Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTQXDQ8Z54C9CKXB8GS07V2

The air in the Fae Grove was too still. Rory adjusted the strap of her bag, her fingers brushing the cold metal of the Heartstone pendant beneath her shirt. It pulsed faintly—not warm, not yet, but she could feel the thrum of it against her skin like a second heartbeat. The standing stones loomed ahead, ancient oaks twisted into unnatural shapes, their bark blackened in places as if scorched by something that wasn’t fire. She’d come because Eva had begged her to. A lead, she’d said. Something about the disappearances near Richmond Park, about the way the police reports kept mentioning wildflowers blooming out of season. Rory had rolled her eyes at first, but Eva had that look—the one that meant she wasn’t going to let it go. So here she was, stepping over the threshold between the stones, the air thickening around her like syrup. The first thing she noticed was the silence. No birds, no rustle of leaves, not even the distant hum of traffic from the city. Just the whisper of her own breath and the soft crunch of grass underfoot. The second thing was the smell—sweet, cloying, like rotting fruit left too long in the sun. Rory pulled her jacket tighter. “Okay,” she muttered, more to hear her own voice than anything. “Just a quick look around.” The path ahead twisted, the trees pressing in too close. Their branches didn’t sway. The wildflowers Eva had mentioned were everywhere, petals too bright, too perfect, like they’d been painted onto the earth. Rory crouched, brushing a finger against one. It didn’t bend. It didn’t feel like a flower at all. A sound behind her—a snap, like a twig breaking. She straightened, turning slowly. Nothing. Just the grove, the stones, the too-still trees. “Hello?” No answer. Rory exhaled through her nose, forcing her shoulders to relax. Paranoia wouldn’t help. She reached for the pendant again, but this time, it burned. She hissed, yanking her hand back. The crimson gem glowed faintly through the fabric of her shirt, pulsing faster now, like it was trying to warn her. Another sound. Not a twig this time. A whisper. Not words. Not anything human. Her skin prickled. She wasn’t alone. The trees seemed taller suddenly, their branches weaving together overhead, blotting out what little moonlight there’d been. The flowers gleamed in the dark, their colors too vivid, their edges too sharp. Rory’s breath came quicker. She took a step back—then froze. Something moved between the trees. Not an animal. Not anything with a shape she could name. Just a flicker, a shadow that didn’t belong, slipping between the trunks like oil on water. The pendant seared against her chest. Run. She didn’t wait. Rory turned, boots slipping on the damp grass, and bolted for the standing stones. The path twisted, the trees shifting, their roots rising to snag at her ankles. She stumbled, caught herself, kept moving. Behind her, the whisper came again—closer now, hungry. The stones were ahead. Just a few more steps. The air thickened, pressing against her like hands trying to hold her back. Rory gritted her teeth and lunged forward, breaking through the boundary with a gasp. The sounds of the city rushed back in—cars, voices, the distant wail of a siren. She collapsed onto the pavement outside Richmond Park, her chest heaving, the pendant cooling against her skin. When she looked back, the grove was gone. Just trees. Just a park. But the smell of rotting fruit clung to her clothes.