Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTXJ9G03NERBYTYFP04TKR9

Mist slid through the gaps in the oak gate like fingers searching for a grip. Aurora tightened her fingers around the handlebars of her bicycle, the metal freezing against her palms. Richmond Park had swallowed the sunset an hour ago. Now, the sprawling expanse of London’s greenery existed only in shades of bruised purple and charcoal. She checked the slip of paper tucked into her jacket sleeve. The delivery address lacked a house number, specifying only a clearing past the ancient oak standing stones. Twigs snapped under her tires. The sound echoed, unnaturally sharp, as if the trees themselves amplified the noise. Aurora dismounted. Her boots sank into soil that felt far too soft, almost spongy, beneath the thin layer of frost. "Is anyone out here? Your food is getting cold." The silence that followed didn't feel empty. It felt occupied. She leaned the bike against a gnarled trunk and retrieved the thermal bag from the basket. The Heartstone Pendant beneath her scarf hummed. The vibration started as a prickle against her collarbone and grew into a steady, rhythmic thrum. It mirrored her heartbeat, though it beat a fraction faster. She stepped through the threshold of the standing stones. The temperature plummeted. Her breath didn't just fog; it hung in the air like a solid white veil. The Grove breathed back at her. Here, the wildflowers didn’t bother with the season. Primroses and bluebells carpeted the ground, their petals pale and luminous under a moon that looked far too large for the London sky. "Golden Empress delivery. I have the spicy prawns." Aurora turned in a slow circle. The clearing appeared vacant, yet the back of her neck prickled. A shadow stretched across the bluebells toward her feet. It didn't belong to a tree. It possessed limbs that were too long and joints that bent at impossible angles. When she spun around to face the source, nothing stood there but the silver-gray bark of an oak. The pendant scorched her skin. She reached up, pressing her hand over the crimson stone to still the heat. "I'm leaving this by the center stone. You can pay via the app." She set the bag down. As her fingers left the fabric, a sound drifted from the thicket—a wet, rhythmic sliding, like a heavy coil of rope being dragged through mud. It stopped the moment she did. Aurora retreated toward the gateway stones. Her footsteps felt heavy, the air growing thick like syrup. She glanced at her wrist, checking the small crescent scar there. It itched, a phantom sensation she only felt when her instincts screamed. They were screaming now. The shadow reappeared, this time on her left. It skipped across the ground, independent of any light source, mimicking her gait. When she slowed, it slowed. When she bolted, it elongated, rushing ahead of her to pool at the base of the standing stones. "This isn't funny. I'm just doing my job." A laugh rippled through the clearing. It didn't sound human. It carried the tone of glass shattering inside a velvet bag. The sound originated from several places at once—from the canopy above, from the burrowed roots beneath her, and from the very bag of food she had just abandoned. The bag moved. Something within the thermal insulation crunched. It wasn't the sound of eating; it was the sound of the plastic foam being crushed by immense pressure. Aurora didn't wait for the customer to show themselves. She dove for the gap between the oaks, but the stones seemed further away than they had been seconds ago. The grass beneath her boots grew taller with every stride, curling around her ankles like green, supple fingers. She tripped. Her palm struck a patch of moss that felt like cold, wet skin. "Rory..." The voice was a perfect imitation of Eva’s, but the cadence was wrong. It was flat, devoid of the warmth her friend usually carried. It came from the darkness behind a cluster of blooming foxgloves. "Eva? Why are you out here? How did you—" Aurora cut herself off. Eva was at the bar. Eva was safe. The thing in the woods shifted, its silhouette detaching itself from the trunk of a tree. It stood seven feet tall, its frame a skeletal lattice covered in drapes of moss and rotted silk. It had no face, only a smooth expanse of pale wood where features should be, honeycombed with tiny, hexagonal holes. "Rory... so hungry..." The Heartstone Pendant flared. A blinding crimson light erupted from beneath her scarf, pushing back the encroaching shadows. The creature recoiled, its limbs clicking like shears. Aurora scrambled backward. She didn't look for her bike. She didn't look for the food. She focused on the gap in the stones, the one part of the horizon where the stars looked familiar. The sliding sound returned, faster now. It hissed against the grass. Something cold brushed against the back of her heel. She didn't scream; she saved her breath for the sprint. The air in the Grove began to warp. The smell of jasmine and old rot filled her lungs, making her head swim. The standing stones pulsed with a dull, amber light, the gap between them narrowing. "Bring the spice, Rory. We paid for the spice." The voice was closer now, vibrating in her inner ear. A hand, or something resembling a hand, reached out from the gloom. It had too many fingers, and they were tipped with thorns. She vaulted over a fallen log, her boots skidding on the frost-slicked grass. The boundary was inches away. She could see the dull orange glow of London’s light pollution beyond the veil, a comforting ugliness compared to the ethereal horror of the Grove. Aurora threw herself forward. She felt the thorns snag her jacket, the fabric tearing with a sharp protest. A coldness she couldn't describe surged through her arm where the creature touched her, a numbing void that threatened to stop her heart. She hit the gravel path of the main park with a jarring impact. The silence of the real world rushed back. The distant hum of a distant jet engine, the far-off siren of an ambulance—noises she usually hated—were a symphony of safety. She turned back. The standing stones were just stones. The mist was just mist. There was no clearing full of wildflowers, only a dense thicket of brambles and dead ferns. Her bike stood where she had left it, the metal still gleaming under the weak light of a park lamp. Aurora gripped her wrist. The scar was burning. She looked down at her jacket. Three long, thin rents marked the sleeve, the edges of the denim charred as if by acid. She reached for her phone to mark the delivery as complete. The screen showed the time as 3:14 AM. She had entered the park at 8:00 PM. The phone vibrated in her hand. A message appeared from the Golden Empress app. *Customer added a tip: Stay for dessert next time.* Aurora didn't breathe until she reached the park gates. She didn't look back at the trees, but she could feel them. They were watching her retreat, their branches swaying in a wind that hadn't quite reached the rest of the city yet. The Heartstone had gone cold. It sat heavy against her chest, a dead weight. She climbed onto her bike, her legs shaking so violently she nearly tipped over. As she pedaled toward the streetlights of Richmond Hill, a soft crunching sound started up again, coming from the empty delivery basket in front of her. She refused to look down. She focused on the white lines of the road, the hum of her tires, and the way the shadows behind her didn't seem to care about the direction of the light. The smell of spicy prawns and jasmine lingered in her hair all the way back to the flat. When she finally reached the safety of Silas’ bar, she saw the shadow again. It wasn't in the park. It was standing under the lamp post across the street, a tall, faceless shape of wood and moss, holding a small white delivery container. It waved. Aurora bolted the door and didn't turn on the lights. She sat in the dark, listening to the wood of the floorboards groan, wondering if the sounds were just the settling of an old building or something trying to find its way in. The scratching started on the windowpane a minute later. High up. On the second floor. "Rory... you forgot the napkins..." The voice didn't come from outside. It came from the kitchen.