Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMMGN00JHYXV6GNS6WX9VE4

The taxi left Rory at Richmond Park's west entrance an hour after sunset, the driver giving her a strange look as she paid the fare. "Last pickup's at ten, miss. You sure about this?" "I'll manage." She slipped him an extra five pounds, not entirely certain she was telling the truth. The park gates stood partially open despite the late hour. Security lapse, perhaps. Rory tugged her jacket tighter as October wind clawed through the fabric. Her phone flashlight cast a stark white cone through the darkness as she followed the path, checking the hand-drawn map Eva had given her that morning. "It's not on any official trail," Eva had said, her eyes unnaturally bright. "But the grove holds answers, Rory. Trust me." Easy for Eva to say. She hadn't been the one hearing whispers from bathroom drains for the past week, or finding those strange symbols carved into her doorframe every morning despite changing the locks twice. The pendant beneath Rory's shirt warmed against her skin as she ventured deeper into the park. She'd started wearing it constantly since finding it in a small unmarked package three days ago. The crimson stone had seemed to call to her somehow, and in the midst of everything else happening, wearing it felt right. Necessary, even. Twenty minutes of walking brought her to the fork Eva had marked. Rory left the main path, following a barely visible deer trail that wound between ancient oaks. The stone pulsed warmer, the chain suddenly hot against her neck. "Right," she muttered. "I'm definitely going the right way, then." The tree line parted ahead, revealing what looked like weathered stone pillars. As she approached, Rory realized they weren't pillars at all but impossibly ancient oak trunks, their bark hardened to stone-like density, arranged in a rough circle. The pendant burned against her skin. This had to be the place. Stepping between two of the standing oak-stones, Rory entered the grove. Inside, the air changed. The October chill vanished, replaced by the gentle warmth of late spring. Wildflowers carpeted the ground—foxglove, bluebells, and others she couldn't name—blooming impossibly in the darkness. The flashlight beam seemed dimmer here, struggling against the peculiar quality of the shadows. "Hello?" Her voice sounded muffled, as if the air itself swallowed sound. No response. Just the faint rustling of leaves in a breeze she couldn't feel. She checked her watch: 7:42 PM. Plenty of time before the last taxi. The grove was roughly circular, perhaps fifty feet across. At its center stood a flat stone table, its surface worn smooth by time, surrounded by more wildflowers than anywhere else. Rory approached it slowly, the Heartstone pendant now uncomfortably hot against her skin. Eva's instructions had been specific: place the pendant on the stone table at moonrise and wait. The answers would come. Except the instructions hadn't mentioned the crawling sensation up her spine, the feeling of being watched from every direction at once. A twig snapped behind her. Rory whirled, flashlight beam cutting through darkness, but illuminated nothing except flowers and trees. "Someone there?" Her voice sounded steadier than she felt. Another sound, like footsteps, this time from her left. Again, she turned to find nothing. Pulling the pendant from beneath her shirt, Rory studied it in her palm. The crimson stone pulsed with inner light now, its glow casting her hand in blood-red shadows. "Eva, what did you get me into?" The stone table beckoned. Rory approached it, noting strange markings carved into its edge—similar to the ones that had been appearing on her doorframe. She placed the pendant carefully on the center of the table. Nothing happened. Rory checked her watch again: 7:47 PM. She glanced up at the sky visible through the trees. No moon yet. She'd have to wait. Another sound, this time like whispering. Rory turned slowly, scanning the tree line with her flashlight. The beam seemed weaker now, barely penetrating the first row of trees. "I know someone's there," she called, the tremor in her voice betraying her. "Show yourself." The whispering stopped. Minutes crawled by in silence. Her watch read 7:53 PM when she checked it again, though it felt like much longer. The grove's unnatural warmth had taken on a cloying quality, like standing too close to a stranger on a summer day. She glanced at the pendant, still sitting inert on the stone table. Its inner glow had dimmed. "This is ridiculous," she muttered, reaching for it. Something moved at the edge of her vision—a flash of pale fabric, or perhaps a face—gone before she could turn fully toward it. Her heart hammered in her chest. "Who's there?" The words barely made it past her tight throat. The wildflowers trembled, though there was no wind. Rory took a step back from the table, suddenly wanting nothing more than to leave this place. The pendant could stay here forever for all she cared. But when she turned toward the oak-stone entrance, she couldn't find it. The circle of ancient trees looked uniform now, no gap visible anywhere. "No," she whispered. "No, no, no." She rushed to the tree line, searching frantically for the opening she'd come through. The oak trunks stood shoulder-to-shoulder, their bark cold and unyielding beneath her palms as she pushed against them. Her watch read 7:56 PM when she checked it again. Four minutes until moonrise, according to Eva's notes. Rory returned to the stone table, pulse thundering in her ears. The pendant's glow had strengthened again, pulses of crimson light bleeding into the air around it. A sound behind her—the unmistakable intake of breath, close enough that she should feel it on her neck. Rory spun, flashlight raised like a weapon. Nothing. But the stone table had changed. Liquid—dark and viscous in the dim light—pooled around the pendant, spreading outward in a perfect circle. Rory stared, frozen in place. It wasn't possible. She'd only looked away for a second. The liquid reached the edge of the table and began to drip onto the wildflowers below, which withered and blackened at its touch. She backed away, only to collide with something solid where nothing had been before. Rory closed her eyes, terror seizing her chest. She felt hot breath against her ear, the brush of fabric against her hand. "You shouldn't have come alone," whispered a voice—familiar somehow, but twisted, like hearing her own voice played back with the pitch altered. She opened her eyes and whirled around. A figure stood there, face hidden in shadow despite the flashlight beam pointing directly at it. It wore what looked like Rory's own jacket, her own jeans. "Who are you?" she demanded, voice breaking. The figure tilted its head, the movement unnaturally fluid. "Don't you recognize me, Rory?" It stepped forward into the light, and Rory's breath caught in her throat. It was her own face looking back at her, but wrong—eyes too dark, smile too wide, skin too pale. "What are you?" she whispered. "I'm what waits between," her doppelganger replied. "And you opened the door." Rory backed away, glancing frantically at the pendant. Its crimson glow had intensified, illuminating the entire stone table now slick with dark liquid. Her watch read 8:00 PM exactly. Moonlight suddenly flooded the grove as if a curtain had been pulled back, illuminating everything in silver. The standing oak-stones began to hum, a low vibration Rory felt in her bones. Her duplicate smiled wider, teeth gleaming too white, too sharp. "The moon rises," it said in Rory's voice. "And the doors open." The pendant rose from the table, hovering in the air, spinning slowly. The dark liquid began to spiral beneath it, forming a perfect whirlpool that somehow went down, impossibly down through solid stone. "Eva sent you here as payment," her double said conversationally, stepping closer. "She owes a debt. You're how she pays it." Rory's back hit one of the oak-stones. The small crescent scar on her left wrist burned suddenly, as if freshly cut. "That's not true," she said, though doubt crept in. Eva had been acting strangely for weeks. "She wouldn't." Her double laughed, the sound echoing unnaturally in the grove. "Friends betray. It's what they do. Evan taught you that, didn't he?" The name sent ice through Rory's veins. "How do you—" "I know everything about you, Aurora Carter." The thing with her face was inches away now. "Including how to wear you." The pendant spun faster, its glow intensifying until it hurt to look at. The whirlpool beneath it widened, the dark liquid somehow flowing upward now, defying gravity. Rory's watch stopped at 8:01 PM, the hands spinning backwards. She looked into her own twisted face and saw something ancient looking back, something that had never been human. "The heartstone opens the way," it whispered. "And you, dear Rory, are the key." The pendant shattered with a sound like breaking glass, fragments of crimson crystal suspended in midair. The grove plunged into darkness, her flashlight dead, even the moonlight extinguished. In the perfect blackness, Rory felt cold fingers close around her wrist, directly over her childhood scar. And she began to scream.