Run: 2026-02-17-01KHNETGYPFRPFCH7VEPE6TYCK

The worn path through Richmond Park should have ended at the old oak standing stones. Rory knew this—had counted each knotted root snarling across the dirt as she walked. Yet here she stood, breath fogging in the cold air, staring at a clearing that hadn’t existed on any map. Moonlight dripped through the canopy, painting silver veins across wildflowers that had no business blooming in November. The Heartstone pendant against her collarbone pulsed—a slow, sick rhythm. Like a second heartbeat. "Brilliant," Rory muttered to the empty air. Her voice didn't echo. It sank into the grove like a stone in deep water. She’d come chasing rumors—whispers from Silas’ regulars about missing time and laughter swallowed by the trees. A research trip. Nothing more. But the air here was too still, too sweet with the rot of overripe blossoms. A twig snapped behind her. Rory didn’t turn. Rule one of city living—never let them see you flinch. She traced the crescent scar on her wrist instead, the raised skin grounding her. When she finally glanced over her shoulder, the path had twisted. The oaks leaned closer, branches tangled like grasping fingers. A giggle trilled through the leaves. High, bright. Childlike. No children in Richmond after dark. Council orders. Her fingers closed around the Heartstone. The crimson gem bled warmth between her knuckles. "Alright, then," she said, slow and clear. "Which of you pissants is having me on?" Silence. Then— Rustling. Not from the trees. From the flowers at her feet. Rory looked down. The wildflowers were turning. Petals rotated on slender stems, all angling toward her like sunflowers to daylight. Their centers glistened. Too dark to be pollen. Too thick. The giggle came again, closer now. To her left. No—her right? The sound skittered around the clearing, impossible to pin down. Underneath it, a wet, clicking noise. Like teeth tapping together. The pendant burned. "Right." Rory took a step back. The flowers shivered in response. "Not sticking around for whatever this horror flick nonsense—" A shadow detached itself from the trees. Not a person. Not an animal. Just—a stretch of deeper dark, man-shaped but wrong in the joints. It tilted its head. The moonlight slid off it without touching. Rory’s throat clamped shut. Run. She spun. The path was gone. Oak trunks pressed tight on all sides, bark split into grinning seams. Between them, eyes flickered open. Dozens. Hundreds. Pupiless and reflecting the moon like shards of broken glass. The shadow behind her sighed. It smelled of turned earth and spoiling fruit. "I’m going to need you to fuck right off," Rory said, voice steady even as her hands shook. She yanked the Heartstone chain over her head and held it out like a talisman. The gem’s glow painted her knuckles red. The shadow hesitated. Then the flowers erupted. Vines lashed from the undergrowth, thorns glinting. Rory ducked—too slow. A tendril wrapped her ankle and yanked. She hit the ground hard, air punching from her lungs. The pendant flew from her grip, landing somewhere in the dark with a muted chime. Above her, the shadow unfolded. Stretched taller. Wider. Its edges bled into the night until it was the night, a living void with those impossible eyes floating in its depths. Rory scrabbled backward, dirt under her nails. "Not how I imagined going. Bit clichéd, honestly—" The thing’s mouth peeled open. No tongue. No teeth. Just a yawning tunnel of black, deepening until she swore she saw stars swirling in its throat. At the edge of vision, the Heartstone pulsed once. Twice. Then the screaming started. Not hers. Not human. A screech that split the air, shrill enough to shatter the watching eyes in the trees. The shadow recoiled, its form rippling like disturbed water. The vines around Rory’s leg withered, snapping apart like dry twine. She didn’t wait. Lunged for the pendant. The second her fingers closed around it, warmth flared up her arm—too hot, almost painful—and the grove twisted. Rory stumbled onto the park’s normal path, knees hitting damp tarmac. Streetlights buzzed overhead. A jogger gave her a bemused look. Back in the trees, something rustled. Slowly, Rory stood. The Heartstone hung heavy around her neck again, though she didn’t remember putting it back on. Her ankle stung where the thorns had bitten in. Proof, at least, that she hadn’t imagined it. That was the problem with rumors, she thought as she limped toward the distant glow of city lights. Sometimes they weren’t rumors at all.