Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTQYAVSC8B4846SJF84F3YR

The Heartstone Pendant lay heavy against Rory’s collarbone, its crimson glow barely visible through the thin fabric of her hoodie. She adjusted the strap of her delivery bag, the weight of the takeout containers inside shifting with her movement. The standing stones loomed ahead, their gnarled oak roots twisting like arthritic fingers into the damp earth. Richmond Park stretched around her, empty at this hour, the streetlamps casting long, wavering shadows that seemed to breathe. She shouldn’t have come. Not at night. Not alone. But the note had been clear: *"The Grove. Midnight. Bring the pendant."* No signature, no explanation. Just the same looping script as the first message, slipped under her door three nights ago. The one that had sent her running to Eva, then to Silas, then back to her flat with the pendant clutched in her fist like a talisman. The wind picked up, rattling the branches above her. A whisper, almost. Or maybe just the leaves. Rory stepped between the stones. The air thickened. The sounds of the park—distant traffic, the rustle of nocturnal animals—faded into a muffled hum, as if she’d been submerged in water. The pendant pulsed once, warm against her skin, then stilled. The clearing opened before her, bathed in silver moonlight that didn’t match the overcast sky outside. Wildflowers glowed faintly, their petals shimmering with dew that shouldn’t have been there. Not in October. She exhaled, fog curling in front of her face. The wrongness settled in her gut like a stone. A snap. Twig breaking. Rory spun. Nothing. Just the trees, their branches swaying in a wind that didn’t touch her. She swallowed, her pulse loud in her ears. "Hello?" Silence. She turned back toward the center of the grove. A figure stood there, cloaked in shadow, too still to be human. The pendant flared hot against her chest. The figure tilted its head. "You came." The voice was wrong. Too many layers, like two people speaking at once. Rory’s fingers twitched toward the pendant, but she didn’t touch it. "Who are you?" A pause. Then, a step forward. The moonlight caught the edge of a face—pale, too smooth, the eyes too large. "You don’t remember me." Rory’s breath hitched. "I’d remember if I’d met you before." The figure laughed, a sound like wind chimes in a storm. "Would you?" Another step. The air smelled suddenly of copper and damp earth. "You’ve been carrying my gift for weeks. Did you think it was coincidence?" The pendant burned. Rory yanked it out from under her shirt, the chain biting into the back of her neck. The crimson stone pulsed, casting jagged shadows on the ground. "What do you want?" The figure spread its hands. "To remind you." A rustle. Not from the trees. Behind her. Rory whirled. The grove was empty. But the shadows at the edge of the clearing had deepened, pooling like ink. One of them moved. She stumbled back, her heel catching on a root. The pendant flared, searing her palm. The figure in front of her was closer now, close enough that she could see the veins beneath its translucent skin, black as oil. "You don’t belong here," it murmured. The shadows stretched. A whisper slithered through the air, not from the figure but from the trees themselves. *"Aurora."* Her name. In her mother’s voice. Rory’s knees locked. The pendant was a brand against her skin. The figure reached for her, fingers too long, too many joints. "You have to remember." A scream tore through the grove. Not hers. Not human. The figure recoiled. The shadows recoiled. The pendant went cold. Rory didn’t wait. She ran.