Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMPD8Q6D118DVRG7FN7JJXF

Rory stepped through the ancient oak standing stones, the silence of Richmond Park's darkness swallowing her whole. The Fae Grove, Isolde's grove, whatever Eva had called it – she'd never mustered the courage to explore it alone before. Tonight was different. The Heartstone Pendant, a gift from an unknown benefactor, had pulsed with an otherworldly warmth all evening, drawing her here like an anchor to steel. As she entered the clearing, a shiver danced down her spine. Wildflowers, defiant of the autumn chill, bloomed in every direction, their colors muted in the faint moonlight. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. Rory breathed it in, trying to shake off the feeling of being watched. She'd always been told the Grove was a place of ancient power, where time itself was fluid. Just an hour, she promised herself, to uncover why the pendant had led her here. Her eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness, and she began to make out the shapes of trees, their branches etched against the sky like skeletal fingers. The silence was almost palpable, a living, breathing entity that wrapped around her. Rory checked her watch for what felt like the hundredth time, the dim glow of its face a tiny comfort. Only twenty minutes had passed since she'd entered the Grove. She walked deeper, the soft earth muffling her footsteps. The pendant, secured around her neck on its silver chain, pulsed softly, a reassuring heartbeat against her skin. Its deep crimson gem seemed to absorb what little light there was, radiating instead a faint, inner glow. "Aurora?" The whisper seemed to come from all around her, carried on the wind. Rory spun, her heart leaping into her throat. "Eva?" she called back, her voice barely above a whisper, but there was no response. The name hung in the air, alone. Rory quickened her pace, her eyes scanning the periphery of the clearing. Shadows darted, or so she thought – the play of moonlight and leaves. She told herself it was just her imagination, spooked from being alone in a place that didn't play by the rules of the outside world. Yet, with each step, the feeling of being herded, of being led somewhere, grew. Movement caught her eye – a flash of something pale, darting behind a tree. Rory froze, her breath caught in her throat. She counted to ten, then approached the tree cautiously. Nothing. Just the grooved bark of an ancient oak, and the unsettling feeling that whatever she'd seen was now behind her. She turned, slowly, and began to backtrack, but her feet seemed rooted to the spot. The pendant pulsed more urgently now, its warmth spreading through her chest. Suddenly, the sounds began – the snapping of twigs, the rustle of leaves, each noise too deliberate, too calculated, to be the product of mere wind or animal. Rory took a step back, her eyes wide. She was not alone. Whatever was here with her, it didn't want her to leave. The realization dawned on her with a cold, creeping dread. She turned to run, but in the directionless expanse of the Grove, she wasn't sure which way led out. "Help!" she shouted, the sound echoing and then, bizarrely, seeming to fold back in upon itself, muted. The response was not what she expected – not the echo of her voice, nor the sound of rescue, but instead, an oppressive silence, as if the very woods were absorbing all noise, all sound, leaving only an anticipation, a waiting. With a surge of adrenaline, Rory sprinted forward, the pendant bouncing against her chest. She dodged between trees, their branches reaching out like skeletal hands. Time seemed to warp around her – minutes felt like hours, the darkness blurring into a maddening, endless expanse. And then, as abruptly as she'd entered, Rory burst through the standing stones, back into the chill of Richmond Park. Gasping, she looked back, but the Grove remained impassive, a secret keeper. The pendant's warmth had ceased, its glow diminished to a faint, almost imperceptible spark. She checked her watch, a time-honed reflex. Only forty minutes had passed since she'd entered the Fae Grove. For a moment, Rory simply stood there, trying to piece together the disjointed fragments of her experience. Something had been in there with her, watching, waiting. And it had let her leave. For now. Rory turned to make her way back to the flat above Silas' bar, the city lights a welcoming, if distant, glow. She couldn't shake the feeling, however, that she'd merely delayed an inevitable encounter, that the darkness of the Grove had merely opened its eye, considered her, and then, with an unblinking gaze, looked away – for the moment.