Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTX47KVM1TWSX8AYZYVX1PQ

Rory tightened the grip on the heavy canvas takeaway bag against her hip. The zipper chafed her thumb. The air in Richmond Park usually smelled of damp earth and distant exhaust fumes, a gritty London ambiance that grounded her existence. Tonight, the scent was wrong. Sweet. Cloying. Like decaying fruit left out in the sun. She stood at the lip of the clearing, the ancient oaks of the park heavy with shadows that seemed to lean inward, watching. The standing stones loomed ahead, roughly hewn from granite, their surfaces slick with condensation that had nothing to do with the heatwave gripping the city. These weren’t the well-groomed ancient stones she’d read about in history books. They were jagged, erratic, and marred with deep scores that looked like scratches left by claws. Somewhere near the stone circle, she’d misread the text message from Eva. *Richmond, south side. By the old oaks.* It had been an hour since she texted back *on my way*. The silence of the park should have been filled with the chirp of crickets or the distant drone of traffic, but here, the silence was absolute. It felt like holding a breath for too long. Rory stepped over the threshold. The grass didn’t crunch. It yielded with a wet, sucking sound, pulling at her ankle high-top Converse. The temperature plummeted instantly, a physical weight in her chest that made her shiver. She hugged her arms, the black hair at her nape prickling against her skin. "Okay. Just get the keys. Get the keys, leave the food, and go." She spoke the mantra aloud. It sounded hollow, bouncing off the trees that seemed impossibly close. She blinked, and the canopy above opened up into a dark, bruised purple sky. There were no stars. Just a heavy, oppressive gloom that swallowed the limited light from her phone. Her screen illuminated her face, the blue light revealing the crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist. Her father’s old hunting knife had slipped when she was twelve. She rubbed the scar unconsciously. It was dry now, but the phantom itch of the memory remained. She moved forward, her heel crunching on something that crumbled into dust under pressure. She shined the light around. Wildflowers. The codex called this place *The Fae Grove*, a pocket dimension where the flora grew unchecked. The description said they bloomed year-round. They were definitely blooming, but the colors were wrong. Intense, vibrating neon pinks and electric yellows that hurt to look at. They swayed with a rhythmic, jerky motion, like puppets on strings. There were no bees. The flowers remained perfectly still and silent. *Pulse.* Her hand instinctively moved to her chest, where the silver chain of the Heartstone pendant rested against her skin beneath her shirt. The crimson gem, the size of a thumbnail, flared briefly. Not the warm hum she felt when Eva visited her flat, but a sharp, invasive heat that radiated outward, searing through her layers of cotton. It was a reaction to *this* place. A physical defense mechanism triggered by something unnatural. Rory stopped walking. She held the light steady, aiming it at the ground. Footprints. They weren’t hers. They were large, clawed impressions in the soft earth that tapered to three distinct toes. The prints headed deeper into the grove, curving around a massive root system that looked disturbingly like a severed leg. She turned back the way she came. The stones were gone. "I'm joking. This isn't funny, Eva." The words barely left her lips before the wind picked up, carrying a sound. A low, wet clicking that echoed between her ribs. *Click. Click. Hiss.* The light on her phone flickered and died. The screen turned a solid, unbroken white, then black. Darkness rushed in to fill the void, pressing against her eyes. Rory fumbled for her pocket. The pendant felt like a hot coal now. It was vibrating against her collarbone. She gripped the silver chain with both hands, yanking it out from under her shirt. Deep crimson light bathed the immediate area, revealing a circle of ten feet around her. The darkness outside the light seemed to hold its breath. She strained her eyes into the gloom. Shadows separated from trees, detached themselves from the brush, and slithered along the ground. They were amorphous, darker than black, smelling of ozone and old rot. "Hello?" She waited. The silence stretched, ticking by like a second turned into a minute, a minute into an hour. A sound came from directly behind her. Not a rustle of leaves. It was the sound of wet fabric dragging on concrete. *Shhhhhhhhh-krrr-click.* Rory spun around. The pendant light swung wildly, catching movement in the tree line five feet away. There, on a low-hanging branch, was a figure. Or what was left of one. It wore the tattered remnants of a black suit jacket, stained with dark blotches. Its head was tilted unnaturally, the neck creaking audibly. A large, wet beak snapped shut with a hollow *click*. It blinked at her. The eyes were entirely black, devoid of whites or irises, like glass marbles set deep in a skull. Rory took a step back, her heel catching on a root. She stumbled, the takeaway bag slipping from her hand. The heavy box hit the dirt, spraying noodles and gravy. The scent of the food, spicy and savory, clashed horribly with the metallic tang of fear filling her nose. The thing in the tree didn't strike. It watched. Rory scrambled up, her fingers digging into the dirt, pushing herself upright. She needed to run. She needed to find the stones, find the boundary. Eva said it was safe. Eva said Dymas kept this place stable. *Get out.* She turned and sprinted. Her lungs burned. The pendant hammered against her chest, the crimson glow pulsing in time with her frantic heartbeat. She ran past the electric pinks and purple stalks. The trees whispered around her, their branches extending to snag at her clothes. She dodged, leaping over a hollow log that looked like an open mouth. She heard the 'thing' drop from the branch behind her, landing with a heavy thud that shook the earth. *Click. Hiss. Shhhhhhh.* "Go away!" The darkness swallowed the trees. It wasn't just the absence of light; it was a shape. A shape that wanted her inside it. The air grew cold enough to freeze her lungs. She stopped, gasping for air, doubling over, hands on her knees. She looked up. The Heartstone pendant was blazing. The crimson gem was pulsing so hard she could see the beat reflected in her own eyes. It was pushing out a wave of red light, pushing back the encroaching black. The light hit something in the bushes. A shape stood there, emerging from the undergrowth. It was tall, spindly, with skin the color of parchment. It held its hands out, long fingers curling like talons, whispering to itself in a tongue that sounded like grinding stones. The figure saw the pendant. It hissed, a sound like steam escaping a valve, and lunged. Rory didn't think. She grabbed the heavy takeaway bag—the one with the ribs and noodles—and swung it with every ounce of strength she had in her right arm. The cardboard box connected solidly with the creature's shoulder with a wet *thwack*. It staggered back, clutching its shoulder, and vanished into the shadows, cackling. The sound was jagged, high-pitched, and terrifyingly human. Rory dropped the bag and backed away, her back hitting a tree trunk. The light from the pendant was the only thing anchoring her to reality. She looked at the path behind her. The strange, vibrating flowers. The distorted trees. The distinct lack of stars. The silence returned, but now it was heavy, heavy with the knowledge that the boundary was not a door she could walk back through. It was a trap.