Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTRHGZ2HRKV7HC6QN1ZETGN

Rory shivered as she stepped between the ancient oak standing stones, their twisted silhouettes like sentinels against the fading twilight. The Heartstone Pendant hung warm against her breastbone, pulsing with a gentle rhythm that matched neither her heartbeat nor any natural cadence she recognized. "Isolde?" she called, her voice falling flat in the unnatural stillness of the grove. No answer came, only the whisper of leaves though no breeze stirred the autumn air. Richmond Park had emptied hours ago, the last dog-walkers and joggers departing as darkness crept across London. No one would disturb her here. No one would hear her, either. She fingered the crimson stone at her throat. The unknown sender's note had been specific: Bring the pendant to the grove at midnight. Come alone if you want answers. After weeks of unexplained phenomena following her acquisition of the Heartstone, Rory was desperate enough to comply. The full moon provided enough illumination to navigate the clearing, bathing the wildflowers in silver. Wildflowers that shouldn't be blooming in October. Rory checked her watch—11:47. Early, but better than late. She settled onto a fallen log at the clearing's center, pulling her jacket tighter against the unnatural chill. Time passed strangely in the waiting. Her watch read 11:52 for what felt like twenty minutes, then suddenly jumped to 11:59. The pendant's warmth intensified, its crimson glow strengthening until it cast her hands in blood-red light. Midnight arrived. Nothing happened. Rory stood, turning slowly to scan the grove. "I'm here," she called. "I brought what you asked for." The sound that answered wasn't human. A soft clicking, like pebbles knocked together, emanated from beyond the standing stones. Rory's muscles tensed. The clicking moved, circling the perimeter of the grove. "Who's there?" Her voice sounded thin, vulnerable. The clicking stopped. She inhaled deeply, struggling to maintain the cool-headed rationality that had always been her strength. "Look, if this is some kind of joke, it's not funny. Eva, if that's you—" Something rustled in the underbrush behind her. Rory spun, but saw nothing beyond the silvered foliage. The Heartstone pulsed faster against her skin. "Show yourself," she demanded, forcing steel into her voice despite the fear constricting her throat. The grove remained silent, but the silence itself had changed—become attentive, as if the darkness were listening. The wildflowers, which had been gently wavering despite the lack of wind, went perfectly still. Rory glanced at her watch. 12:07. She should leave, return to her flat above Silas' bar, forget this foolishness. But the pendant caller had promised answers, and after weeks of sleepless nights and inexplicable occurrences, she needed those answers desperately. A twig snapped to her left. She turned sharply but saw only shadows between the trees. "Last chance," she called. "Either show yourself or I'm leaving." The clicking resumed, closer this time, accompanied by a new sound—a wet, sliding noise that raised gooseflesh along her arms. Something moved at the edge of her vision, a darkness deeper than the surrounding night. When she turned to face it directly, it vanished. The Heartstone's pulsing quickened, its heat almost uncomfortable against her skin. Rory grasped it, intending to remove the chain from around her neck, but the moment her fingers touched the crimson stone, images flashed behind her eyes—twisted pathways, a sky the color of bruises, creatures with too many joints moving in ways that defied physical laws. She gasped, releasing the pendant, and the visions ceased. But the damage had been done. Something had noticed her. Something was approaching. The undergrowth rustled again, more deliberately this time. Rory backed toward the nearest standing stone, her hand fumbling in her pocket for her phone. The screen lit, showing no service bars. Of course. She switched on the flashlight instead, aiming it toward the sound. The beam caught nothing but swaying ferns and wildflowers, bending as if something had just passed through them. She swept the light in an arc, searching. "This isn't funny anymore," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "I came here in good faith." From directly behind her came a sound like wet cloth tearing. Rory whirled, flashlight beam cutting through the darkness, and screamed. Nothing was there. Nothing she could see. But something touched her—a cold, damp pressure against the back of her neck. She stumbled forward, dropping her phone. The light spun crazily as it fell, briefly illuminating something impossible—a patch of darkness that bent wrong, that had depth and substance but no definable shape. The flashlight went out when the phone hit the ground. Rory scrambled after it, fingers scrabbling in the dirt and grass. The clicking surrounded her now, coming from multiple directions at once. When her hand finally closed around her phone, the screen was cracked, the flashlight function dead. The moon chose that moment to slide behind a cloud, plunging the grove into near-total darkness. Only the crimson glow of the Heartstone provided any illumination, pulsing frantically now like a terrified heart. "What do you want?" she whispered, backing toward where she thought the entrance to the grove might be. Her shoulder blades touched something solid. A standing stone, she thought, until it yielded slightly beneath her weight, with the consistency of cold meat. Rory jerked away, spinning to face whatever she had touched. In the faint red light of the pendant, she saw nothing but open air. Yet the clicking came from exactly that spot, accompanied by the wet, sliding sound that now reminded her horribly of a tongue moving over teeth. The Heartstone flared, its light momentarily brightening. In that flash, Rory caught a glimpse of what stood before her—a suggestion of limbs that bent backward, of a face with too many eyes, of a mouth that opened sideways. Then darkness again, and the certainty that it was reaching for her. Rory turned and ran, no longer caring about direction, only escape. Branches whipped her face, roots caught at her feet. The clicking followed, faster than she could run, gaining with every second. The pendant bounced against her chest, its light stuttering like a faulty emergency beacon. She crashed through undergrowth, heart hammering, lungs burning. Something snagged her jacket—a branch, please let it be a branch—and she tore free, leaving fabric behind. The standing stones loomed ahead, their silhouettes a promise of escape if she could just reach them, cross back to the normal world. The clicking was right behind her, the wet sounds almost at her ear. Something cold brushed her cheek. The Heartstone burned against her skin, no longer pulsing but emitting a continuous, desperate glow. Rory lunged for the gap between the nearest stones, feeling resistance as she passed through, as if crossing a membrane. Behind her, the clicking rose to a frantic crescendo, then cut off abruptly. She stumbled onto the ordinary path of Richmond Park, gasping for breath. Normal darkness surrounded her—darkness pierced by distant streetlights, by the glow of London's skyline reflected in low clouds. Her watch read 3:17 AM. The pendant had gone cold against her skin. When she touched it, she felt nothing but smooth stone. Whatever connection it had made was broken—or dormant. Rory glanced back. Between the standing stones, the grove looked perfectly ordinary. No movement disturbed its shadows, no sounds emerged from its depths. Yet she knew with absolute certainty that something waited there, just beyond her perception. And that it had gotten what it wanted.