gave way with a metallic screech that echoed like a death knell."
1
"Enchanted trinkets, alchemical poisons, secrets that could explain Morris's death."
2
"Her boots hit solid ground with a wet thud. She crouched in the shadows of the platform, the abandoned station unfolding before her like a fever dream. Cracked …"
3
"Herrera was already there, fumbling in his pocket. He produced a small object—a bone token, carved smooth and yellowed, like a relic from a forgotten grave. The…"
4
"Harlow's pulse thundered in her ears. This was The Veil Market, the underground pulse of a hidden London she'd only glimpsed in case files. Banned substances th…"
5
"He vanished down the stairs. Harlow skidded to a halt at the threshold, breath ragged. Below, voices echoed, more of the market's denizens converging. The porce…"
6
"The stairs spiraled into oblivion, each step echoing her resolve. The market's heart pulsed around her, secrets unfolding like veins. Whatever lay below, she'd …"