Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMMNRH540QH0VNVGSV0MCRG

The night air was thick with the scent of damp earth and wildflowers, their perfume cloying in a way that made Rory’s stomach clench. She adjusted the strap of her messenger bag, the weight of the Heartstone Pendant against her collarbone a small, steady comfort. The silver chain was cool against her skin, but the crimson gem itself pulsed faintly, as if breathing. She hadn’t asked for the thing—hadn’t even known it existed until it arrived in a padded envelope at the Golden Empress, addressed to *Laila*, the name she’d used only once, years ago, in a moment of desperation. The note inside had been simple: *For when the Hel portals open. You’ll know.* She hadn’t known. Not until tonight. The standing stones loomed ahead, their gnarled oaks black against the indigo sky. Richmond Park was usually quiet after dark, but this was different. The usual rustle of foxes, the distant hum of traffic—all of it had vanished, swallowed by the hush of the grove. Rory’s boots crunched over frost-kissed grass, the sound too loud in the stillness. She flexed her fingers, willing them to stop trembling. She was here because of the pendant. Because it had started glowing the moment she stepped off the bus, its inner light flickering like a dying bulb. Because Eva had texted her earlier, frantic, saying she’d dreamed of Rory standing in a circle of stones, her mouth sewn shut with black thread. *Don’t go there,* Eva had written. *But if you do, don’t stay after dark.* Too late for that. The boundary of the grove shimmered as she passed between the stones, like heat rising off pavement. The air shifted, cooler, heavier, and for a heartbeat, the world tilted. Rory stumbled, pressing a hand to her temple. When she looked up, the clearing stretched before her, bathed in an eerie silver light that didn’t come from the moon. The wildflowers here were too bright, their petals too perfect, like something painted. At the center of the grove stood a single yew tree, its branches twisted into shapes that made her eyes ache if she looked too long. Rory exhaled, slow and steady. She was here for answers. That was all. The pendant warmed against her skin as she approached the tree. She reached into her bag, fingers brushing the worn leather of her father’s old journal—the one she’d stolen from his study before leaving Cardiff. The pages were filled with his notes on folklore, on the Fae, on the *thin places* where the world frayed. She flipped to a dog-eared page, squinting at the cramped handwriting in the dim light. *"The Heartstone is a key,"* he’d written. *"But keys open doors. And some doors should stay shut."* A twig snapped behind her. Rory froze. The sound had been too deliberate, too close. She turned slowly, scanning the tree line. Nothing moved. The grove was empty. “Hello?” Her voice sounded thin, swallowed by the dark. Silence. She turned back to the yew, pressing her palm against its bark. The wood was warm, almost feverish. The pendant pulsed harder, its glow bleeding through her shirt. She gritted her teeth. Whatever was happening, she wasn’t leaving until she understood. Then she heard the breathing. Not hers. Not an animal’s. Something slow, wet, like lungs filling with fluid. It came from the other side of the tree. Rory’s pulse hammered in her throat. She stepped back, her boot catching on a root. The breathing stopped. A beat of silence. Then— A whisper. Her name. *Rory.* Not from the tree. Not from the dark. From *inside* her. The voice slithered into her skull, slick and familiar, like oil coating her thoughts. Her knees nearly buckled. She knew that voice. Evan. No. No, he was in Cardiff. He was *gone*. She’d made sure of it. The pendant burned against her chest. She fumbled with the clasp, tearing it off, holding it up like a talisman. The crimson gem flared, casting jagged shadows across the grass. The breathing started again, closer now, circling her. She spun, but there was nothing—only the trees, the flowers, the yew looming like a sentinel. Then the whispers came from all sides. *You left me.* *You ran.* *You owe me.* Rory clapped her hands over her ears, but the voice wasn’t in the air. It was *inside*, worming through her memories, twisting them. She saw Evan’s face, his smile, the way his fingers had dug into her wrist the first time he’d hit her. The crescent-shaped scar on her left arm throbbed, as if freshly made. The pendant’s glow flickered. The shadows at the edge of the grove *moved*. Something was coming. Rory stumbled back, her heel striking a stone. She fell hard, pain shooting up her spine. The whispers rose into a chorus, overlapping, drowning out her thoughts. She scrambled to her feet, but the grove had changed. The standing stones were closer now, the path behind her vanished. The yew tree’s branches stretched toward her, their tips curling like fingers. The pendant went dark. In the sudden blackness, something *laughed*. Rory ran. She didn’t know where she was going, only that she had to move, had to *escape*. The grass beneath her feet was slick, the air thick with the scent of copper and rot. She crashed through the underbrush, branches whipping at her arms, her face. The whispers followed, hissing her name, promising things—*I’ll find you. I’ll always find you.* A light flickered ahead. A streetlamp. The edge of the grove. Rory lunged for it, her fingers brushing the rough bark of the boundary stones. She tumbled through, gasping, and landed hard on the pavement outside Richmond Park. The night air was blessedly normal here, the distant hum of cars, the cold bite of London winter. She rolled onto her back, chest heaving, the pendant clutched in her fist. It was cold now. Dead. She didn’t know how long she lay there, staring at the sky, waiting for her hands to stop shaking. When she finally sat up, the grove was gone. Only the park remained, quiet, ordinary. Rory uncurled her fingers. The Heartstone was cracked down the middle, its crimson light extinguished. Something had been waiting for her in there. Something that knew her name. And it wasn’t done with her yet.