Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTXC9V20TA7PZR9MEYJ05R4

Rory checked the map on her phone one last time before the screen flickered and died. The darkness of Richmond Park swallowed the light instantly. The air here didn’t taste like London. It lacked the grit of exhaust and the metallic tang of the Underground, replaced by a scent of crushed damp grass and something sweeter, like rotting peaches. She adjusted the strap of her delivery bag. Yu-Fei had been adamant about this drop-off. No address, just a set of coordinates that led deep into the sprawling green heart of the park, far beyond the paved paths where the cyclists and morning joggers roamed. "Just follow the oaks, girl. Don't look for house numbers." Yu-Fei’s parting words rang hollow now. Rory stepped over a twisted root that looked remarkably like a skeletal hand. The Heartstone Pendant against her chest felt like a hot coal. It thrummed, a steady, rhythmic vibration that matched her quickening pulse. She reached under her collar and tucked the crimson gem deeper against her skin, but the warmth seeped through her layers. Silences in the city were never true silences. They were hushed layers of distant sirens and humming refrigerators. Here, the quiet felt heavy, a physical weight pressing against her eardrums. Every snap of a twig under her boots echoed like a gunshot. A ring of massive trees loomed ahead. These weren't the managed oaks of the Royal Parks. They were jagged, their bark gnarled into frozen screams, silvered by a moon that seemed too large for the sky. She crossed the threshold of the standing stones, and the temperature plummeted. "Hello? I have the order from the Golden Empress." The words fell flat. No echo. No rustle of wind. Something moved behind a thicket of white wildflowers. Aurora froze. She didn't turn her head, instead shifting her gaze to the periphery. A tall, thin shape drifted between the trunks. It moved with a sickening, fluid grace, lacking the vertical bounce of a human stride. She unzipped the insulated bag. Steam should have billowed out in the cold night air, but the containers remained frigid. "Isolde? I'm looking for a customer named Isolde." A low whistle drifted from the canopy above. It wasn't a bird. It sounded like a child mimicking the wind through a cracked reed. Rory gripped the silver chain of her pendant until the metal bit into her palm. The crescent scar on her wrist tingled, an old ghost of a sensation. Shadows stretched toward her, elongating as if the moon were moving at ten times its natural speed. She glanced at her watch. The second hand jittered, ticked backward three times, then spun in a frantic, blurred circle. A soft *thud* landed behind her. Aurora spun around. The grass was empty. Yet, the blades of the wildflowers were bent down, slowly springing back up as if someone had just stepped off them. The sweetness in the air sharpened. It was cloying now, thick enough to coat the back of her throat. "I'm leaving the food by the stone." Her voice shook. She set the bag down on a flat, moss-covered rock. The pendant surged with heat, stinging her skin. A face peered out from behind the nearest oak. It stayed at waist height. Pale, translucent skin stretched tight over a skull that lacked a nose, just two vertical slits that whistled with every breath. The eyes were vast, flat discs of hammered gold. It didn't blink. It didn't speak. It simply watched, its fingers—far too many joints to be natural—hooked into the grooves of the bark. Rory took a step back. Then another. The creature didn't follow. It didn't have to. From the darkness of the high branches, dozens of identical golden discs opened. They weren't stars. The Grove was breathing. A collective, rhythmic heaving of the earth beneath her boots made the soil feel like flesh. "The price was paid." The voice didn't come from the creatures. It vibrated inside her own skull, tasting of copper and old coins. Rory reached the boundary of the standing stones. She tried to step through, but her foot hit something solid. An invisible wall, cold as ice and slick as grease, blocked the way. She slammed her shoulder against the empty air. It didn't budge. On the other side of the barrier, she could see the distant, flickering orange glow of the London skyline. It looked miles away, a different world entirely. A jogger passed by on a path not fifty yards out, his headphones glowing neon green. He didn't look her way. He couldn't see the woman screaming and hammering on a wall of nothingness. The pale creature at the tree base let go of the bark. It began to crawl towards her, its limbs splaying out like a spider’s. "Yu-Fei didn't mention a tip." Rory fumbled in her pocket, her fingers closing around a small brass key she kept for her flat. She held it out like a weapon. The thing stopped. It tilted its head, the golden eyes reflecting the crimson glow now emanating from Aurora’s chest. The Heartstone was no longer just warm; it was burning a hole through her shirt, the light pulsing in a frantic, warning strobe. A branch snapped directly above her. She looked up. A woman hung upside down from a limb, her hair trailing like black willow wisps. Her face was perfectly human, beautiful even, except for the mouth. It stretched from ear to ear, filled with rows of needle-teeth that shimmered like pearls. "The iron," the woman whispered, her voice a melody that made Rory’s nose bleed. "You brought cold iron into my garden." Rory looked at the brass key. It wasn't iron, but the creature reacted as if she held a sun. The beautiful woman hissed, her jaw unhinging further, revealing a throat that descended into an endless, starlit void. "I just want to go home." Aurora pressed her back against the invisible barrier. The creatures in the trees began to descend, slipping down the trunks with the sound of dry leaves skittering on pavement. Dozens of them. Hundreds. All with those unblinking gold eyes. The Heartstone Pendant let out a sharp, crystalline crack. A hairline fracture appeared across the deep crimson surface. The light changed from a pulse to a steady, blinding glare that washed out the forest. The woman in the tree shrieked, a sound that shattered the containers of food on the mossy rock. She shielded her eyes, her skin blistering where the red light touched it. "Not yours," the woman spat, her beauty melting into something jagged and grey. "The merchant promised a soul. Not a carrier of the Red Hel." Rory felt the barrier behind her give way. It didn't vanish; it softened into a gelatinous membrane. She threw her weight backward, falling through the surface like a stone into a dark pool. The transition was violent. One moment, the cloying scent of the flowers choked her; the next, she hit hard, dry gravel. The roar of a distant South Western Railway train hit her ears like a physical blow. She scrambled to her feet, gasping for air that tasted of damp pavement and city smog. She was back in Richmond Park. The ordinary oaks stood silent, their branches moving naturally in a light breeze. The standing stones were just old trees again. Rory looked down at her chest. The Heartstone was dull, the crack a jagged white line across its face. It was ice cold. She checked her phone. The screen flickered to life. *11:42 PM.* She had entered the grove at 8:00 PM. She looked at the date. It was Tuesday. She had left the restaurant on a Friday. The bag was gone. The food was gone. And on her left wrist, encircling the crescent scar, were the faint, bruised imprints of fingers with too many joints. A soft whistle drifted from the trees behind her. It wasn't the wind. Rory didn't wait to see if the barrier was truly closed. She ran toward the distant streetlights of Richmond, her boots thudding on the asphalt, the silent weight of those three missing days pressing down on her shoulders. As she reached the park gates, she glanced back. A single white wildflower lay on the pavement, out of place among the gravel. It began to wilt at a visible speed, turning black and dissolving into a puddle of foul-smelling slime. She fumbled for her keys, the brass cold and reassuring in her hand. The flat above Silas’ bar felt like a fortress she might never reach. Every shadow under the streetlights looked too long. Every rustle of a plastic bag in the gutter sounded like a crawl. She reached the main road and hailed a black cab with a desperation that made the driver pause. He looked at her disheveled hair and the bruised marks on her arm. "Rough night, love?" Rory slumped into the leather seat, the smell of stale tobacco and chemical air freshener the most beautiful thing she had ever encountered. "You have no idea." She looked out the rear window as they pulled away. In the darkness of the park, she could have sworn she saw a pair of golden discs reflecting the taxi’s taillights, hovering five feet off the ground. The pendant in her hand vibrated once, a final, dying twitch, and then went silent. She stared at her reflection in the glass. Her blue eyes looked different. In the harsh flicker of the passing streetlamps, they didn't look blue at all. They shimmered with a faint, metallic gold. She rubbed her eyes, but the gold remained, a stain of the Grove that refused to wash away. The city hummed around her, oblivious to the pocket of hunger she had escaped. A text message buzzed in her pocket. *Yu-Fei: Did you deliver the package? Isolde says you were late.* Rory stared at the glowing letters until they blurred. She didn't reply. She watched the clock on the dashboard. The seconds were ticking forward now, steady and unrelenting, but she couldn't stop checking her pulse, making sure she was still moving at the same speed as the rest of the world.