Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMMXSEGFXQA794G1V6VPTDM

The air in Richmond Park was thick with the scent of damp earth and pine, the kind of quiet that pressed against Rory’s ears like a held breath. She adjusted the strap of her messenger bag, the Heartstone Pendant tucked safely inside, its faint warmth seeping through the fabric. It had pulsed against her chest the entire train ride here, a steady, insistent throb that had only grown stronger as she’d followed the winding paths deeper into the park. She wasn’t supposed to be here. Not at night. Not alone. But the pendant had been clear. *Something* was wrong in the Fae Grove. The standing stones loomed ahead, their gnarled oaks twisted into shapes that didn’t quite make sense, like fingers curling inward. The wildflowers at their base should have been dormant this late in the year, but they bloomed in riotous color, petals glowing faintly under the moonlight. Rory swallowed hard. The last time she’d been here, the grove had been peaceful. Welcoming, even. Tonight, it felt like a held breath. She stepped between the stones, and the world shifted. The air turned cooler, thicker, like walking through water. The sounds of the park—distant traffic, the rustle of nocturnal animals—faded into silence. The grove stretched before her, a perfect circle of untouched grass and ancient trees, their branches weaving together overhead like a cathedral’s vaulted ceiling. The moonlight filtered through in silver shafts, illuminating patches of the clearing in eerie, shifting light. Rory exhaled slowly. “Okay,” she murmured to herself. “Just a quick look.” The pendant was warm against her skin now, almost hot. She pulled it out, letting it dangle from its silver chain. The crimson stone pulsed faintly, its inner glow flickering like a dying ember. It had never done that before. A twig snapped. Rory’s head jerked up. The sound had come from the tree line, just beyond the edge of the clearing. Nothing moved. The branches swayed gently, but the wind had died. She held her breath, listening. Another snap. Closer this time. Her pulse hammered in her throat. She took a step back, her boots sinking slightly into the damp earth. The pendant’s glow intensified, casting long, wavering shadows across the grass. “Hello?” Her voice sounded too loud in the silence. No answer. Just the rustle of leaves, too deliberate to be the wind. Rory’s fingers tightened around the pendant. She had come here for a reason—something was wrong, and the pendant had led her here. But now, standing in the unnatural quiet of the grove, she wasn’t so sure she wanted to know what. A whisper slithered through the air, so faint she almost missed it. A voice, but not a voice—more like words carried on a breeze that didn’t exist. She strained to listen, but the sound dissolved before she could make out the words. Then, from the corner of her eye, she saw it. A figure. Standing between the trees. Rory’s breath caught. It was too tall, too still. Its limbs were too long, its silhouette jagged, like something stitched together from shadows. It didn’t move, didn’t breathe. It just *watched*. She turned slowly, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her fingertips. The figure didn’t vanish. It didn’t do anything. It just *was*. “What do you want?” Her voice was steadier than she felt. The figure tilted its head. A sound like dry leaves skittering across stone filled the air. Then, in a voice that wasn’t quite a voice, it whispered, *“You shouldn’t have come.”* Rory’s stomach twisted. The pendant burned against her palm. She took another step back, her boots sinking deeper into the earth. The ground beneath her feet felt wrong—too soft, too yielding, like it was trying to pull her under. The figure took a step forward. Rory didn’t wait. She turned and ran. The trees blurred around her as she sprinted toward the standing stones, her breath ragged in her throat. The pendant’s glow flared brighter, casting wild, flickering light across the path. Behind her, the whispering grew louder, a chorus of voices rising in a language she didn’t know but understood in the pit of her stomach. *Turn back. Turn back. Turn back.* She didn’t. The standing stones were just ahead, their twisted forms looming like sentinels. Rory didn’t slow down. She lunged between them— —and the world snapped back into place. The sounds of the park rushed in around her: the distant hum of cars, the rustle of leaves in the wind. The air was colder here, normal. The grove was gone. Rory doubled over, gasping for breath. Her hands trembled as she clutched her knees, her skin slick with sweat. The pendant was still warm in her palm, its glow dimming now, like a warning fading into memory. She looked back. The standing stones stood silent, unassuming. The wildflowers at their base were just flowers again, their petals closed for the night. But between the trees, just for a second, she thought she saw it. The figure. Watching. Waiting. Then it was gone.