Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMMEQN9W5DWTCRYAB9Q9JFN

The air in Richmond Park was thick with the scent of damp earth and something older—something like iron and crushed petals, the faintest whisper of decay beneath the bloom of wildflowers. Aurora Carter adjusted the strap of her messenger bag, her fingers brushing the cool metal of the Heartstone pendant beneath her shirt. The pendant pulsed once, just barely, as if sensing the same unease coiling in her gut. She hadn’t expected this. Not really. She’d come to the grove because the pendant had led her here, its faint warmth guiding her through the labyrinth of trees like a silent compass. But the moment she stepped past the standing stones—those gnarled oaks with their bark etched like old runes—she knew something was wrong. The world had shifted. The night wasn’t just darker here; it was *thicker*, as if the air itself resisted the light. Her breath fogged in the cold, but the fog didn’t dissipate. It clung, curling around her ankles like smoke. Aurora’s pulse hammered in her throat. She told herself it was just the wind. The trees here were ancient, their branches twisting into shapes that made her skin prickle. Some of them weren’t trees at all, not really. She’d seen that in the pendant’s glow—the way the grove existed in the cracks between worlds, where the Fae touched Earth. But this wasn’t a place for tourists or the curious. It was a threshold, and thresholds had rules. And someone—or something—had broken them. She should’ve brought Eva. Or Silas. Or even that damn ex who’d left her bleeding in an alley and made her feel like she was drowning in her own skin. But she hadn’t. Because the pendant had *called* to her, and for once, she’d listened. Now, the only sound was the rasp of her boots on the crushed leaves, the occasional whisper of wind through the branches. No birds. No crickets. Just the grove, holding its breath. Aurora’s phone was dead. She’d left it in the flat, half-charging, because she hadn’t wanted to be reachable. But now, the absence of signal was a gnawing ache in her chest. No way to call for help. No way to prove she’d ever been here if she didn’t come back. She turned left, following the pendant’s pull. The stones loomed ahead, their surfaces smooth despite their age, as if they’d been carved by something patient and deliberate. The air between them shimmered, not like heat, but like a veil just out of focus. Aurora hesitated. The pendant warmed against her skin, a slow, steady pulse. *Come on,* it seemed to say. *You know you want to.* She stepped through. The world *shifted*. One second, she was standing in the grove. The next, the trees were taller, their branches knitting together into a canopy so dense it blocked out the stars. The ground beneath her feet wasn’t earth anymore—it was something softer, spongier, like moss but alive, pulsing faintly beneath her soles. The scent changed, too. Now it was rich and damp, like a forest floor after rain, but underneath that was something else—something metallic and sweet, like blood and honey. Aurora’s breath hitched. She wasn’t alone. A sound cut through the silence. Not a rustle of leaves. Not the creak of a branch. Something *else*. A wet, clicking noise, like fingers dragging over bone. It came from the darkness ahead, just beyond the dappled light of the standing stones. Aurora’s fingers tightened around the pendant. The chain bit into her skin. She should turn back. She should *run*. But the pendant was warm now, burning against her chest, and the grove wasn’t just a place. It was a *door*, and doors had to be opened. The clicking sound came again, closer this time. Aurora’s pulse roared in her ears. She forced herself to look up. The trees weren’t just tall. They were *leaning*. Not toward the wind. Toward *her*. And between them, just visible in the dim light, was a shape. Tall. Too tall. Its limbs were too long, its joints bending in ways that made her stomach clench. It wasn’t moving like a person. It wasn’t moving at all. It was *waiting*. Aurora’s breath came in shallow gasps. She should’ve known better than to come here alone. She should’ve listened to the voice in her head that had screamed *no* the second she’d stepped past the stones. But she hadn’t. And now she was here, and the grove was *alive*, and whatever was watching her wasn’t just watching. It was *smiling*. The sound that came from it wasn’t a laugh. It was a chorus of voices, layered and overlapping, whispering in a language she almost understood. Almost. The pendant burned against her skin, its warmth searing now, like she was holding a brand. She could feel the pull of it, the way it wanted her to step forward, to *join* whatever was happening here. Aurora stumbled back. Her heel caught on something—root? Stone?—and she nearly fell. She caught herself against a tree, her fingers pressing into bark that was smooth but *warm*, like living flesh. The pendant pulsed in her chest, a rhythm that matched the beating of her heart. *You don’t belong here,* she thought. But the grove didn’t listen. The shape between the trees took a step forward. Just one. But it was enough. The air between them *ripped*, like fabric being torn. And then she saw it—the thing’s face. Or what passed for one. It wasn’t a face. It was a *mouth*, a vast, gaping void lined with teeth that weren’t teeth at all, but rows of sharp, curved things that glinted in the dim light. And between them, floating like embers in smoke, were eyes. Dozens of them. Some blue like hers. Some black. Some— Aurora screamed. The sound tore through the grove, raw and desperate. The trees *shuddered*. The ground beneath her feet *twitched*. And then the thing—*it*—moved. It came forward, its limbs bending in ways that made her eyes cross, its mouth opening wider, wider, until the air itself seemed to recoil from the darkness inside. The pendant burned against her chest, its heat searing through her shirt, and she realized with a sickening lurch that it wasn’t just a pendant anymore. It was a *key*. And the grove was *hungry*. Aurora turned and ran. Branches lashed at her, not striking, but *touching*, their leaves whispering against her skin like lips. The standing stones loomed ahead, their surfaces now slick with something dark and glistening. She could see the other side—the real world, the park, the safety of the night beyond the grove—but she couldn’t reach it. The stones were *holding* her, their magic wrapping around her like chains. The thing was behind her now. She could feel its breath on her neck, hot and damp, like a living thing exhaling. The pendant burned, its pulse frantic now, its glow bleeding through the fabric of her shirt, casting eerie shadows on the ground. *Run,* she thought. *Just run.* But the grove didn’t let her go. The trees closed in. The air thickened. And then— A voice. Not from the thing behind her. Not from the grove itself. *Rory.* Aurora froze. She knew that voice. She knew it better than her own. *Eva.* The voice came again, closer this time. *Rory, it’s me. You have to come back.* Aurora spun. There, between the trees, was a figure. Tall. Dark hair. Bright blue eyes. But it wasn’t Eva. It was a *reflection*. A perfect, flickering reflection of her best friend, standing in the grove, her hands outstretched as if trying to pull Aurora back. But the moment Aurora looked at her, the reflection *wavered*, like a mirage in the heat. And then it was gone. The thing behind her laughed. It wasn’t a sound. It was a *feeling*, a vibration in her bones, a chorus of voices rising up from the depths of the grove. And then the pendant *shattered*. Light exploded against her chest, searing, blinding. Aurora screamed as the world around her *unraveled*, the grove dissolving into smoke and shadow, the standing stones crumbling to dust. She fell to her knees, her hands pressing against her chest, her fingers coming away slick with something dark and warm. And then— Silence. The grove was gone. Aurora was standing in Richmond Park, the night air cold against her skin. The standing stones were just trees now, their branches swaying in the wind. The pendant was gone. Her shirt was torn, her skin raw where the artifact had burned against her. She was alone. And something was *watching* from the darkness. Aurora didn’t look back. She ran.