Run: 2026-02-17-01KHNFPE7846DGT5XKHK69176R

The air in the Fae Grove tasted different—thicker, sweeter, like breathing in crushed petals. Rory adjusted the strap of her backpack, her fingers brushing the crescent scar on her wrist out of habit. The Heartstone pendant against her collarbone pulsed faintly, a slow, steady warmth that had guided her here. She shouldn’t have come alone. Eva would’ve scolded her for that, but Eva wasn’t answering her calls, and the pendant had been glowing brighter all week. Moonlight filtered through the ancient oaks, casting long, twisted shadows across the standing stones. They were too symmetrical to be natural, their surfaces carved with symbols that made her eyes ache if she stared too long. The wildflowers underfoot didn’t crunch—they bent silently beneath her boots, as if refusing to acknowledge her presence. She checked her phone. No signal, just as expected. The time read 11:37 p.m., but when she’d entered the grove, it had been 10:15. Time slipped here. She’d known that, theoretically, but feeling it was different. A rustle in the undergrowth. Rory froze, hand drifting to the knife in her pocket. Just an animal. It had to be. Richmond Park had deer, foxes—normal things. The sound came again, closer. Not rustling. More like... dragging. She exhaled slowly, forcing her shoulders to relax. "Hello?" Silence. Then, from somewhere behind her, a whisper of laughter. High and light, like a child’s, but wrong. Too many notes in it, like an echo that didn’t quite match. Rory turned. Nothing but the standing stones and the swaying flowers. The pendant throbbed against her skin, sudden and sharp. "Okay," she muttered. "Not funny." She took a step back toward the path she’d come from. The trees seemed taller now, their branches weaving together overhead, blocking out the moon. The air grew colder, her breath fogging in front of her. A flicker of movement to her left. She snapped her head toward it—just a shadow. No. Not just a shadow. The darkness between the trees was too deep, too solid. It rippled. Her pulse hammered in her throat. She’d seen enough weird shit in the last six months to know when to run. But the path was gone. The standing stones had shifted, forming a circle around her. The laughter came again, this time from all sides. "Who’s there?" Her voice didn’t shake. Good. No answer. The flowers at her feet began to wilt, their vibrant colors leaching away into gray. The pendant’s warmth turned searing, the crimson stone glowing like an ember. Something brushed her shoulder. Rory spun, knife out. Empty air. Then a breath against the back of her neck—cold, damp, smelling of earth and rotting leaves. She didn’t scream. She bolted. The trees blurred past, their trunks twisting as if trying to block her. The ground sloped downward, though she could’ve sworn it had been flat. Her foot caught on a root, and she stumbled, catching herself on a stone. The carvings under her fingers writhed, squirming like living things. A figure stood at the edge of the clearing. Tall, too tall, its limbs elongated and jointed wrong. It didn’t move. Just watched. Rory’s breath came in short gasps. The pendant was burning now, the chain digging into her skin. She forced herself to stand straight, to meet the thing’s gaze—except it didn’t have eyes. Just hollows where they should’ve been, dark and endless. "You’re not real," she said, voice steady. "This is the grove messing with me." The figure tilted its head. A wet, clicking sound came from its throat. Then it stepped forward. Rory ran again, this time toward the center of the grove. The stones parted for her, their surfaces slick with something dark and glistening. The air hummed, a low, dissonant chord that vibrated in her teeth. She skidded to a stop in the middle of the clearing. The Heartstone pendant yanked itself free from her neck, hovering in the air before her. The crimson light pulsed once, twice—then flared blindingly bright. The figure shrieked, a sound that tore at her ears. The shadows recoiled, peeling back like burned skin. Then silence. Rory stood alone, the pendant cold and inert in her hand. The wildflowers bloomed again, vibrant and untouched. The standing stones were just stones. Her phone buzzed. A text from Eva: *Where the hell are you? It’s 3 a.m.* Rory swallowed. Three hours. She’d lost three hours. The pendant’s chain lay broken on the ground. She picked it up, the metal icy against her fingers. Whatever had been in the grove with her was gone. For now.