Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTX2DTFJN0X5CQKDVRWWWPM

The bike’s tyres crunched over frost-bitten gravel as Rory killed the engine. The silence that followed wasn’t natural—no distant traffic, no rustling leaves, just the hollow echo of her own breath. She swung a leg over the saddle and stood, stretching her back. The air smelled of damp earth and something older, something that made her nose wrinkle. Richmond Park at night was supposed to be empty. But this wasn’t the park. The standing stones loomed ahead, their gnarled roots twisting like fingers into the ground. She’d seen them before, but never like this—never with the moonlight catching their bark in a way that made them look *alive*. The pendant around her neck pulsed once, a slow, deliberate throb against her collarbone. She didn’t touch it. Didn’t need to. The warmth was answer enough. *Wrong. This is wrong.* She stepped forward, boots sinking slightly into the damp earth. The grove should’ve been quiet. Instead, the air hummed—a low, resonant note that vibrated in her teeth. She exhaled sharply, watching her breath fog in front of her face. Too cold. Too still. A twig snapped. Rory froze. The sound had come from her left, near the edge of the clearing where the trees pressed in like a crowd of silent witnesses. She turned her head slowly, scanning the darkness. Nothing moved. No wind. No animals. Just the weight of something watching. She reached into her jacket pocket, fingers brushing the cold metal of her phone. No signal. Of course. The grove had never played by human rules. “Hello?” Her voice sounded too loud, too brittle. The word hung in the air, unanswered. Another snap. Closer this time. Her pulse kicked up, but she forced herself to stay still. Panic was a luxury she couldn’t afford. She’d come here for a reason—because the pendant had led her, because the dreams had started again, because something in this place *wanted* her here. But now, standing in the heart of the grove, she wasn’t sure if she was the hunter or the prey. A whisper slithered through the trees. Not a voice. Not quite. More like the sound of leaves rubbing together, but shaped into words she almost understood. Her skin prickled. The pendant burned hotter, searing through her shirt. *Move.* She didn’t question the instinct. Rory turned on her heel and strode toward the standing stones, her boots crushing brittle undergrowth. The air thickened with each step, pressing against her like an unseen hand. The whispers followed, weaving between the trees, just out of reach. Then she saw it. A figure stood between two of the oaks, tall and too still. Not a person. Not an animal. Its shape flickered at the edges, like a candle flame in a draft. One moment it was there—a gaunt, elongated silhouette with too many joints—and the next, it was gone, leaving only the impression of hollow eyes and a mouth that stretched too wide. Rory’s breath hitched. She didn’t run. Running would mean admitting fear, and fear was a door she refused to open. “Show yourself,” she said, her voice steady despite the ice in her veins. The figure reappeared, closer this time. The whispers sharpened into a single, hissing word: *Laila.* Her blood turned to sludge. No one had called her that in years. Not since Cardiff. Not since *him.* The pendant flared, casting crimson light across the grove. The figure recoiled, its form writhing like smoke in a gale. The whispers became a shriek—a sound that wasn’t sound, that vibrated in her bones. Rory didn’t wait to see what happened next. She turned and ran, her boots pounding against the earth. The grove twisted around her, paths shifting, trees bending to block her way. The pendant’s glow was her only guide, a beacon in the suffocating dark. Behind her, the thing gave chase. Not with footsteps. Not with breath. It moved like a shadow given form, slipping between the trees, always just out of sight. The air grew heavier, pressing down on her lungs. Her vision swam. She skidded to a halt at the edge of the clearing. The standing stones were gone. In their place stood a door—tall, arched, made of blackened wood that pulsed with the same crimson light as the pendant. It hadn’t been there before. She was sure of it. The whispers coiled around her, a serpent’s tongue against her ear. *You were always meant to come back.* Rory’s fingers closed around the pendant. The metal seared her palm, but she didn’t let go. She knew what this was. A choice. A test. The door creaked open. Beyond it, darkness yawned. Not the absence of light, but something deeper, something that *hungered.* She took a step forward. The thing behind her screamed.