Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTQVJCEHBTK2J6ZYS7HQQ10

The air in the grove pressed against Aurora’s skin like a second breath, thick and damp, the kind of stillness that didn’t belong to night. She stepped over the standing stones, their gnarled roots twisting into the earth like skeletal fingers, and the world tilted just enough to make her stomach lurch. The golden light from the restaurant’s neon sign flickered behind her, but here, beyond the park’s edge, the sky was wrong—too pale, too still, as if the stars had been plucked and left to hang in the void. A whisper slithered through the trees. Aurora froze. No wind. No breeze. Just the rustle of leaves that didn’t match the wind. She turned slowly, her pulse hammering in her throat. The grove stretched before her, a pocket of green and gold, the wildflowers blooming in hues she’d never seen before—violet veins in white petals, the kind of bloom that shouldn’t exist in autumn. The Heartstone pulsed faintly against her wrist, warm and steady, but the pendant’s glow was nothing compared to the unease coiled in her chest. She exhaled sharply, forcing herself to move. The path ahead was clear, the standing stones marking the boundary, but the trees here weren’t just trees. Their bark shimmered, faintly veined with silver, like old skin stretched too tight. A branch snapped behind her. Aurora didn’t turn. “You’re not supposed to be here,” a voice whispered from the darkness. She spun, heart in her throat. Nothing. Just the whisper of wind, the distant hum of a motorway somewhere beyond the park’s fence. But then—movement. A shadow detached itself from the undergrowth, too large to be a person, too small to be a tree. It hovered, just out of sight, its form shifting like smoke in the dark. Aurora’s breath hitched. “Who—?” The thing lunged. Not at her. Not yet. It skidded to a stop a yard away, its silhouette stretching unnaturally, limbs too long, fingers ending in too many joints. It tilted its head, and for a heartbeat, Aurora saw something like recognition flicker in its eyes—bright, wrong, like a camera lens cracked open. “You’re here for the pendant,” the thing said, its voice a chorus of whispers, layered and overlapping. “But you’re not alone.” Aurora’s fingers tightened around the Heartstone. “What do you want?” The thing tilted its head again, and the air around it rippled, the silver veins in the bark pulsing like veins. “The portal. It’s here. And it’s hungry.” A sound cut through the grove—deep, guttural, like bones grinding. The trees around them stilled, leaves falling from branches that hadn’t been there moments before. Aurora’s blood turned to ice. “What are you?” she demanded. The thing’s form dissolved into the shadows for a moment, then reformed, its mouth stretching too wide. “The Fae don’t remember their hunger anymore,” it hissed. “But you do.” Aurora took a step back, the standing stones biting into her soles. The Heartstone burned against her skin, warm and insistent. She had to leave. Now. “Go,” she snapped. “Get out of here.” The thing didn’t move. Instead, it reached toward her, its fingers elongating, stretching toward the pendant. Aurora’s breath came in ragged gasps as she fumbled for her bag, the straps digging into her shoulders. The thing’s voice slithered closer, closer. “You’re not the first to come,” it murmured. “But you’re the first to stay.” Aurora’s fingers closed around the strap of her bag, the weight of her phone and keys pressing into her palm. She didn’t look back. She ran.