Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTXQ5KAX7D6TDDBR5J5NP8Z

The darkness in Richmond Park was supposed to be ordinary. Just shadows cast by old oaks and the occasional rustle of a deer. But as Rory stepped past the ancient standing stones, the air shifted. It dropped in temperature, not the chill of a wind, but a static dampness that clung to her skin. "Brilliant," she muttered, zipping her jacket up to her chin. "Absolutely brilliant." She gripped the silver chain around her neck, thumb rubbing the smooth, cool facet of the Heartstone. Why she had let whatever instinct that drove her convince her this was a good idea, she didn't know. The stone had been humming against her chest for days, a low-frequency vibration that only stopped when she faced this direction. Towards the Grove. The clearing opened up, swallowing the twilight. Here, the rules of London fell away. The canopy above was too thick, woven together from branches that didn't quite look like oak or ash. Below, the ground was carpeted in wildflowers. Snowdrops, bluebells, poppies—a riot of colour that had no business blooming in the same season, let alone at midnight. "You're glowing," she said, glancing down at the pendant. The crimson gem was shedding a faint, bloody light, pulsing in a rhythm that felt uncomfortably like a heartbeat. "Is that a warning or a welcome?" A twig snapped. Rory spun around, her boots scraping silently over the moss. Nothing but the standing stones looming like jagged teeth against the sky. "Just a fox," she told the silence. "Or a badger. Definitely a badger." She took a step deeper into the Grove. The flowers brushed against her jeans, whispering. It sounded like dry skin rubbing together. She stopped, looking down. The petals weren't moving in the wind. There was no wind here. "Okay," she breathed. "Not a fox." The Heartstone flared hotter, searing her skin. She hissed, clutching it, but didn't let go. She moved forward, scanning the perimeter. The standing stones marked the boundary, but they looked different now. Taller. Leaning inward as if they were listening. The geometry of the place felt... compressed. The distance between the trees seemed to stretch and shrink when she wasn't looking directly at them. "Focus," she said, the sound of her own voice too loud in the enclosed space. "You're here for a reason. Find the source. Find the... whatever it is." A sound drifted from the left. A wet, dragging noise. Rory turned her head slowly. At the edge of her vision, something shifted behind the trunk of a massive oak. It was tall, pale, and motionless. "I can see you," she called out, her voice steady despite the icy knot forming in her stomach. "This is private property. Sort of." Silence stretched, thick and taut. The shape didn't move. It was probably just a birch tree with white bark. She stared at it, willing her eyes to adjust to the gloom. The bark was too smooth. It had the texture of... muscle? She blinked, and it was gone. Just an oak tree, gnarled and dark. "Right," she said, a tremor sneaking into the edge of the word. "Sleep deprivation. That’s what this is." She reached into her pocket for her phone, needing a timestamp, a connection to reality, anything. She pulled it out. The screen was black. She pressed the power button. Nothing. "Dead. Of course." She shoved it back into her pocket. The Heartstone was beating faster now. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Rory crouched down, examining the ground. The grass here wasn't green; it was a dark, bruised purple. She plucked a blade of it. It snapped with a brittle crunch, oozing a thick, dark sap that smelled like copper and old pennies. " Lovely," she whispered, wiping her fingers on the grass. "Just lovely." A giggle echoed through the clearing. Rory shot up. The sound hadn't come from the trees. It had come from right above her. She looked up. The branches were bare, twisted into knots that resembled faces. Hundreds of them. All smiling. "Who is that?" she demanded, backing away, her heels catching on the exposed roots of a standing stone. "Show yourself." The giggling stopped instantly. The abrupt silence was worse than the noise. It pressed against her ears, heavy and suffocating. She turned to leave, heading back toward the gap in the stones she had entered through. The path was gone. Where the opening had been, a wall of dense thorns now stood, growing rapidly before her eyes. The vines twisted together, knitting themselves into an impenetrable barrier. "No," she said, lunging forward and grabbing a handful of thorns. They bit into her palm, sharp and hot. She pulled, but the wall held firm, rooted deep in the earth. "Open up!" The Heartstone burned white-hot against her chest. She gasped, dropping the thorns. The light from the pendant grew stronger, casting long, jagged shadows across the clearing. The shadows moved. They detached themselves from the bases of the trees and the standing stones, sliding across the purple grass like oil spills. They were elongated, with too many joints in their limbs. Rory backed up until her spine pressed against the rough bark of the central oak. She pulled a small folding knife from her pocket—the only weapon she carried for late city deliveries—and flipped the blade open. It looked pathetic against the encroaching darkness. "You want to play games?" she shouted, the knife trembling in her grip. "I’m not in the mood." The nearest shadow paused. It had no eyes, but she could feel it studying her. It raised a limb, pointing a long, jagged finger at her chest. At the pendant. The sound of fluttering wings erupted from the canopy, thousands of them, like a flock of birds taking flight in reverse. But there were no birds. Only leaves falling, swirling around her in a tight vortex. The leaves were sharp as razor blades, slicing at her clothes and skin. She covered her face, ducking her head. "Stop!" The vortex died down as quickly as it had started. The leaves lay scattered on the ground, shredded. Rory lowered her arms, blood welling from a dozen shallow cuts on her forearms. She looked at the crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist. It was throbbing, the old injury waking up as if it had just happened. She wasn't alone. The realization didn't come as a fright; it settled in her gut like a heavy stone. The Grove wasn't just a place. It was a stomach, and she was the food. "Alright," she said, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. She raised the knife, stepping away from the tree. "Come and get it then." The shadows lunged.