Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMMXYE17QTW5DYVDFQTJ6W5

The night air was thick with the scent of damp earth and something older, something wild. Rory adjusted the strap of her messenger bag, the Heartstone Pendant tucked safely beneath her shirt, its faint warmth a steady pulse against her skin. She had come to the Fae Grove for answers—not that she expected them to be kind. The standing stones loomed ahead, their gnarled oaks black against the indigo sky. She had only been here once before, years ago, when Eva had dragged her along on one of her "adventures." Back then, the grove had been bathed in golden afternoon light, the wildflowers swaying in a breeze that carried the laughter of unseen things. Now, the air was still. Too still. Rory hesitated at the boundary, her fingers brushing the rough bark of the nearest stone. The moment she stepped past it, the world seemed to exhale. The temperature dropped, and the distant hum of London traffic faded into silence. She was alone. Or so she thought. The clearing stretched before her, a perfect circle of moonlit grass ringed by ancient trees. At its center stood a single silver birch, its bark pale as bone. That was where she needed to go. That was where the answers waited. She took a step forward, and the grass beneath her boots crunched—too loud, too sharp. The sound echoed, though the grove should have swallowed it whole. Her pulse quickened. She told herself it was just the cold, just the strangeness of the place. But the Heartstone was warming against her chest, its crimson glow seeping through the fabric of her shirt. Something moved at the edge of her vision. Rory turned, her breath shallow. Nothing. Just the trees, their branches twisting like skeletal fingers against the sky. She forced herself to keep walking, her boots sinking slightly into the damp earth. The birch tree drew closer, its silver bark almost luminous in the moonlight. Then she heard it—a whisper. Not words. Not quite. A sound like wind through dead leaves, though the air was still. It came from behind her. She spun, her heart hammering, but there was only the grove, the stones, the endless dark. "Hello?" Her voice sounded small, swallowed by the night. The whisper came again, closer this time. A rustle of fabric. A breath that wasn’t hers. Rory’s fingers tightened around the strap of her bag. She had come here for a reason. She wouldn’t run. Not yet. She reached the birch tree and pressed her palm against its bark. The wood was cold, unnaturally smooth. The Heartstone flared hot against her skin, its glow pulsing in time with her racing heart. Then the ground beneath her feet trembled. Not an earthquake. Not the wind. Something was moving beneath the earth, something vast and slow and hungry. The trees groaned, their roots shifting in the soil. Rory stumbled back, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The whispers were louder now, circling her like crows. She could feel them—cold fingers brushing the nape of her neck, the small of her back. She whirled, but there was nothing. Only the grove, the stones, the endless dark. And then, from the shadows between the trees, a pair of eyes opened. Not animal. Not human. Just two pale, glowing orbs, staring at her from the black. Rory’s blood turned to ice. The eyes blinked. And then they were gone. She didn’t wait to see if they would return. She ran. The standing stones loomed ahead, the boundary between the grove and the real world. She could see the faint glow of Richmond Park beyond them, the distant hum of traffic, the promise of safety. She lunged for the nearest stone, her fingers scraping against the bark— —and something grabbed her ankle. She screamed, kicking wildly, but the grip was iron. She looked down. The earth itself had risen up, roots and vines twisting around her leg, pulling her back into the grove. The whispers erupted into laughter, high and thin and wrong. The trees bent toward her, their branches reaching like arms. Rory clawed at the ground, her nails tearing as she fought to drag herself free. The Heartstone burned against her chest, its glow now a searing light. She ripped it from beneath her shirt and held it up, and for a moment, the grove recoiled. The roots loosened. She tore her leg free and scrambled to her feet, sprinting for the stones. The boundary was just ahead. She could make it. She had to make it. Behind her, the grove screamed. She didn’t look back. She threw herself past the standing stones, tumbling onto the damp grass of Richmond Park. The moment she crossed the boundary, the night fell silent. The air warmed. The distant hum of traffic returned. Rory lay there, gasping, her heart pounding in her ears. The Heartstone was cold against her skin, its glow extinguished. She had gotten what she came for. But the grove wasn’t done with her yet.