Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYB7N5Z047DC0K3Q9A68RW7

The rain hammered the pavement like a drumline of fury, each drop striking the cobblestones with the precision of a metronome set to chaos. Harlow Quinn’s boots splashed through puddles that had swallowed the glow of streetlamps whole, the neon haze of Soho’s signs bleeding into the downpour. She didn’t slow. The suspect—a wiry figure in a long coat, collar turned up—ducked into the alley between *The Raven’s Nest* and a shuttered tailor’s shop. Quinn didn’t hesitate. The scent of damp wool and old whiskey clung to the air as she rounded the corner, her breath steady despite the adrenaline. The suspect was already halfway down the narrow passage, his footsteps echoing off the brick walls. Quinn’s fingers twitched toward the baton at her belt, but she didn’t draw it. Not yet. The man moved like he knew these streets by heart, like he’d been here before. And if he had, then the alley might not be the end of the line. A flicker of movement caught her eye—a rusted fire escape, its ladder dangling like a broken promise. The suspect didn’t take it. He kept going, vanishing around the corner where the alley opened into a wider, darker thoroughfare. Quinn followed, her pulse thrumming in her throat. The rain had turned the pavement into a slick mirror, reflecting the dim glow of a flickering streetlamp. Somewhere ahead, a door stood slightly ajar, its frame warped with age. No sign. No light. Just the promise of somewhere to hide. She pressed herself against the wall, listening. The city’s usual hum had been drowned out by the storm, but beneath the rain’s white noise, she caught it—a low, rhythmic *thump*. Not footsteps. Not quite. More like something being dragged. Or carried. Quinn exhaled through her nose, her breath fogging in the cold air. She wasn’t sure what she’d find behind that door, but she was sure of one thing: the suspect wasn’t running from her. He was running *toward* something. The door creaked when she pushed it open, the hinges groaning like a warning. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of damp earth and something metallic, something old. A staircase spiraled downward, the steps worn smooth by decades of use. No light. No sound except the rain, now distant, as if the world above had been sealed away. She descended carefully, her hand brushing the cold stone wall. The air grew heavier, the temperature dropping with each step. By the time she reached the bottom, her breath was visible in the dim glow of a single flickering bulb. The tunnel stretched ahead, the walls lined with graffiti and the occasional flicker of movement—rats, or something else. The *thump* came again, closer this time. Not from the tunnel, but from a side passage, barely wide enough for one person to squeeze through. Quinn crouched, her eyes adjusting to the dark. The suspect was gone. But the sound—it was coming from the passage. She hesitated. The Veil Market wasn’t on any map. It wasn’t supposed to exist. And yet, here she was, standing at the edge of something that didn’t belong in her world. A voice cut through the dark, low and rough. *"You shouldn’t be here, Detective."* Quinn didn’t turn. She knew that voice. Or at least, she’d heard it before—in the whispers of informants, in the half-truths of men who dealt in things they shouldn’t. She kept her back straight, her fingers flexing around the grip of her service revolver. *"Neither should you,"* she said. *"But here we are."* A shadow detached itself from the wall, stepping into the dim light. Tomás Herrera. The paramedic. The one who’d slipped through the cracks of the law, who’d treated wounds that shouldn’t have healed, who’d known things he shouldn’t have known. His olive skin was pale in the sickly light, his dark eyes sharp with something between warning and pity. *"You’re not supposed to be down here,"* he repeated. *"This isn’t your fight."* Quinn’s jaw tightened. *"Neither was the last one. And neither was the one before that."* Tomás didn’t flinch. He knew what she meant. The cases that had gone wrong. The ones that had left her partner in the ground, his last breath stolen by something that didn’t make sense. Something that lived in the dark. *"You don’t understand what you’re chasing,"* Tomás said. *"Then explain it to me."* A beat of silence. The rain still drummed above, but down here, it was just the two of them, and the weight of what came next. Tomás exhaled, slow and measured. *"The Veil Market doesn’t just sell goods. It sells *deals*. And some of them… they don’t end the way they’re supposed to."* Quinn’s gaze flicked to the passage. The *thump* had stopped. But the air had changed. It was thicker now, like the moment before a storm breaks. She could feel it in her bones. *"Where is he?"* she asked. Tomás didn’t answer. Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out a small, irregular bone. White. Fresh. *"You need this to get in. And you need to decide—right now—if you’re still sure you want to follow."* Quinn took the bone. It was warm in her palm. She looked back at the passage. Then she looked at Tomás. *"I don’t turn back,"* she said. The paramedic’s expression didn’t change. But the way he stepped aside told her everything she needed to know. The tunnel ahead twisted, the walls now lined with strange symbols carved into the stone. The air smelled of ozone and something sweet, like rotting fruit. And then—movement. A figure, half-hidden in the dark, dragging something behind them. The suspect. And whatever he was carrying wasn’t human. Quinn didn’t wait. She moved.