Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTR26HCC9QYNH1DJXA5F89K

The park’s gates groaned shut behind her, the iron bars twisting like bones in the wind. Aurora adjusted the strap of her delivery bag and exhaled through her nose, the cold air stinging her lungs. *Richmond Park at midnight.* Not the most sensible choice, but the address on the order slip had been clear enough—somewhere in the grove, past the standing stones. She’d told herself it was just a late-night delivery for Golden Empress, nothing more. A lie even she could taste. The path twisted through the dark, the torchlight flickering against the bark of ancient oaks. Their branches stretched like skeletal fingers, blocking the moon. The grove’s air smelled wrong—damp earth and something metallic, like old blood. She paused, listening. The usual night sounds were there: owls, distant traffic, the rustle of small creatures. But beneath it, something else pulsed, a rhythm too slow, too deliberate. Her fingers twitched toward the pendant tucked under her shirt. The Heartstone. It hadn’t warmed since she’d left the flat, but that didn’t mean anything. A twig snapped. Aurora froze. The sound came from the left, where the path narrowed between two towering oaks. She turned slowly, her pulse hammering in her throat. Nothing. Just shadows. She stepped forward, then stopped again. The air had thickened, pressing against her skin like a second layer of clothing. She could feel it—*them*—watching. A whisper slithered through the trees. It wasn’t wind. It wasn’t a person. It was a voice, but not a voice. A sound made of teeth and something wet. Aurora’s breath hitched. She swallowed hard, forcing her voice steady. “Hello?” Silence. Too much silence. She took another step, her boots crunching on dead leaves. The pendant burned against her ribs. *Something’s here.* The thought wasn’t fear yet—it was certainty, cold and sharp. She could feel it in the way her skin prickled, in the way her breath came faster, in the way the trees seemed to lean in just a little closer. A branch scraped against her shoulder. Aurora yelped, whirling. The torchlight caught nothing but bark. She stumbled back, her heel catching on a root. The torchlight wavered, then flickered— —and the grove *shifted*. The path behind her was gone. In its place, a clearing opened, too wide, too perfect. The standing stones stood in a circle, their surfaces smooth as polished bone. The air hummed, vibrating against her teeth. She could see now, really see—the way the shadows moved on their own, the way the flowers along the path *twitched* as if touched by an unseen hand. A figure stepped into the torchlight. Tall. Too tall. Its limbs were long, jointed wrong, like a spider’s. Its skin was pale, almost translucent, and when it moved, the moonlight caught the way it *folded* at the knees, the way its fingers elongated into claws. It didn’t speak. It didn’t need to. Aurora’s breath came in ragged gasps. The pendant burned hot against her chest. She reached for it, fingers trembling, and the moment her skin touched the silver chain— —the world *screamed*. The grove convulsed. The trees bent like reeds in a storm. The figure lunged. Aurora stumbled back, her heel catching on a root. She fell hard, the torch clattering from her grip. Darkness swallowed her. Then—silence. A hand closed around her wrist. Not the figure’s. *Hers.* She blinked, her vision swimming. The pendant glowed crimson in the dark, pulsing like a heartbeat. The grove was still. Too still. A voice, rough and familiar, cut through the quiet. “Rory?” She turned her head. The figure crouched beside her, its face half-lit by the pendant’s glow. Not a stranger. *Eva.* Her childhood friend, her anchor in the storm. Her eyes were wide, wild. “You shouldn’t have come here,” Eva whispered. “Not alone.” Aurora’s lips moved, but no sound came out. The grove held its breath.