Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMMJDNFJG7T2TNDCJ4SQ68F

The pendant grew warm against Rory's skin as she stepped between the ancient oak standing stones. Richmond Park had closed hours ago, but she'd found the gap in the fence where Eva had said it would be. Shadows pooled beneath the trees, deeper than they should be even under the thin crescent moon. "This is mad," Rory whispered to herself, her breath clouding in the unseasonable chill. The Heartstone pulsed against her collarbone, its warmth intensifying as if responding to her words. She'd come because of the dreams—three nights of the same vision. This clearing. The standing stones. A voice telling her the answers she sought were waiting in the Fae Grove. After everything she'd learned since fleeing Cardiff, she couldn't dismiss it as mere coincidence. Dry leaves crunched beneath her boots as she ventured deeper into the grove. The city sounds—distant traffic, sirens, the low hum of urban life—faded with each step until all she could hear was her own breathing and the soft rustle of wind through leaves. Except there was no wind. Rory stopped, scanning the darkness. Wildflowers carpeted the ground, their pale blooms luminous in the darkness—wildflowers in November. The wrongness of it prickled at the back of her neck. "Hello?" she called, immediately regretting breaking the silence. Her voice sounded flat, absorbed by the darkness rather than carrying. The pendant's warmth intensified, bordering on uncomfortable now. Rory pulled it out from beneath her jacket, its deep crimson stone glowing with a faint inner light. The silver chain caught the meager moonlight as it dangled from her fingers. Something moved at the edge of her vision. Rory spun, heart lurching, but saw only trees and shadows. She shook her head. "Get it together, Carter," she muttered, using her surname as she did when steeling herself. The clearing opened before her, a perfect circle surrounded by those ancient, twisted oaks. At its center stood a flat stone that might have been an altar or table, its surface carved with spiraling patterns too regular to be natural erosion. The Heartstone tugged, a sudden, impossible weight pulling at her neck, drawing her toward the stone. She checked her watch—11:47 PM. She had work in the morning; Yu-Fei would kill her if she was late for deliveries again. But the pendant insisted, and after everything that had happened since finding it among her belongings six weeks ago, Rory had learned to trust its guidance. As she approached the central stone, the air thickened. Not humid, but viscous, as if moving through gelatin. Sound dampened further. The pendant's glow intensified, painting her hands crimson. A twig snapped behind her. Rory whirled, scanning the tree line. "Is someone there?" The words emerged as barely a whisper. Nothing answered but silence—a silence too complete to be natural. No insects. No rustling leaves. Not even the sound of her own heartbeat in her ears. The pendant grew hotter still. She wanted to remove it, but some instinct told her that would be a terrible mistake. She turned back to the stone altar and froze. A small leather-bound book now lay at its center. "That wasn't there before," she said, her voice sounding distant and small even to her own ears. The rational part of her brain—the part her father had cultivated through years of logical debate over dinner tables—insisted she turn around, leave the grove, and never return. But the part of her that had followed Eva's cryptic message to London, the part that had accepted the reality of things that shouldn't exist—that part urged her forward. Three steps brought her to the altar. The book was old, its binding cracked and weathered. No title marked its cover, only a symbol matching one of the spirals carved into the stone. As Rory reached for it, a whisper drifted through the clearing—not words, but a sound like dry leaves skittering across pavement. She snatched her hand back, scanning the darkness. "Who's there?" Her voice emerged stronger this time, carrying the edge she'd developed since leaving Cardiff and Evan behind. The whisper came again, from everywhere and nowhere. Rory fumbled in her pocket for her phone, switching on its flashlight. The beam seemed feeble, barely penetrating the unnatural darkness. She swept it around the clearing, illuminating nothing but trees and stones. Something darted between two oaks—a flash of movement too quick to identify. "I'm not afraid of you," she lied, backing toward the altar stone. "Show yourself." The Heartstone's heat seared against her skin now. She winced, pulling it away from her flesh. Its glow had intensified, casting bloody light across the altar and book. The whisper became a rustle, became a murmur, became words she almost understood. "What do you want from me?" Rory demanded, pressing her back against the stone, scanning the treeline. Her crescent-shaped scar itched beneath her sleeve—an old tell of rising panic she thought she'd overcome. Movement flickered at the corners of her vision, always vanishing when she tried to focus directly on it. Shapes slipping between trees. Shadows detaching from shadows. The book on the altar fell open of its own accord, pages flipping as if caught in a strong breeze before settling. The pendant tugged her toward it, a physical pull she couldn't resist. Rory leaned over, angling her phone to illuminate the pages. Elegant script filled the yellowed paper, but in no language she recognized. Yet as she stared at the incomprehensible symbols, they seemed to shift, rearrange, almost making sense before slipping back into nonsense. A name caught her eye—Malphora. The name from her dreams. The name the voice had called her. Something brushed against her ankle. Rory yelped, jerking away, but saw nothing at her feet. The touch came again at her shoulder, a feather-light caress that sent revulsion crawling down her spine. The whispers intensified, a dozen voices now, speaking over each other in that almost-language. Urgency colored their tones. "I don't understand," Rory said, her voice tight with fear. "What are you trying to tell me?" The pendant jerked sharply, yanking her down toward the book. As her face drew close to the page, the symbols swam into focus, resolving into a single sentence in English: *Time runs differently here. You must leave before midnight.* Rory's gaze snapped to her watch. 11:58 PM. Terror seized her, instinctive and primal. She slammed the book shut, backing away from the altar. The pendant's heat became unbearable, the stone glowing like a coal. The whispers rose to a crescendo. Shapes materialized at the edge of the clearing—tall, slender figures silhouetted against the deeper darkness of the trees. They moved with unnatural grace, drifting rather than walking. "Stay back!" Rory shouted, clutching the pendant despite its burning heat. "I'm leaving now!" She backed toward the standing stones marking the entrance, keeping her eyes on the approaching figures. Their forms seemed to waver and shift, sometimes appearing human, sometimes something altogether different. 11:59 PM. The Heartstone's pulse synchronized with her racing heartbeat. The figures closed in, their whispers now a keening wail that scraped against her eardrums. Rory turned and ran, sprinting for the standing stones. The air thickened further, her movements becoming sluggish as if running underwater. The distance to the stones stretched impossibly. Something cold and dry wrapped around her ankle. Rory stumbled, catching herself on her hands. She kicked frantically, not looking back, scrambling forward on all fours. The pendant swung free from her jacket, its light cutting through the darkness. Whatever had grabbed her recoiled with a hiss. Rory lunged for the gap between the standing stones, the boundary of the grove. Behind her, the wailing rose to a scream of frustration. She threw herself through the gap just as her watch chimed midnight. The world snapped back into focus. City sounds rushed in—a distant siren, the rumble of a late-night flight overhead, wind in the trees. Normal wind. Normal trees. Rory collapsed onto the damp grass, gasping for breath, the Heartstone cooling against her skin. Its glow faded to a faint ember. When she finally gathered herself enough to look back, the standing stones framed nothing but ordinary Richmond Park woodland. No clearing. No altar. No book. But as Rory pushed herself to her feet, she noticed something clutched in her left hand—a single page torn from a book, covered in elegant script. Most of the symbols remained indecipherable, but at the bottom, one phrase stood out clearly: *Return when you remember who you are, Malphora.* The crescent scar on her wrist throbbed in time with the pendant's pulse as Rory stared at her true name.