Run: 2026-02-17-01KHNFF64CYY9VMWEY4MENVPQ5

The nightair in Richmond Park tasted of damp earth and decaying leaves, thick and heavy as she pushed through the ancient oaks. Aurora Carter, or Rory, as her friends called her, felt the familiar prickle of unease crawling up her spine the moment the car’s headlights dipped below the treeline. The path, barely more than a deer trail, wound deeper into the heart of the grove, swallowed by shadows that seemed to press in from all sides. The air hummed with a low, unnatural vibration, a sound like distant, frustrated whispers that didn’t belong to the wind or the owls. She’d come for the pendant. The Heartstone, given to her by a stranger in a rain-slicked alley, had begun to pulse with a warmth that radiated through her veins, a constant, insistent throb that made her teeth ache. It was a signal, she’d convinced herself, a beacon leading her to something… important. Something hidden. But the deeper she walked, the more the grove felt like a trap. The ancient oak standing stones, weathered and moss-covered, seemed to lean in, their gnarled branches scratching the sky like skeletal fingers. Time felt distorted here; she glanced at her phone, expecting the familiar glow of midnight, but the screen showed only a blank, unresponsive void. An hour had passed inside the grove, but outside, the world moved on, oblivious. A rustle, sharp and sudden, came from the thick ferns beside the path. Aurora froze, her breath catching in her throat. She’d heard the owls, the occasional rustle of a fox, but this was different. This was deliberate. She spun around, heart hammering against her ribs, but the darkness swallowed any potential threat. Only the faint, sickly green glow of phosphorescent fungi on a decaying log broke the oppressive blackness. She took a step back, her boot catching on a root, sending a jolt of pain up her leg. The scar on her left wrist, a faint crescent moon of pale skin against the dark, itched fiercely, a reminder of the accident that had nearly ended her childhood. The pendant around her neck, a small, crimson gem set in tarnished silver, felt suddenly cold against her skin, its usual faint inner glow extinguished. Then, a warmth began to spread from the chain, a low, resonant thrum that vibrated in her chest. It pulsed, growing stronger, a warning she couldn’t ignore. She stumbled back towards the path, her mind racing. Evan. The name echoed in her skull, a ghost from a past she’d thought buried. He’d found her here once, in this very place, before she’d fled to London. The memory was sharp, visceral, a cold dread pooling in her stomach. Was he here? Was this the pendant’s doing, drawing him to her? She pressed herself against the rough bark of an oak, trying to steady her breathing. The grove seemed to hold its breath. Then, it happened. Not a sound, but a presence. A shift in the air, a weight settling just behind her. She could *feel* it, a cold, damp thing pressing against the back of her neck, smelling faintly of wet stone and decay. She didn’t turn. She couldn’t. The scar on her wrist burned, a physical echo of the fear that had nearly killed her years ago. The pendant’s warmth intensified, a frantic pulse against her skin, its glow flaring weakly before dying again. A soft, wet snuffling sound came from the shadows ahead. Not an animal. Something larger. Something that moved with unsettling silence. Aurora’s eyes, wide and blue in the gloom, scanned the darkness, searching for any sign of movement, any hint of shape. The standing stones loomed closer, their ancient eyes seeming to watch her. The air thickened, charged with a static electricity that made her hair stand on end. She could hear her own heartbeat, a frantic drumbeat in her ears, drowning out the whispers that had faded into a low, constant murmur. The wrongness wasn’t just in the grove anymore. It was inside her, a cold certainty that she was not alone. That the pendant wasn’t just a beacon; it was a leash. And the thing behind her, the thing that had just snuffled, was the one holding it. The scar on her wrist pulsed in time with the pendant’s erratic glow, a cruel, mocking rhythm. She knew what she had to do. She had to run. But the path back was swallowed by darkness, and the grove seemed to twist and turn, leading her deeper into its heart. The only certainty was the cold weight pressing against her neck, the faint, wet snuffling growing louder, and the desperate, fading warmth of the Heartstone, her only link to the world she’d fled.