Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTX3JTKKCE3MVZ7C40QB57N

The oaks stood sentinel in the gloom, their gnarled branches forming a skeletal canopy against the bruised purple of the twilight sky. Rory’s breath misted in the cold air as she stepped between two moss-eaten standing stones. She felt the subtle shift in pressure the moment she crossed the threshold, a quiet pop in her ears. The air in the grove tasted different—sweet and metallic, thick with the scent of damp earth and blooming nightshade, despite the late autumn chill that had gripped London for weeks. Richmond Park was miles behind her. Here, in the Fae Grove, wildflowers she couldn’t name pushed through the leaf litter, their petals luminous in the fading light. She was here for the silence, for the disconnect. Eva had sworn this place could reset a shattered mind, a quiet pocket of the world where time itself went crooked. An hour here could be a minute out there. It was the perfect place to stop thinking about Evan’s voice, the perfect hideaway where he could never find her. She walked to the center of the clearing, her trainers soundless on the soft turf. The instructions had been simple: find the stones, enter at dusk, wait. For what, Eva hadn’t said. Just that it would be obvious. A faint warmth bloomed against her sternum. Rory’s hand flew to her chest, her fingers closing around the Heartstone pendant. It was warm, a gentle, living heat that pulsed in a slow, rhythmic beat. Dymas had given it to her with no explanation, his expression grim, his eyes avoiding hers. *For when the walls get thin,* he’d muttered before vanishing back into the crowd at Silas’s bar. Now, it felt like a second heart beating against her own. She let the pendant go. The silence of the grove was absolute. No distant hum of London traffic, no wind rustling the branches overhead. It was a vacuum. Her own breathing sounded obscenely loud. Then, a crack. It was a dry, snapping sound, like a twig underfoot. It came from her left. She spun, peering into the deep shadows between the thick oaks. Nothing moved. The flowers swayed gently, though there was no breeze. *An animal,* she told herself. A fox. A badger. Richmond was full of them. The warmth of the pendant intensified, the pulses coming faster now, a low thrum of energy that made her skin prickle. She took a step back toward the stone entrance. The plan was feeling less like solace and more like a trap. Another sound. This one was wetter, a soft squelching tread, like something heavy stepping on rotten fruit. It was closer. Directly ahead of her, in the deepest part of the wood where the darkness was a solid wall. The flowers nearest the edge of the clearing began to wilt. She watched, her blood freezing in her veins, as their glowing petals blackened and curled inwards, disintegrating into a fine, grey ash. The blight spread outwards in a slow, deliberate circle, a stain of death on the vibrant grove floor. She was not alone. The thing in the woods took another step. She still couldn’t see it, but she could feel its regard, a cold, heavy weight that pressed down on her, threatening to buckle her knees. The air grew colder, leaching the warmth from her skin. The sweet metallic scent soured into the smell of rust and old meat. The Heartstone was burning hot now, a brand against her skin. Its crimson gem shone with a faint, desperate inner light, casting a bloody gleam on her throat. A shape detached itself from the shadows. It was all wrong. It didn’t walk so much as *lurch*, its form seeming to flicker at the edges, never quite solid. It was tall, too tall, its limbs elongated and jointed at impossible angles. It was the colour of a week-old bruise, and where a face should have been there was only a smooth, blank stretch of flesh, devoid of features. It made no sound, but the feeling of wrongness it radiated was a physical force. It was hunger. It was absence. It was a door into a place that should never be opened. Rory’s mind, usually so sharp, scrambled for purchase. Pre-Law lectures on tort reform evaporated. Evan’s sneering face was a distant, petty memory. There was only this. Only the thing and the burning stone and the certain, cold knowledge that the grove’s time-warping magic meant no one would hear her scream for a very, very long time. It took another lurching step into the clearing. The grass beneath its feet died instantly. Her feet were rooted to the spot, her body refusing the command to run. The pendant’s pulse was a frantic drumbeat against her ribs, a silent alarm. The featureless head tilted. It was listening. Or smelling. Or something else entirely. A whisper brushed against her ear, not a sound in the air but a thought forced directly into her mind. It was a dry, rasping sensation, the mental equivalent of insect legs skittering across her brain. *…little gate…little key…* It was looking at the pendant. Its arm—a long, thin limb that ended in talons of cracked bone—began to rise, reaching for her across the clearing. The space between them seemed to warp and shrink. The spell of terror broke. Rory stumbled backward, her heel catching on a root. She landed hard on her elbows, the impact jarring up her spine. The thing took another step, its silence more menacing than any roar. She scrambled backwards like a crab, her eyes locked on the advancing horror. Her hand scraped against cold, rough stone. One of the boundary markers. The exit. She threw herself backwards, tumbling through the gap between the stones. The world snapped back into focus with a deafening roar. The hum of the A316. The chill wind of a normal autumn night. The distant lights of houses. She was on her back in Richmond Park, the familiar landscape a jarring contrast to the nightmare she’d just escaped. She gasped, sucking in great lungfuls of cold, clean air. Her hands were shaking. The Heartstone at her chest was cool and inert once more. She pushed herself up on trembling arms and looked back at the standing stones. They were just stones now, half-hidden by a thicket of brambles, looking ancient and utterly ordinary. But in the dirt between them, clearly visible in the moonlight, was a single, wilted black flower.