Run: 2026-02-17-01KHMRCR8MG1MQ340MGFGJ8466

Aurora Carter’s boots crunched against the leaf litter, muffled beneath the distant haze of city noise yet sharp in the quiet night of the Fae Grove. The ancient oak standing stones rose like sentinels, their gnarled limbs carved out by time and superstition, framing the entrance to this hidden enclave. She had come here deliberately, despite the stories—and despite Eva’s warnings. The Grove had a way of luring people in, promises tangled in the wildflower scent that forever clung to the air, but Rory felt an unease curling low in her belly the moment she stepped through the boundary. The moon hung high, pale and wan, casting skeletal shadows across the ground, shadows that looked too long, too twisted for the shapes that birthed them. Every step forward felt heavier. She brushed a lock of straight black hair behind her ear and slid a hand beneath her jacket, fingers closing around the Heartstone Pendant resting against her chest. The deep crimson of the gem was muted beneath the silver chain, but it pulsed faintly against her skin, a reminder she wasn’t entirely lost here. Not yet. She had to find it—the place Eva had described only cryptically, the thing no one else seemed to remember. A pocket between worlds, where time bent and secret things waited in silence. Aurora had spent months chasing leads, unraveling old folklore before waking up with a sudden clarity this very night. She could feel that clarity fading now, replaced by sharp threads of something darker threading through the stillness. An almost imperceptible rustle caught her attention near one of the massive oaks. She paused, heart ticking up a notch. Nothing moved in the thick shadows aside from the slow sway of wildflower stems. The sound was gone—or maybe it had never really been there. Her breath puffed white in the cool night, quick and shallow. Rory blinked, and when her eyes refocused she caught the flicker of movement—something at the edge of her vision, darker than the night itself. Just a second, then gone. She shook her head, telling herself the Grove was playing tricks. She was conditioned for this — clear thinking over wild fear — but in the quiet dampness beneath ancient branches, logic thinned. With a steadying breath, she moved deeper into the Grove, the musk of earth and blossom thick around her. The wildflowers, impossibly vibrant even in the pale moonlight, seemed to lean in, mouths of petals whispering secrets she couldn’t quite hear. A single petal drifted down like a feather, landing softly on her wrist near the small crescent scar from childhood—an old reminder of pain survived. She allowed herself a brief focus on the scar, the tangible fact of it. The ambient hum of the city was gone now, swallowed by the Grove’s unnatural silence. But beneath the quiet, a different sound surfaced. Not the usual chirps of insects or night birds, but a low and steady pulse, like the slow beat of a distant drum. Her fingers tightened on the Heartstone. The small pendant held its faint warmth longer, now pulsing deliberately, coaxing her toward some unseen locus. Another sound surfaced, this time a whisper. So faint it could have been the wind through leaves. Or the shuffle of footsteps not quite her own. Aurora turned sharply, eyes scanning the dark. The trees appeared unchanged—stationary sentinels indifferent to her intrusion. Yet the feeling of being watched, small hairs prickling along her neck, told a different story. For a moment she thought she saw a flicker of movement—a glimpse of something with no clear shape, framed by shards of moonlight through the branches. It was there, and then it wasn’t. Her pulse quickened. The Grove’s air felt viscous, as if resistance itself were wrapping around her limbs. She shook off the mounting dread. Not ghosts, not spectres. She reminded herself of the rational—she was simply in a place where time played tricks, shadows shifted oddly. Nothing more. Yet when she stepped forward again, branches brushing her shoulders like cold fingers, a quiet sound echoed from the standing stones—a low thrum that vibrated against the soles of her boots. A vibration that wasn’t natural. She squeezed the pendant between her fingers. The crimson gem’s faint glow brightened—warmth spilling into the hollow of her palm. It felt insistent, urgent. "You’re not alone," the whisper came again, this time distinctly at her left ear, breath-cold. Rory whipped her head around. Nothing met her gaze but dark trunks and moonlit leaves. A shiver ran down her spine. She quickened her pace, stepping beyond the last stone into the Grove’s heart. Here, the wildflowers bloomed with uncanny brilliance: midnight blues, fiery reds, and ghostly whites that seemed to pulse softly under the stars. Time stretched in the silence. What on Earth should have been minutes ticked into something heavier, more distorted. Rory’s breath clouded before her, the beat of her heart loud in her ears. The shadows shifted again, closer now, something scraping just beyond the edge of sight. She forced herself to stop—sharp inhale. “Who’s there?” The words sounded brittle, swallowed immediately by the dense night. Answer came not in words, but in a slow, deliberate movement. Shapes coalesced where the wildflowers darkened to black clusters—figures, almost human but their forms melting like smoke, shifting with the dark. Aurora’s bright blue eyes caught the faint glint of silver where one figure’s gaze locked with hers—a flicker of something ancient and knowing. The standing stones behind her groaned—a sound like old wood settling or bone grinding. The air grew thick; time warped once more. The Heartstone pulsed wildly now, beats echoing in the stillness. Rory’s fingers curled around it, desperate to hold to its warmth. “What do you want?” she whispered. The figures stilled. Then, with unnatural grace, they melted back into the shadows, leaving only the trembling wildflowers behind. Aurora exhaled, her breath shaky. The Grove had shown its face and turned away. The wrongness lingered, a presence that hummed beneath the skin of the night. And Aurora Carter knew, with crushing certainty, that her every step forward would be a deeper delve into a world where light bent and darkness breathed. Alone in the Grove, she was no longer just a visitor. She was prey.