Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMR90VPSXVG9YQTQJ8QNZRC

Aurora Carter stepped between two ancient oak trunks and into the Grove. The air hit her like a wall: cool and damp, steeped in moss and something darker, like rot. Silver moonlight filtered through the canopy, setting wildflowers to shimmer even in the night. The standing stones clustered around her—gnarled pillars carved by time—reminded her how small she was here. A single hour might stretch into days, or shrink to minutes. She pressed a hand to her scarred wrist, thumb grazing the glint of silver at her throat. She closed her fist around the Heartstone Pendant. The deep crimson gem pulsed with a reluctant warmth, as if it remembered something she had forgotten. Eva’s teasing words echoed: If it ever leads you somewhere, Rory, trust it. She had laughed. Cities didn’t sprout faerie portals. Yet last night the pendant had throbbed against her skin—insistent, urgent—pointing her here, to this hidden glade in Richmond Park. Rational thought urged her back to her flat and a bowl of something safe. Instead she moved deeper. A twig snapped behind her. She whirled, cutting a lone silhouette among trembling wildflowers, but no creature crouched in the dark. Only the hush of night answered. “Probable deer,” she told herself, voice too small. She followed a narrow track of trampled grass between two leaning stones. Each footfall sank in damp earth; each breath came too loud. Overhead, branches arched like arthritic fingers. She paused, flinching at the unseen movement at the edge of her vision—something pale, sinuous. She spun again; only shadows slipped through moonbeams. The pendant pulsed stronger now, warmth spreading under her skin. She swallowed, fighting the squeeze around her ribs. Pinching the crescent scar at her wrist steadied her—and reminded her she could endure pain. She pressed on, brambles tugging at her sleeves, petals brushing her ankles as if to warn her away. Colors gleamed too bright beneath the pale light, too alive. Just ahead, she glimpsed a figure slip behind a trunk—long limbs, impossible angles. She froze, chest hammering. Her rational mind whispered deer, fox, wind. But the rest of her trembled with fear. A perfect circle of flattened grass opened before her, encircled by thicker, older stones. She stepped in, the air tightening about her. The moonlight pooled brighter here, hotter, focused as if through an unseen lens. A metallic tang coated her tongue. She knelt, placing the pendant on the grass. Its glow seeped outward, igniting blades like embers. The ground pulsed beneath her palms. She lunged, snatching the pendant; the silver chain tangled around her fingers. When she rose, the stones had tilted, leaning inward as though to listen. One monolith creaked, shifted on its root. She jerked aside. The pillar righted itself, silent and immovable. She stumbled back, brushing against the ridged bark of an oak. Her fingertips traced a narrow glyph carved into the wood—an angular rune she’d never seen. It shimmered beneath the pendant’s light, a living thing. A chill raced down her spine. The grove had contracted. Trees pressed closer. Stones hemmed her in. A breath—wet and ragged—ghosted her ear. She whirled, pressing her back to the oak. She smelled decay and wildflowers mingled into something revolting. “Who’s there?” Her voice cracked. The only reply was the slow groan of roots shifting in the earth. She fled. Brambles snagged her jeans; loose stones tripped her. She plunged through twisted trunks and leaning pillars, following only the diminishing warmth of the Heartstone. Her lungs burned, legs ached. Behind her, the trees thickened into an impenetrable wall. She burst into another clearing, half-hidden by bracken. Beneath a twisted oak sat a figure—crouched, motionless, hair matted and pale. Empty hollows reflected the gem’s crimson light. The thing straightened, limbs bent at impossible angles. A hollow moan issued from its throat, a sound she felt in her bones. Aurora’s breath caught. She dropped to one knee, clutching the pendant until her fingers ached. The figure took a slow step forward, the dew under its other foot hissing. Her pulse thundered. She lunged away, stumbling through brambles, flailing past ghostly shapes pressed against dark trunks—dozens of featureless watchers, leaning toward her. She stumbled back into the Park proper, lungs burning, heart raw in her chest. The Grove’s silver glow retreated behind the canopy. She stood shaking, the pendant cool and dark in her palm. No comfort in its faint glow. Her phone offered no signal. She lifted the gem, willing it to answer her. A single pulse of red light blinked, then died. A whisper grazed her ear: “Aurora.” She spun, eyes wild, but saw only the normal night beyond the trees. She took a single step forward—toward safety, she hoped—but branches cracked behind her. From the grove’s edge a figure emerged, tall and slender, featureless against the dim starlight. One hand rose. The Heartstone flared in her fist, painting the world crimson for a moment. Then the darkness swallowed them both. Aurora froze at the threshold, breath ragged. Behind her, the Grove waited: patient, hungry, and impossible to leave undone.