Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTRF6SBFTZXTXN6NMQWFJDE

Aurora ducked under the lowest branch of oak, leather jacket catching on rough bark. Moonlight slanted through twisting limbs, painting mottled patterns on the forest floor. She swallowed, feeling the pulse at her throat—Heartstone pendant pressed cold against her chest before it warmed again, a faint throb under satin skin. This grove felt wrong from the moment she slipped between the standing stones. She’d come for answers. A fragment of memory—her scarred wrist against warm soil, distant laughter that carried a note of something ancient. She reached for the pendant’s silver chain, fingers brushing the deep crimson stone. It glowed from within, a smudge of light in the dark. A leaf fell behind her. She spun. Nothing but oak and wildflowers blooming out of season—violet petals glimmering in pale light. Every flower shivered as though a breeze passed, though stillness pressed in. Aurora stepped forward. Her boots sank slightly in loam damp with dew or something more soured. Footprints scattered around her, too small and too deep to be human. She froze. Heard them—something dragging across earth. She squared her shoulders. “I’m not your prize,” she muttered. Voice cracked. Quick swallow. The grove answered in rustle and hush. A twig snapped at her left, and she jumped, heart hammering against ribs. She flicked on her phone’s flashlight. Beam wavered, cutting a narrow cone through undergrowth. The pendant pulsed, a heartbeat syncing with her own. The ground before her shimmered, roots shifting like half-buried arms. She crossed the clearing, lungs tightening. Fog curled at her ankles, thickening in the silver light. She peered around a mossy stone. Vague shape, lean and tall, slipped behind tree trunks. Impossible angles—shoulders bent at impossible curves. Skin pale as ghostwood. She raised her phone. Image stuttered, pixels warping, then snapped to black. “Damn.” She pressed screen. Nothing. The pendant flared. Warmth bloomed in her palm, pulse accelerating. She felt drawn toward a hollow at the grove’s center—a shallow pit rimmed by flowers whose petals bled into the earth, red stains across white. She knelt, her fingertips brushing soft ground. The pendant sank against her palm, light brightening. Dirt shifted under her fingers. A low hum rose in her ears, vibrating through her skull. She blinked. Wildflowers bent away, as if recoiling, then lifted again when she pressed forward. She pried at damp soil with thumb. Skin stuck to grime. She tugged. Something hard scraped—a shard of metal or bone. Heart pounded, hot breath trembling free. She murmured, “What are you?” Fingers scraped deeper, and she withdrew a small ring of silver, twisted into the shape of a closed eye. A whisper floated on the breeze, syllables she felt on her tongue before she heard them. The pendant pulsed faster. She held both trinkets together. Light from the Heartstone spilled over the ring, tracing its curves like molten blood. A hiss sounded from the trees. Aurora whipped around. Branches arched overhead, knotting into silhouettes that watched her. She shoved the metal ring into her jacket pocket and rose. Forest shifted: trunks bent toward her, shadows inching against bark like living things. She took a step back. “This isn’t right.” Her voice shook. She pictured Silas’s bar, Eva’s laugh. Clarity roared through her chest, steadying her. She gripped the pendant, letting its warmth guide her. She would find the portal. She would seal it. A rustle to her right. Leaves parted. A pale figure emerged, half-drowned in moonlight. Thin limbs, too many joints. Eyes black hollows. It tilted its head, as though curious. Aurora swallowed bile. “Who are you?” she asked, voice firm. Her breath scattered in cold air. The figure advanced on silent feet. Aurora stepped back, jamming her heel into soft earth. She felt roots curl around her boot. She yanked free. The mist thickened, then dissolved, but not before it wrapped around her ankles again. She stomped, splinters of panic splintering her mind. The figure stopped. Then it smiled—crescent lips peeling back to reveal rows of pale teeth. It raised a hand, long fingers splayed. Aurora’s vision rippled. The pendant flared like a white star. She dropped to one knee, covering her eyes when the glare stabbed through lids. Warmth flared in her pocket. She remembered the ring. Flicked it out. Silver winked in the darkness. She pressed it against the pendant, murmuring fragments of words that came to her unbidden. Her voice grew rough under intrusion of ancient syllables. The figure recoiled, darkness unraveling around it. She locked the ring’s eye against the grove’s standing stones. Light streamed down their lengths, painting them crimson. Roots writhed in response, leaving her ankles free. She staggered upright, chest heaving. The figure shrank, retreating toward tangled saplings. A sob lodged in her throat—fear and triumph knotted together. The grove quaked. Leaves shivered. Wildflowers swayed, petals falling. She blinked, realizing tears rolled down her cheeks. She rubbed them away. Nothing cleansed the shock. A soft voice, almost her own but coming from the circle of stones: “Aurora.” Her head snapped around. The stones glowed faintly, and between them, shapes flickered—figures too small for human feet, darting along the boundary. Wings like frayed gauze, eyes pinpricks of silvery light. They whispered her name in chorus, a lullaby and a threat. She stepped backward, hand rising to the pendant. It pulsed, trembling like a beating heart. The voice spoke again, each syllable a bell tolling in the void. “Laila.” Aurora swallowed. Laila—one of her childhood names, given by her mother in a lullaby. She hadn’t thought of it in years. The whisper dragged her toward memory: her mother’s arms, soft and warm, sheltering a frightened child. The grove’s whisper stretched a hand across time, reaching for her core. Chest tight, Aurora whispered back. “Not Laila. Rory.” She pressed the pendant against her chest. A crack ran through the stone, veins of crimson widening. The grove trembled. The whispers shrieked, bending into a rage of sound. She staggered out of the circle, letting the pendant pull her steps. Roots writhed from the earth to stop her, then sank back under the glow of her coral shield. She passed the figures, their frantic wings catching on oak bark. She could almost feel their breath, cold and distant, urging her to stay. She shook her head, forcing her legs to move. At the boundary of standing stones, the world tilting under unnatural gravity, she looked back. The grove shrank in her vision, becoming a dark hole edged with petals. Beyond the stones, Richmond Park lay silent and still, drenched in ordinary night. No glow. No whisper. Aurora reached the last stone and stumbled forward, leaving the grove behind. She hardly felt the wind—or the absence of it. Her jacket was smeared with soil. The pendant crackled, faint warmth fading. She slipped it back into her shirt, pressing it close. It wouldn’t last long. She paused under the beam of a distant lamppost. Trees around her seemed to shiver, leaves whispering secrets she couldn’t decipher. Somewhere far off, a fox barked. An owl answered. She exhaled, fog drifting from her lips. Whatever lay beyond that circle had brushed against her spirit, marking her forever. Aurora started walking, boots crunching over fallen twigs. She glanced back once. No light. No glimmer between stones. Everything resumed its quiet expectancy. As she moved away, the grove’s pull faded—but deep inside her, something remained. A fragment of whispers, a taste of something ancient. She reached for the pendant, felt the faint pulse. Moonlight caught on her scarred wrist. She stared down at the crescent mark, flexed her fingers. The pendant’s glow dimmed, leaving only its weight and warmth against her heart. She let it guide her steps, pressing on toward London and the safety of Silas’s bar, but her mind turned over that hidden place and the hunger in its voice. At the edge of the park, more trees blocked the way back to the city. Aurora paused, lifted her chin, and plunged into darkness again. The night still teemed with secrets, and she had questions the grove refused to answer.