Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTQWER5DPDNCCPKBD74D2XF

There was nothing patient about the wind here. No matter how gently Aurora Carter moved beneath the cover of tree limbs, cold air bit at her uncovered hands and face with a gusty sharpness that carried the smell of wet moss and woodsmoke. Not the sort of scent that belonged in Richmond Park—not at this hour, after dusk, deep among brambles and muddy deer trails, yet each breath carried it deeper into her lungs. She paused, one boot sucking free of mud with a faint squelch. The slip of leather on her wrist prickled. She pressed a thumb to the scar there, an old habit that came crawling back when nerves took root in her ribs. Of course, she had to come. No one else would traverse these twisted footpaths for what she needed: a favour from legends and lunatics, or worse. Her pocket held the Heartstone Pendant—warm, pulsing steady like a second heartbeat. It’d gone hot as a fresh bruise the moment she crossed the ruined fence into the thicket. She held it in her fist now, eyes darting under the fringe of black hair that kept tangling against her cheeks. She found the grove: a sudden hush, almost rude, like locking a door in someone’s face. The ancient oaks ringed a clearing carpeted with wildflowers that had no business blooming this time of year. They bent lazily in no wind at all, petals trembling almost as if they breathed. She took a slow step forward. The pendant’s glow seeped through her fingers—dim, barely more than a smouldering coal, but persistent. She released it, let the chain slip round her neck. The stones here, she’d been told, were the markers: ground frosted with ages, bark twisted into impossible arcs. Shadows clung to their bases, thick and blue as bruise. A crow watched from the tallest oak, fat and silent. No caw, no rustle of black wings. Nothing else called out—none of Richmond’s usual foxes screaming, no distant traffic drone. Still, she could hear something. Not silence. Not quite. She moved deeper. The grass didn’t flatten under her boots. She left no trail behind; each step, when she glanced back, erased itself. Not comforting, but she pressed forward. She’d come for the Grove’s answer—her answer—and she’d get it, if she could just push past the feeling of being pressed in on all sides, air thick, heavy with watching. Branches scraped together above. Not a breeze, she thought. There was just no wind. But the sound went on—a dry, implacable scrape, like something restless writhed just out of sight. She stopped. "Anyone here?" Her voice vanished, swamped by the thick air, yet it echoed starkly in the absence of everything else. The trees loomed inwards as though considering her challenge. She heard it then, quiet but present: a sigh, or a weak moan. Her memory snagged on nothing specific, but the sound of breath drawn ragged through clenched teeth, arms pressed tight to ribs. She’d heard it before—in a stairwell, behind a locked door. She clenched her fists, felt the warmth of the pendant grow hot enough to sting, and forced herself to keep going, one step at a time. "Look, I know how this works," she called, careful to keep her tone cool, almost dismissive. "Whoever’s out there, I’m not here to cause trouble. I just need—" A ripple moved through flowers to her left; purple petals flattened in a neat line, then sprang upright. She jerked back, boots landing on roots she hadn’t seen, and nearly toppled. The crow didn’t flinch. Its eyes caught hers, beads of bottled shadow. A laugh came from behind her, papery and thin as moth wings. "You brought it, then?" She spun, breath scraping at her throat. No one stood there. Just her own shadow, smeared long across the dirt, and the rough shapes of standing stones. "You’re not clever enough for this place, Carter." The whisper licked her ear. Her name, clipped; no warmth. She looked up, expecting a face, but the trees leaned away, exposing more blackness above. Her father’s voice, flat and echoing: "What did I tell you about chasing things that aren’t yours?" She blinked, breath fogging in the sudden chill. Her mouth tasted of old pennies—metallic, spiteful. She squeezed the Heartstone beneath her coat. "I came because I need an answer." Her words hung in the unnatural gap between sounds. "You owe me that. All of you." The oaks trembled. She felt, more than heard, a collective sigh—the grove inhaling, exhaling, fleshless and endless. The warmth at her breastbone turned searing. Her knees locked, and she watched the faint red glow bleed through her jacket, bathing her fingers in bloody radiance as she pressed her palm to stop it shining out. "You carry the stone. You gave up the rest. Is that enough?" A child’s giggle rang from somewhere near her feet. She stepped back, cursing, almost tripping over a root that hadn’t been there a moment earlier. She steadied herself on the rough bark of one of the standing stones. It pulsed beneath her touch—slow, ponderous, like the thud of something enormous sleeping just beneath the earth. The silence that followed felt eager, expectant. She shuddered. "I gave what I had. I did what you wanted. Don’t you dare—" A face split open in the bark: blue eyes, wide and startled, flickering above a grin made of nothing but lines. She jerked her hand away, heart battering. The features faded, pressed out by the wood, replaced by rough knots and the shudder of unseen things moving at the edge of vision. To her right, something stepped out across the flowers. She glimpsed a foot—bare, pale, the skin wrong and slick. The leg beneath vanished before she could follow it. Petals twitched as the thing moved, always half a second beyond her sight; not quite disappearing, not quite coming close. Aurora pressed her back to a stone. "Show yourself. Enough games." Something low and guttural bubbled behind her ear: "You first." She moved, sprang to the centre of the ring, letting the pendant’s heat guide her. The shadows fell away just enough to reveal a gap: a path through the flowers, moonlight strong and white along its edge. She saw the glint of a blade—no, not metal. Thorn or bone. From every side, voices pressed in on her. "Stay. Stay. Stay—" "This isn’t your place." "Who is she to make rules?" She raised her chin, voice slicing through the noise. "You wanted the stone. Here I am. I’ll leave it—if I get what I need. Otherwise, you can keep whispering until dawn, but I’m not going anywhere." The wind found her then—just for a second, ruffling hair cold against her scalp. The trees bent together, crowns touching until darkness swelled overhead. Silence. True, bottomless, complete. Aurora reached to unclasp the chain and knew she wasn’t alone—had never been alone, not since stepping between those blighted oaks. She forced stiff fingers to open, Heartstone cupped in her sweating palm. Its light spilled across her wrist scar, crimson against white. From behind her, a ragged mouth shaped of shadow and starlight sprawled open between two trunks. It had no voice, only hunger. She looked it dead on. "Take it, then. Let’s see what you do with it." The sound of branches raked her skin and tangled round her ankles, as real and immediate as breath. The children’s laughter turned to sobbing, then howling, then silence all over again. The wildflowers surged up to her knees. Time flickered, uncertain. She watched herself, steady, waiting, every muscle drawn as taut as winter wire, pulse loud in her own ears. The pendant glowed, a beacon in the well of the grove. The shadows pressed close—and she held her ground.