Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTXBDYWZMPT1FH7KXEE9969

The cab ride had taken twice as long as it should have. No explanation from the driver, just a tense silence as the city gave way to wilderness. Rory paid and watched the taillights disappear around a curve, swallowed by the October dark. Richmond Park after hours. Stupid. But Eva's text had been specific, cryptic in that way that meant she couldn't say more: *Isolde's grove. Midnight. Come alone.* Rory's fingers found the Heartstone beneath her jacket, the pendant warm against her sternum. It had been pulsing since Hammersmith, that faint rhythmic heat that meant a portal was nearby. Or opening. Or something worse she hadn't learned yet. The ancient oaks loomed ahead, darker shapes against the darkness. Standing stones, Eva had called them once, laughing at how the tourists never noticed they weren't stones at all. Trees grown in a perfect circle, their roots so intertwined they formed a single living wall. Rory ducked through the gap between two massive trunks. The air changed. Not colder, exactly. Thicker. Like stepping through a curtain of water that left no moisture behind, just weight. The traffic sounds from the A307 cut off mid-note. The Heartstone flared hot enough to make her wince. "Eva?" Her voice fell flat, absorbed by the clearing. Wildflowers carpeted the grove floor, luminous whites and purples that shouldn't bloom in autumn. Shouldn't bloom at all in this light—no, wait. There was light. No moon overhead, but the flowers themselves seemed to glow, just barely, painting everything in shades of silver and shadow. She checked her phone. 12:03 AM. No signal, naturally. The screen's backlight looked wrong here, too harsh, artificial. She killed it. Something rustled in the flowers to her left. Rory spun. Nothing but blooms swaying, though the air hung still. No breeze. "Not funny, Eva." But Eva wasn't here. The grove felt empty in that particular way that raised neck hairs—the emptiness that was too perfect, too complete. Like a held breath. The trees groaned. Rory's head snapped up. The oaks' branches interlocked overhead, creating a canopy so dense it looked solid. As she watched, gaps appeared between leaves. Not gaps. Eyes. Dozens of them, dark hollows that blinked open one by one, tracking her movement. She blinked hard. Looked again. Just branches. Just leaves. Just her imagination running wild because she was alone in a Fae-touched space at midnight, which was approximately the worst decision she'd made since Evan. Focus. Eva's text had said midnight. Rory had arrived at midnight. But time moved differently here—Eva had warned her about that too. An hour inside could be minutes outside, or days. Which meant midnight in the grove might not match midnight in London. She might be early. Or Eva might be days gone. The flowers whispered. Not metaphorically. Rory heard voices in the rustling petals, sibant and quick, words in a language that slipped away the moment she tried to focus on them. The sound circled her, moving through the clearing like wind, but the blooms barely moved. "Hello?" Her voice cracked. The whispering stopped. The silence that replaced it was worse. Absolute. Even her breathing seemed muffled, as if the air refused to carry sound. Rory's hand found the Heartstone again. Still warm, but the pulsing had changed. Faster now. Urgent. A shadow passed between two trees on the far side of the clearing. Human-shaped. Tall. Gone before she could register details, but her hindbrain had already catalogued the wrongness: moved too smoothly, no weight to its steps, silent as thought. "Eva, if this is some kind of test—" Movement flickered at the corner of her eye. Right side. She turned her head slowly, keeping her body still. Nothing there. But the flowers in that direction bent, pressed down as if something had just stepped through them. A trail of crushed petals led from the tree line toward the centre of the grove. Toward her. Rory stepped back. The trail stopped advancing. The bent flowers sprang upright again, one by one, erasing the path. Her pulse hammered in her throat. Cool head, she reminded herself. Observation. Analysis. The scientific method Eva teased her about. So: observations. She was in a liminal space where the laws got flexible. Something was here with her. Multiple somethings, maybe, given the shadow in the trees and the invisible weight in the flowers. They hadn't attacked. Hadn't even approached directly. They were circling. Rory turned in a slow pivot, scanning the tree line. More shadows now, at least five, flitting between trunks. Watching. The hollows in the branches overhead had multiplied, a constellation of dark eyes tracking her rotation. Not eyes. Couldn't be eyes. Just... gaps. Just shadows. Just— One of the shadows stepped into the clearing. Rory's breath caught. It wore a shape like a person might wear clothes, approximate but not quite right. Too-long limbs that bent at angles that suggested extra joints. A head that tilted like a bird's, curious. Where its face should be, just smooth darkness that drank the flower-light. It took another step. Silent. The flowers didn't bend under its feet. "Stay back." Rory's hand closed around the Heartstone. The metal chain dug into her palm, the gem searing hot. The figure cocked its head the other direction. A clicking sound emerged from where its mouth might be—or its chest, or its throat, impossible to pinpoint. Rapid clicks like insect legs on glass. More figures emerged from the trees. Different sizes, same wrongness. Some crawled on all fours with hands that had too many fingers. One unfolded from behind a trunk, impossibly tall, its spine curved in a way that would break a human. They formed a loose circle around her. The clicking spread among them, call and response, building to a rhythm that might have been language. Or laughter. The sound bypassed her ears entirely, resonating in her bones, her teeth. The Heartstone blazed. "I'm looking for someone." Her voice came steadier than she felt. "A friend. Blonde. About my height. Have you seen—" The figures surged forward as one. Rory's hand flew up, Heartstone held out like a talisman. The crimson gem flared brilliant red, casting the clearing in bloody light. The figures froze. In the wash of red illumination, she could see them properly for a heartbeat. Not shadows. Not creatures. Gaps. Holes in space where reality had worn thin, where something from the other side pressed against the membrane between worlds. The clicking came from the friction of their passage, existence scraping against existence. The light faded. The figures remained stopped, swaying slightly like kelp in current. "I don't want trouble." Rory's arm shook with the effort of keeping the pendant raised. "I'm just looking for my friend." One of the figures—the tall one—extended an arm. Its hand, if it could be called that, pointed toward the largest oak. The tree's trunk split down the middle, not like broken wood but like a curtain parting. Beyond, darkness deeper than the grove's shadows. A passage. Or a throat. The figures swayed in unison, their clicking shifting to a higher pitch. Expectant. Rory's phone buzzed in her pocket. She fumbled for it, not lowering the pendant. The screen showed 12:04 AM. One minute had passed. A text notification from Eva: *Don't go in.* "Bit late for that advice," Rory muttered. Another buzz. *NOT the grove. Wrong grove. Get out NOW.* The figures' clicking crescendoed, frantic. The oak's opening widened, and something moved in the darkness within. Something vast. She caught a glimpse of what might have been a hand, or a wing, or a mouth full of stars. Rory ran. She bolted for the gap in the standing stones, the pendant bouncing against her chest. Behind her, the clicking turned to shrieks—thin, high sounds that shredded the silent air. The flowers grabbed at her ankles. The ground softened, tried to hold her. She dove through the gap between oaks. The weight vanished. Traffic sounds slammed back, shockingly loud. Rory sprawled in wet grass, gasping, her phone's light cutting through ordinary October darkness. Behind her, the grove stood silent. Just trees. Just shadows. Just wrong.