Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTRA38NMDNCVJFMA6PJ4PY2

The mist clung to Richmond Park like a lover's embrace, turning the familiar landscape into something alien and unrecognizable. Rory checked the location on her phone one last time before tucking it away. The screen had shown her exactly where to go, but the coordinates made little sense now that she stood among the ancient oaks, their gnarled branches reaching toward the night sky like arthritic fingers. She'd come because of the pendant. Three nights in a row, she'd woken to find it pulsing against her chest, warm and insistent. Tonight, it had nearly burned her skin, and when she'd held it in her palm, it had tugged—actually tugged—in this direction. "This is mad," Rory muttered, her breath clouding in the unseasonable chill. "Following a bloody necklace into a park at midnight." The Heartstone swung from her fingers, its deep crimson catching what little moonlight filtered through the fog. It pulsed once, twice, then settled into a steady, faint glow that pointed ahead. Rory followed, dried leaves crunching beneath her boots. She'd dressed sensibly—heavy jacket, jeans, sturdy footwear—but the cold still seeped through, raising gooseflesh on her arms. The pendant grew warmer as she walked deeper into the woods, away from the paths tourists traveled during daylight hours. The standing stones appeared suddenly through the mist—ancient oaks petrified into monoliths, arranged in a rough circle. Rory's steps faltered. She'd lived in London for three years now, visited Richmond Park dozens of times, but never encountered this. The stones stood silent, sentinels guarding secrets older than human memory. "Right then," she whispered, stepping between two of the massive stones. The world... shifted. The mist remained, but the quality of the air changed. It smelled of wildflowers and summer rain, despite being the middle of October. Ahead lay a clearing bathed in soft, directionless light. Flowers bloomed underfoot—foxglove, primrose, bluebells—flowers that shouldn't bloom together, shouldn't bloom at all this time of year. The Heartstone burned hot against her skin now, no longer pulling her forward but thrumming with energy. Rory loosened her jacket, suddenly too warm in the unseasonable air. She'd found it—the Fae Grove that odd little book had mentioned, the one she'd discovered wedged behind the bar when helping Silas clean. The one she'd dismissed as fantasy until the pendant began its strange behavior. Rory checked her watch—12:17 AM. She'd give herself half an hour to explore, then head back. Evan would never think to look for her here if he was still stalking her. Nobody would. The first prickle of unease came when she realized she couldn't hear the distant sound of London anymore—no planes overhead, no far-off traffic. Only silence, broken occasionally by what might have been wind through leaves. Except there was no wind. Rory moved toward the center of the clearing where a flat stone rose from the ground like an altar. The Heartstone pulled harder, nearly choking her as the chain tightened around her neck. A twig snapped behind her. Rory whirled around, heart hammering. Nothing but mist and flowers and ancient trees. "Hello?" Her voice sounded wrong—too loud and simultaneously muffled, as if the air itself swallowed sound. No answer came. She turned back to the stone altar, but something caught her eye—movement at the periphery of her vision. When she looked directly, nothing was there. The pendant burned against her chest. Rory pulled it out, held it before her like a talisman. Its crimson depths seemed to swirl, patterns forming and dissolving too quickly to interpret. Another sound—the rustle of cloth, perhaps, or dry leaves sliding across stone. It came from everywhere and nowhere. "I know someone's there." Her voice betrayed her with a slight tremor. "Show yourself." Something whispered behind her—not words, but a sound like pages turning, rapid and rhythmic. Rory spun again and caught a glimpse of—what? A shadow? A figure? It disappeared the moment she focused on it. The flowers around the altar had changed. When had that happened? Where minutes before bloomed colorful wildflowers, now grew pale, spectral blooms—ghost orchids and moon flowers, their petals luminescent in the strange half-light. Time. The book had mentioned time moving differently in the Grove. Rory checked her watch again. The hands hadn't moved. The digital display read the same—12:17 AM. But that couldn't be right. She'd been here at least ten minutes. A soft sound drew her attention—a gentle splashing, like stones dropped into still water. It came from beyond a curtain of willow branches that hadn't been there before. The rational part of Rory's mind—the part that had nearly completed a law degree before she'd fled Cardiff—told her to leave immediately. Nothing good came from investigating strange noises in stranger places. But the pendant pulled her forward, and her curiosity had always been stronger than her caution. The willow branches parted at her touch, revealing a small pool of water so clear it might have been glass. The surface rippled, though nothing disturbed it. Rory knelt beside it, drawn by a compulsion she couldn't name. The Heartstone swung from her neck, dangling over the water. Its reflection showed not crimson but midnight blue, swirling with stars. "What are you?" Rory whispered. The pendant answered with a pulse of heat that nearly scorched her fingers when she touched it. In the water, something moved. Not a reflection—something beneath the surface, dark and sinuous. Rory leaned closer, squinting to make out its shape. Eyes opened underwater, meeting hers. Human eyes in a face that was almost, but not quite, human. Rory jerked backward, falling onto the soft ground. The surface of the pool remained undisturbed, as if she'd imagined it. But she hadn't. She was certain of that. A laugh echoed through the clearing—high and musical and utterly inhuman. It bounced from stone to stone, multiplying until it seemed to come from a dozen throats. "Who's there?" Rory climbed to her feet, turning in a slow circle. "What do you want?" The laughter stopped. The sudden silence pressed against her eardrums like deep water. "You brought it back," came a voice, soft and sibilant, from directly behind her. Rory whirled, but again, nothing was there. "I don't know what you're talking about." Her hand closed protectively around the pendant. The mist thickened, coiling around her ankles like living smoke. It climbed higher, wrapping around her calves in a gentle but insistent embrace. "The Heartstone," the voice came again, this time from her right. "You've brought it home." Rory turned toward the sound and for an instant saw a figure—tall and slender, with limbs too long and joints that bent wrong. It dissolved into mist before she could make out details. "I didn't know it belonged to anyone." Rory backed away, bumping into one of the standing stones. The mist followed, clinging to her like cobwebs. "I found it." "Did you?" The voice came from directly above her now. "Or did it find you, Aurora Carter?" The use of her full name sent ice through Rory's veins. She looked up slowly, dreading what she might see. Nothing but branches and mist. The pendant burned against her skin, its glow intensifying until it shone through her jacket like a miniature sun. "What do you want from me?" Her voice emerged steadier than she felt. "Want?" The word echoed from multiple directions. "Nothing you haven't already given freely by crossing the threshold." The mist rose higher, curling around her waist, her chest, her throat. It caressed her face with fingers of vapor that left moisture beading on her skin. "I haven't given anything," Rory said, struggling to keep her voice level. "And I'm leaving now." She turned toward where she thought the entrance lay, but the standing stones surrounded her in an unbroken circle. Which ones had she passed through? They all looked identical now. The pendant jerked, hard enough to snap her head forward. It pulled toward one pair of stones, the glow dimming slightly. Trusting the one thing that had guided her here, Rory moved in that direction, the mist trailing from her body like reluctant hands. "The Heartstone remembers the way," came the voice, closer now. "But are you certain you wish to leave so soon? Time moves differently here. Perhaps it's already too late." Rory reached the gap between the stones, relief flooding through her. But before she could step through, something moved in her peripheral vision—something tall and angular and wrong. This time, when she turned, it didn't vanish. Human but not, hidden partially by mist yet unmistakably present. Its proportions were subtly wrong—limbs too long, fingers too numerous, features beautiful but alien. Eyes like the ones she'd seen in the pool regarded her with ancient amusement. "The door swings both ways, Aurora Carter." It smiled, revealing teeth too sharp and numerous. "You may leave now, if you wish. But the Heartstone has tasted home. It will call you back. And next time..." The figure stepped closer, mist swirling around it like a cloak. "Next time, perhaps we'll have more time to talk about what else you carry inside you. Something far more valuable than a simple trinket." Rory backed through the standing stones, the pendant suddenly cold against her skin. The mist dissolved, the otherworldly light faded, and the sounds of distant London returned—a siren, the rumble of a late-night lorry. She glanced at her watch. 3:42 AM. Three and a half hours, gone in what had felt like minutes. Rory turned and ran, not stopping until she reached the park gates, the Heartstone silent and cold against her thundering heart.