Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMME4ZQ2F438SSW6A43V764

The night air held an unseasonable warmth as Rory made her way through Richmond Park's winding paths. Her phone's screen cast just enough light to avoid tripping over exposed roots, though she hardly needed it — she'd walked this route often enough in daylight. The Heartstone pendant thumped gently against her sternum with each step, its usual faint warmth somehow sharper tonight. She'd come because of a note, anonymous like the pendant itself, directing her to the Grove at midnight. Simple enough instruction, if unsettling. The standing stones emerged from the darkness ahead, ancient oaks twisted into roughly circular formations by time or magic or both. Rory's fingers brushed the crescent scar on her wrist, an old nervous habit. Something felt wrong from the moment she stepped between the stones. The Grove was never truly dark — there was always some ambient light from the wildflowers that bloomed impossibly year-round. Tonight they seemed to pulse with a sickly phosphorescence that made her eyes strain to adjust. "Hello?" Her voice sounded flat, dampened. The air hung thick and still. The pendant's warmth intensified, less like a comfort now and more like a warning. Rory pulled it out from beneath her shirt, studying its deep crimson glow. The stone's inner light flickered erratically, nothing like its usual steady pulse. A rustle of movement caught her attention. She turned, but saw only flowers swaying although there was no wind. The wrongness of it prickled along her spine. Time moved strangely in the Grove — she knew this. But something about tonight felt different. The silence pressed in around her, broken only by what might have been whispers just below the threshold of hearing. She found herself straining to make out words that weren't quite there. The wildflowers' glow seemed to dim and brighten in a pattern she couldn't quite grasp. Like breathing, she thought, and then wished she hadn't. Because now she couldn't shake the sensation that the whole Grove was inhaling and exhaling around her, and that its breath carried something ancient and hungry. Rory took a step backward, toward the stone archway she'd entered through. Her heel caught on nothing and she stumbled, catching herself before she fell. When she looked down, the ground appeared normal — but she could have sworn she'd felt something wrap around her ankle. The pendant burned against her skin now. Its light cast strange shadows that seemed to move independently of her motion, reaching toward her with spindly fingers before retreating back into darkness. The whispers grew louder, still maddeningly unintelligible. "This was a mistake," she said aloud, hoping her voice would break whatever spell was building. Instead, the words seemed to hang in the air like fog, visible for a moment before dissolving into shapes that bore uncomfortable resemblance to faces. She turned to leave, but the standing stones had changed position. She was certain the exit had been right there, but now identical twisted oaks stood in every direction, their bark gleaming wetly in the otherworldly light. The wildflowers' glow had taken on a bluish tinge that made her eyes water. Something moved in her peripheral vision — something tall and wrong-shaped that disappeared when she turned her head. The whispers were almost words now, almost comprehensible, and she knew with bone-deep certainty that she did not want to understand what they were saying. Rory's heart hammered against her ribs. The pendant's heat had become nearly unbearable, its light now strobing with increasing speed. She spun in place, trying to find any landmark that might guide her out, but the Grove had become a maze of identical trees and writhing shadows. A sound behind her — fabric rustling, or leaves, or something else entirely. She whirled around and for a split second saw something that her mind refused to process: a figure composed of twisted flowers and darkness, reaching for her with too-long fingers that bent in impossible directions. The pendant flared with brilliant crimson light. Rory stumbled backward, her heel catching on a root — a real one this time — and she fell. Her head struck something hard, and for a moment stars exploded behind her eyes. When her vision cleared, she was lying on her back in normal darkness. The London sky glowed orange-purple above the trees. The wildflowers swayed gently in a natural breeze, their ordinary pale light barely visible. The standing stones stood exactly where they should, marking the Grove's entrance. Rory sat up slowly, her head throbbing. The pendant had cooled to its usual faint warmth. Nothing moved in the shadows. No whispers haunted the edge of hearing. Everything was perfectly normal. But as she hurried out of the Grove, she couldn't shake the feeling that something had seen her, marked her. And she knew with dreadful certainty that whatever had drawn her here tonight wasn't finished with her yet. The note that had led her here was still in her pocket. When she pulled it out under a park lamp, the paper was blank, as if the words had been stolen away by whatever waited in the Grove's twisted heart.