Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMQQ7CAZP39HFCTGRQNSR77

The last light of dusk bled away behind the treeline as Rory ducked through the gap in the iron fence. Richmond Park had closed an hour ago, but the rusted section near the Pen Ponds had been loose since she was a teenager sneaking in with Eva to drink stolen wine and pretend they were somewhere far from Cardiff. Tonight she'd come alone, and sober, and for reasons she couldn't quite articulate even to herself. The envelope had arrived three days ago. No return address, no signature. Just a photograph of the standing stones and a date written in cramped handwriting: *Tonight. Midnight. Answers.* She should have thrown it away. Should have shown it to Silas, or at least mentioned it to Yu-Fei when she'd picked up her delivery bag that morning. Instead she'd tucked it into her jacket pocket and spent the day pretending she wasn't counting down the hours. The Heartstone pendant lay against her collarbone, cold for once. It had been warm all week, that subtle pulse she'd learned to associate with danger, but now it sat inert against her skin like ordinary jewelry. She touched it through her shirt as she walked, seeking reassurance that didn't come. The path through the woods was darker than it should have been. Rory had walked this route a dozen times before, knew the way the moonlight usually filtered through the oak canopy and painted silver patterns on the undergrowth. Tonight the trees seemed to lean inward, their branches interlocking overhead like clasped fingers. The wildflowers that lined the path—those impossible blooms that appeared regardless of season—had closed their petals. She'd never seen them do that before. Something rustled in the bracken to her left. Rory stopped, her breath catching. She waited, counting heartbeats, but the sound didn't repeat. A fox, probably. Or a badger. Richmond Park was full of wildlife that emerged after the gates closed. She'd startled deer on this path before, watched them freeze in the torchlight before bounding away into the darkness. She kept walking, but her pace had slowed. The standing stones weren't far now—she could just make out the first of them through the trees, that ancient oak pillar that marked the boundary of the grove. The air changed as she approached, growing heavier, damper, carrying a scent like petrichor mixed with something older. Something that reminded her of the cellar beneath her grandmother's cottage in Pembrokeshire, where the stones had wept moisture even in high summer. The grove opened before her, and Rory felt the wrongness settle into her bones. It looked the same as always—the circle of standing stones, each one carved from oak so old it had petrified into something harder than wood. The clearing in the center where the grass grew impossibly green. The wildflowers ringing the perimeter, their usual riot of colors muted in the darkness to shades of grey. But the silence was absolute. No insects. No distant traffic from the A307. No wind in the leaves overhead. Rory stood at the edge of the grove and listened to nothing. She checked her phone. 11:47. Thirteen minutes early. Whoever had sent the envelope might not have arrived yet. Or they might be watching from the trees, waiting to see if she'd come alone. Her hand drifted to the pendant again, pressing it against her chest as if she could will it to respond. Nothing. The stone remained cold. She stepped into the grove. The boundary crossing hit her like it always did—that subtle shift in pressure, the momentary vertigo that came from stepping into a place that existed between one world and another. The Fae Grove operated by its own rules. Time moved strangely here. An hour inside could be minutes outside, or days. She'd learned that the hard way, once, emerging from a twenty-minute conversation with Isolde to find that she'd missed two shifts at the restaurant. Tonight, though, something else came with the crossing. A prickling sensation at the back of her neck, like invisible fingers trailing up her spine. Rory spun around, scanning the trees beyond the stone circle, but saw only darkness between the trunks. "Hello?" Her voice came out smaller than she'd intended. She cleared her throat and tried again. "I got your message. I'm here." The silence swallowed her words. They didn't echo, didn't fade naturally into the night. They simply stopped, cut off as if by a wall of glass. Rory moved toward the center of the grove, stepping carefully around the stones. The grass was wet beneath her trainers, though it hadn't rained in days. Each footstep made a soft squelching sound that seemed impossibly loud in the quiet. She reached the center and turned in a slow circle, surveying the grove. The standing stones loomed around her, their surfaces rough and ancient, carved with symbols she'd never been able to read. In daylight, they looked almost friendly—relics of a time before the world had hardened into its current shape. Now, in the darkness, they seemed to lean inward. Watching. Something moved at the edge of her vision. Rory whipped her head to the left, but there was only the stone pillar, motionless and impassive. She could have sworn she'd seen something—a flicker of movement, a shape detaching itself from the darkness between two stones—but now there was nothing. Her heart was beating faster. She pressed her hand flat against her chest, feeling the Heartstone pendant dig into her palm. Still cold. Still dead. 11:52. "If this is some kind of test," she said, hating the tremor in her voice, "I'd really appreciate knowing the rules." No answer. But this time, when the silence returned, it felt different. Expectant. Like the grove was holding its breath. Rory became aware of a sound. So faint at first that she thought she might be imagining it—a low, rhythmic noise, like breathing. Slow and deep and not quite human. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, emanating from the stones themselves or from the earth beneath her feet. She turned again, slower this time, trying to locate the source. The standing stones stood in their eternal circle, unchanged. The flowers remained closed, their pale petals catching what little moonlight filtered through the canopy. The grass— The grass was wrong. She hadn't noticed it when she'd entered, but now she could see that the green blades were bent at odd angles, pressed down in patterns that hadn't been there before. Lines radiating out from where she stood, like something heavy had crawled through the clearing. Like something was still crawling, circling her position just beyond the range of her vision. The breathing sound grew louder. Rory's hand closed around the pendant, yanking it from beneath her shirt. The silver chain bit into the back of her neck as she held the stone up, as if it could protect her. The crimson gem caught the moonlight and for just a moment—a fraction of a second—she thought she saw it pulse. Then the lights went out. Not gradually, not like clouds passing over the moon. One moment she could see the clearing around her, the standing stones, the pressed-down paths in the grass. The next moment there was only darkness, absolute and complete, as if someone had thrown a blanket over the entire grove. Rory didn't scream. She wanted to—felt the sound building in her throat—but some instinct kept her silent. Don't make noise. Don't let it know where you are. The breathing continued. Closer now. She could feel something in the darkness with her. A presence, massive and patient, circling the spot where she stood frozen. She couldn't see it—couldn't see anything—but she knew it was there. The air moved differently when it passed, stirred by something large displacing it. And beneath the smell of petrichor and old stone, she caught another scent. Iron. Old blood. The copper-and-rust smell of a wound gone septic. The pendant flared hot against her palm. The heat was so sudden, so intense, that Rory nearly dropped it. But she held on, clutching the Heartstone like a lifeline as its glow pushed back the darkness. Not much—barely a foot in any direction—but enough to see that the grass around her feet had been pressed flat in a perfect circle. Something had been walking around her. Something was still walking, just beyond the edge of the light. She heard footsteps now. Heavy, uneven, like something walking on too many legs. They circled her position, never quite entering the pendant's glow, staying just at the threshold where darkness began. And then, from somewhere behind her, a voice. "You came." Rory spun around. The light from the pendant stretched further for just a moment, illuminating a figure standing between two standing stones. A woman—or something shaped like a woman. Tall and thin, dressed in what might have been a gown or might have been shadows given form. Her face was pale, her features too sharp, and her eyes reflected the pendant's light like an animal's. "You sent the letter," Rory said. It wasn't a question. The woman smiled. Her teeth were too numerous for her mouth. "I have answers for you, Aurora Carter. Questions you've been asking since the pendant found you. Questions about what you are, and what you're meant to become." The breathing sound had stopped. The circling presence had gone still. The grove seemed to contract around them, the standing stones leaning in to listen. "But first," the woman said, and her smile widened further than any human jaw should allow, "you have to tell me what you're willing to pay." Rory's fingers tightened around the pendant. Its warmth pulsed against her palm, steady as a heartbeat—or a warning. Behind her, in the darkness beyond the light, something large shifted its weight and exhaled.