Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMQRYCQ7R7Z04CZRM3JGVE0

The air inside the oak standing stones was heavier than the air outside, thick with the scent of damp earth and something sweeter, like rotting lilies. Aurora Carter paused just beyond the boundary, her bright blue eyes scanning the tree line. The ancient oaks marked the entrance to the Fae Grove, their bark gnarled and twisted into shapes that looked too much like grasping fingers in the moonlight. She pulled her jacket tighter around herself. London nights were usually cold, but this chill seeped through the fabric, settling deep in her bones. Rory checked her watch, a reflex born of a life spent running on schedules, delivering orders for the Golden Empress, and dodging the past. The luminous hands on her wristwatch were still. Not broken, just still. She tapped the glass face. Nothing. She rubbed the small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist, a nervous habit from childhood that had survived the transition from Cardiff to London, from Evan to here. The skin beneath her finger felt cold, colder than the rest of her arm. She had come here because the pendant told her to. The Heartstone hung against her sternum, hidden beneath her shirt, but its presence was a physical weight. It had begun to pulse an hour ago, a faint warmth against her skin that grew hotter the closer she got to Richmond Park. Now, inside the clearing, it burned. Rory stepped forward. The grass beneath her boots was soft, unnaturally lush. Wildflowers bloomed year-round in the Grove, according to the scant notes she had managed to decipher about this pocket between Earth and the Fae realm. But tonight, the blooms were wrong. They faced away from the moon, heads bowed toward the dark earth as if hiding from the light. Their colors were too vibrant, neon splashes of violet and crimson that hurt the eyes in the low light. Something snapped in the darkness to her left. Rory froze, her breath hitching in her throat. She was cool-headed by nature, a trait that had kept her alive through law school and an abusive relationship, but this place stripped away logic. She turned slowly, her shoulder-length black hair brushing against her collar. There was nothing there but the dense undergrowth and the looming trunks of the oaks. Probably a fox, she told herself. Or a stray dog. Richmond Park was full of them. But the silence that followed was absolute. No crickets. No wind in the leaves. Just the heavy, pressurized quiet of a room waiting for a scream. The Heartstone pulsed again, sharper this time. A spike of heat that made her flinch. She reached into her shirt and pulled the silver chain out. The deep crimson gemstone glowed with a faint inner light, casting a bloody hue on her palm. It was roughly the size of a thumbnail, but in the darkness, it seemed to dominate her vision. The codex entries she had found mentioned it pulsed near a Hel portal. She hadn't believed the folklore then. She believed it now. You are not alone. The thought wasn't hers. It settled in her mind like dust motes in a sunbeam, undeniable and intrusive. Rory spun around, her heart hammering against her ribs. The clearing was empty, yet the sensation of being watched prickled along the back of her neck. It was the same feeling she had gotten in the flat above Silas' bar when the locks changed themselves, or when shadows lengthened without a source. She took a step back toward the standing stones, toward the exit. The distance seemed to have stretched. The oaks were further away than they had been a moment ago. She walked faster, her boots sinking into the soft earth. The flowers seemed to turn as she passed, their stems creaking with the sound of dry bone. Time moves differently here. An hour inside can be minutes or days outside. Eva had warned her. Eva, who had urged her to flee Cardiff, who had brought her into this world of secrets. Rory checked her watch again. The hands hadn't moved. How long had she been standing here? Ten minutes? Ten hours? The sky above remained a static canopy of cloud, unchanged, unmoving. A sound drifted from the center of the grove. It was a whisper, soft and sibilant, like leaves skittering over pavement. Rory stopped. She knew better than to run. Running triggered the chase instinct in predators, and whatever was here, it was hunting. She forced herself to breathe, inhaling the cloying scent of the lilies. Show yourself, she thought, projecting the command with as much authority as she could muster. Her voice sounded flat, absorbed by the air before it could carry. The whisper came again, closer. It wasn't wind. It was rhythmic. A pattern. It sounded like her name, stripped of vowels, stretched out until it was unrecognizable. Rrrryyy. The Heartstone grew hot enough to sting her skin. The crimson glow intensified, illuminating the ground around her feet. The shadows cast by the flowers didn't match the light source. They stretched toward her, long and thin, converging on her boots. Rory backed away, her eyes fixed on the shadows. She bumped into something solid. She hadn't heard herself approach it, but she was standing before one of the oak standing stones. The bark beneath her hand felt like skin, warm and vibrating slightly. She snatched her hand back, wiping her palm on her jeans. The wrongness was building now, a pressure in her ears like the drop before a storm. The flowers around her began to close, petals snapping shut with audible clicks. One by one, the clearing went dark, the neon colors retreating into buds. Only the Heartstone remained bright, a dying star in her hand. She realized then that the path back to the stones was gone. The oaks had shifted. They stood in a perfect circle now, sealing her in. There was no gap, no exit. The boundary had closed. Rory stood still, her mind racing through options. She had no weapon. She had no allies within reach. She had only the artifact given to her by an unknown benefactor and her own wits. She tucked the pendant back inside her shirt, shielding the light. If the thing out there was drawn to the stone, maybe darkness would hide her. The whispering stopped. The silence returned, heavier than before. It was the silence of a held breath. Rory waited. Her blue eyes strained against the dark, searching for movement at the edge of her vision. Every shadow looked like a figure. Every sway of the branches looked like a step. She focused on the scar on her wrist, rubbing the crescent moon shape again. It was a tether to reality, to the girl she was before the magic, before the flight, before the Grove. A branch cracked directly behind her. She did not turn. Turning was an invitation. She kept her gaze forward, toward where the exit should have been. She could feel the heat of a presence at her back, radiating cold rather than warmth. The air around her dropped ten degrees in a second. Her breath plumed in front of her face, white and visible. The Heartstone burned against her chest, a warning flare. Something brushed the hair at the nape of her neck. It felt like a finger, light as a moth's wing, but solid. Rory closed her eyes. She counted to three, steady and slow, forcing her pulse to dampen. She was Aurora Carter. She was twenty-five years old. She was not prey. When she opened her eyes, the shadows had moved closer. They were no longer cast by the trees. They stood upright, forming a ring around her, cutting off the moonlight entirely. The darkness was absolute, save for the faint crimson bleed of the pendant beneath her shirt. She was not alone. She had never been alone. The Grove had been waiting for her since she stepped past the oaks. Rory tightened her fist around the stone through her shirt. If this was a portal to Hel, then she would decide who walked through it. She took a breath, the cold air biting her lungs, and stepped forward into the dark.