Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTQXPDKMWNAST7X32VDAZDQ

The Heartstone Pendant lay heavy against Rory’s collarbone, its crimson glow bleeding through her shirt like a slow, steady heartbeat. She adjusted the strap of her backpack, the weight of the takeout containers inside shifting with the movement. The standing stones loomed ahead, their gnarled oak trunks black against the moonlit sky. Richmond Park stretched empty around her, the usual rustle of deer and night birds absent. Just the wind, whispering through the grass like a warning. She shouldn’t have come. Not at this hour. Not alone. But Eva had been insistent. *"Meet me at the Grove. Midnight. Don’t tell anyone."* And then the call had cut out, leaving only static and the echo of something that wasn’t Eva’s voice. Rory stepped between the stones. The air thickened. The crickets stopped mid-chirp. The wildflowers at her feet, usually dormant in late autumn, unfurled in her wake, petals stretching toward her boots as if reaching. The pendant pulsed hotter, the glow seeping between her fingers when she pressed a hand to her chest. "Eva?" Her voice sounded too loud, too small. No answer. Just the creak of branches bending in a wind that didn’t touch her skin. She moved deeper into the clearing. The trees here grew too close, their roots twisting above the earth like veins. The moonlight didn’t reach the center, leaving a pool of darkness that seemed to breathe. Rory’s pulse hammered in her throat. She fumbled for her phone, the screen casting a sickly blue glow over her face. No signal. Of course. A twig snapped. Rory spun, the beam of her phone light slicing through the dark. Nothing. Just the trees, their branches swaying in that impossible wind. She exhaled, slow. "Paranoid," she muttered. "Just the—" A shadow detached itself from the trunk of an oak. Not a shadow. A shape. Tall. Too tall. Its limbs bent at angles that made her stomach clench. It didn’t move so much as *unfold*, like a spider testing the air. The phone slipped from her fingers, the screen cracking against a root. The thing tilted its head. No eyes. No mouth. Just the suggestion of a face, shifting beneath the surface like something struggling to break free. Rory backed up. The pendant burned against her skin, the heat licking up her neck. The shape mirrored her, stepping forward when she stepped back. The air smelled of copper and wet earth. "You’re not real," she said. "You’re not *here*." The thing *laughed*. Not with a voice. With the creak of branches, the snap of twigs underfoot. The sound wrapped around her ribs and squeezed. She turned to run. The standing stones were gone. The path behind her had twisted into a labyrinth of thorns, the flowers now blackened and rotting. The trees leaned in, their branches knitting together overhead, blocking out the moon. The pendant flared, the crimson light casting long, writhing shadows across the ground. Something brushed her ankle. Rory looked down. A hand—pale, skeletal—emerged from the earth, fingers curling around her boot. Then another. And another. The ground *breathed*, rising and falling like a chest. The hands dragged her down, the soil soft and warm and *hungry*. She screamed. The thing from the trees was in front of her now, its body stretching, reforming. A face took shape—Eva’s face, but wrong. The eyes too wide, the mouth stretched into a grin that split her cheeks. *"You came,"* Eva whispered. Or maybe it wasn’t Eva at all. The voice came from everywhere, from the trees, from the ground, from the thing wearing her friend’s skin. The hands yanked Rory to her knees. The pendant seared her palm when she ripped it from her shirt, the chain snapping. The crimson light flared, pushing back the dark just enough to see the truth. The Grove wasn’t empty. Dozens of shapes stood between the trees, their forms flickering like candle flames. Some wore faces she knew—Evan, her father, strangers from the street. Others had no faces at all. They watched. Waited. The thing that wasn’t Eva reached for her. Rory hurled the pendant into the dark. A shriek tore through the clearing. The hands recoiled. The trees shuddered, their bark splitting like flesh. The thing wearing Eva’s face *screamed*, its body unraveling into smoke and shadows. The standing stones reappeared. Rory didn’t wait. She ran, the thorns tearing at her clothes, the ground solid beneath her feet. The wind howled in her ears, but she didn’t look back. Not when the trees groaned behind her. Not when the air filled with the sound of something *hungry* giving chase. The edge of the park loomed ahead. The streetlights of London burned like beacons. Rory burst from the trees, her lungs burning, her legs trembling. She collapsed onto the pavement, the cold seeping through her jeans. The pendant lay at her feet, its crimson glow extinguished. She didn’t pick it up.