Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMR504ATANRWGCAYJ7KXD1P

Aurora Carter paused at the edge of the grove, the ancient oaks’ twisted trunks like sentinels against the pale moonlight. A chill prickled at the base of her skull, though the night air felt unnaturally still, almost warm. She pressed a hand to the small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist without realizing it, brushing the edge of the scar as if that simple gesture might ground her. Instead, her fingers brushed cold metal: the Heartstone Pendant nestled against her collarbone, pulsing faintly with warmth. She’d come for answers—Eva’s last frantic message had sent her here, to this hidden clearing in Richmond Park, where time supposedly warped and the Fae touched Earth. Aurora wasn’t one for fairy tales, but the pendant had led her, its gentle thrum growing stronger with each step. Now she stood at the threshold, the narrow path lined with wildflowers that should have been long dead under winter’s breath. Yet here they bloomed, clusters of white and violet trembling in an unseen breeze. Aurora swallowed, her pulse tapping at her throat. She forced herself forward, stepping between the standing stones. They rose like weathered guardians, their bark scarred by ancient carving, faint swirls that gleamed silver in the moonlight. The air shifted as she passed them, scenting with honey and something coppery, like blood. She shivered, the hairs on her arms standing on end, but she pressed on. The trees arched overhead, their branches knotting into a living cathedral. Somewhere beyond, a twig snapped—no louder than a mouse’s squeak, but in the hush of the grove it sounded like the crack of doom. Aurora froze, listening. But there was nothing: just the distant rustle of leaves. She drew in a steadying breath, tried to calm the tremor in her chest. She came expecting answers. Maybe Eva’s frantic text had been overblown. Probably an overactive imagination compounded by the pendant’s faint glow. But now, in the claustrophobic hush, she felt acutely alone—and unsafe. Footsteps soft as falling petals reached her ears, but when she turned, only the wildflowers bowed as if in apology. She flicked her gaze across the undergrowth, catching a flicker of movement—an ember of color, too quick to name. She blinked. Nothing. Her pulse darkened her senses, and she swallowed hard. She moved deeper, keeping her eyes on the ground, tracing one path through the grass as if it might guide her to Eva. A winding trail of crushed petals led to a small clearing ringed by stones. In its center lay a pool of water so still it looked like polished glass. Aurora stepped closer, her boots whispering on the grass. The pendant’s warmth deepened, pulsing against her sternum in a steady heartbeat. She knelt by the pool, the surface reflecting her bright blue eyes, wide and curious. She leaned forward, half expecting Eva’s face to shimmer into view. Instead, she saw only her own reflection framed by oak branches. And—something else. A shadow flitted across the water, curling behind her own likeness. Aurora snapped her head up. The clearing was empty. The wind whispered through the leaves, and the wildflowers bowed in unison. “Rory.” The voice was soft, impossibly distant, and it threaded through the trees like silk on glass. Aurora’s heart lurched. She stood so swiftly her knees threatened to buckle. “Eva?” she called, her voice trembling. Only empty night answered, the faint scent of honey and iron looping around her. The pendant burned suddenly, a small flare of crimson glow. Aurora’s palm went to the chain. It thrummed against her skin, warmer than before. The voice whispered again, closer this time: “Rory.” The single word, her nickname, fractured the silence like a snapping bone. She swallowed, stepped back, flinging up her arms as though she could fend off whatever watched her. “Show yourself,” she demanded, voice firmer than she felt. “This isn’t funny.” A laugh, lilting and brittle, tinkled through the branches. Aurora’s blood turned to ice. The clearing seemed to contract, the stones leaning in. She felt them watching. She glanced at one stone, carved with a spiral now faintly glowing silver. Tiny runes danced along the swirl, as if alive. She should have been frightened of the runes. Instead, her focus sharpened on the pendant’s glow. It pulsed faster, a frantic heartbeat pressed against her chest. She tried to force calm. Physics still worked. Her phone was—she patted her jeans pocket. Empty. She’d left it in the flat, dismissing silly fears. Now she regretted it. No light but moonlight, no barrier but her own racing pulse. She took a steadying breath and began to walk the perimeter of the clearing, eyes scanning dark hollows between trunks. Each time her foot brushed the grass, it seemed to whisper warnings. The rustle came again, this time behind her. Aurora spun, fists clenched, heart thudding a savage rhythm. A black shape melted into the foliage; it moved too fluidly for a human. She lunged forward, but the shape dissolved into moonlit air. Only the wildflowers trembled, petals quivering like terrified lungs. The pendant flared, hot enough to sear her skin. Aurora gasped, yanking at the chain. The pool’s surface rippled. She peered into the water again. There, floating just beneath the glassy surface, was a hand—pale, slender, the fingertips long and tapered. She gasped and knelt, her fingers brushing the water. The hand drifted away, dissolving into ripples that stretched outward, distorting her reflection until it warped beyond recognition. She scrambled back, heart pounding so fiercely she thought it might burst her ribs. The voice came again, right behind her ear, low and intimate: “You shouldn’t be here.” Aurora whirled and screamed, but saw no one, only the stones looming like silent lords. The wind stilled. Breath seemed to stall in her lungs. She stumbled backward, nearly tripping over a gnarled root. She landed hard on her side, pain lancing through her hip. The pendant’s pulse slowed, as though something had drawn its breath. Aurora lay on the cold earth, her gaze darting across the clearing. The stones, the pool, the wildflowers—and a figure beyond them. Half-hidden behind a tree, it watched her. Pale as bone, slender, eyes black hollows. Its head tilted, curious. Aurora forced herself to her knees. The figure stepped forward, each movement smooth as water. The wildflowers around it bent away, petals closing like eyelids. Aurora’s throat tightened. She tried to speak but her voice was gone. She reached for the pendant, twisting it between trembling fingers. The figure stopped a dozen paces away, tilting its head again. It raised a hand, and the wildflowers at its feet curdled into ash. Aurora pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling a sob. The moonlight flickered as though a cloud covered it, plunging the grove into a deeper shade. When the light returned, the figure was gone. She scrambled to her feet, chest heaving. The pendant lay dull now, the warmth drained as though something had withdrawn the light. Aurora forced herself to calm her breathing, raising her hand to the scar on her wrist. She had plans here—she’d trusted the pendant’s pull—but now the grove felt alive, a breathing presence that watched from every shadow. No time to hesitate. She turned to flee, but the path had shifted. The opening she’d used lay hidden by a wall of twisted branches. Panicked, she darted left, crashing through underbrush, but every direction led her back to the stones. The runes along their surfaces pulsed faintly, guiding her gaze upward to the canopy where branches writhed like serpents. Aurora swallowed bile. Fear wrapped her lungs like steel. She glanced at the pool—water rippled though there was no breeze. She spun back, and there he was again: the pale figure, now only a few yards away. No longer curious, the face was blank, expression unreadable. Slowly, it raised its hand in greeting. She dashed toward it. “Eva!” she shouted, tears stinging her eyes. Motion blurred around her, the world folding and stretching. Each step felt as though she ran through fog. She closed the gap with a final lunge, colliding with nothing. The figure was gone, and in its place the pool’s surface shone, reflecting only moonlight and empty stones. Aurora sank to her knees, breath ragged. Above her, the trees whispered, and the scent of honey and iron bloomed like a cruel promise. The pendant at her throat lay cold now, its glow extinguished. Her fingers brushed the silver chain, but the warmth was gone, leaving only emptiness. She whispered into the hush, “Eva?” Her voice echoed, swallowed by the grove. The wildflowers around her sighed and straightened, as though they’d been waiting. Aurora pressed her palms into the damp earth, willing herself to stand. Somewhere beyond the stones, the wind drew another breath. She had come here seeking answers. Now she knew: some questions best remained unasked. A soft, mocking applause drifted on the air, and Aurora’s blood went cold. There was no one but her—and something that should never have been summoned at night. Her pulse hammered as she pushed to her feet. She raised the pendant to her lips, her breath a prayer: “Guide me home.” The grove exhaled. The moonlight flickered once more, then steadied, and in that moment the branches parted, revealing a narrow path back through the stones. Aurora swallowed her terror, her heart fragile yet determined. She stepped forward, every sense sharpened. Behind her, the standing stones closed ranks once more, sealing away the horrors of the grove until the next unwary soul dared to enter its silent cathedral.