Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTXY0CATN8A2P1RZ7RYH2P0

Richmond Park dissolved into a bruised tapestry of shadows and ancient bark as Rory pushed deeper into the thicket. The air here tasted different—heavier, metallic, like the aftermath of a summer storm. She pulled her jacket tighter around her chest, the thin fabric doing little to ward off the chill that seeped through her jeans and settled deep in her marrow. She shouldn’t be here. Not tonight. Logic screamed that wandering into a secluded pocket of the park after midnight was the epitome of stupidity, yet the Heartstone Pendant hanging against her sternum had been burning a rhythm into her skin for the last hour. A steady, insistent thrum that dragged her away from the safety of the main roads and toward the old oak standing stones. Rory stepped over a gnarled root that resembled a skeletal hand clutching at the earth. The boundary line. Legend claimed these trees marked the edge of Isolde’s grove, a place where the fabric of the world wore thin. She hesitated, fingers brushing the cool silver of the chain. The crimson gemstone nestled within, usually dormant, now glowed with a faint, sickly inner light. It wasn’t the warmth of comfort; it was the heat of a fever. "Just a delivery run," she muttered to the empty darkness. "Go in, check the coordinates, get out." Her voice sounded flat, swallowed instantly by the towering oaks. She crossed the threshold. The shift in atmosphere hit her like a physical blow. The ambient noise of London—the distant hum of traffic, the sirens, the constant drone of the city—severed abruptly. Silence rushed in to fill the void, thick and suffocating. Rory crouched, running a hand over the ground. Wildflowers. Poppies, bluebells, and things she couldn’t name carpeted the clearing in vibrant, chaotic colour. They bloomed with a vitality that defied the season, their petals opening wide as if drinking in the pale moonlight. Beautiful, but wrong. They grew too close together, fighting for space, their stems intertwining in a knot that looked less like nature and more like a tangled barricade. She checked her watch. The second hand stuttered, jerking between ticks before freezing entirely. Great. A twig snapped to her left. Rory spun around, heartbeat kicking up a notch. "Eva?" No answer. The bushes stood still, their leaves motionless in the windless air. She scanned the periphery of her vision, searching for the tell-tale shape of a person crouching in the undergrowth. Nothing. Just the interlocking branches of the oaks, twisting together to form a canopy that blotted out the stars. She turned back to the centre of the grove, and her breath caught. The wildflowers had shifted. Not by much—just inches—but the geometry of the clearing had changed. The patch of red poppies that had been near her boot was now nearer the stone circle. She stared hard, counting the petals, trying to map the pattern in her mind. Had she misremembered? Sleep deprivation played tricks on the brain, twisting memories like taffy. She took a step back. The crunch of dry leaves underfoot sounded like a gunshot in the silence. Another sound. Soft, wet, rhythmic. Like bare feet padding on damp moss. Rory narrowed her eyes, focusing on the darkness between two massive stones. "I know someone is there." Silence again. Then, a rustle. Directly behind her. She whipped around, fists raised in a defensive stance, but the space was empty. The air shimmered slightly, a heat haze rising from the ground despite the freezing temperature. The pendant against her chest flared hot, searing her skin. She cursed under her breath and unclipped the chain, holding the Heartstone out like a talisman. The crimson light cast long, dancing shadows across the grass, distorting the shape of the trees until they looked like looming giants. The stone pulsed faster. *Thrum-thrum-thrum.* A whisper brushed against her ear, too close to be the wind. *...Laila...* Rory froze. That name. She hadn’t heard it in years, not since she left Cardiff. Not since Evan. "I don't know who you are," she said, her voice steady even as her hands trembled. "But I'm leaving." She turned toward the boundary stones. The path she had taken was gone. Where the gnarled root had marked the entrance, thick brambles now formed an impenetrable wall, thorns glistening with a dark, viscous liquid. Panic, cold and sharp, pricked at the back of her neck. She turned in a slow circle. The grove felt smaller. The trees leaned inward, their branches lowering, narrowing the sky. The sound of breathing came from everywhere at once. A low, guttural inhale and exhale that vibrated in her teeth. Rory gripped the Heartstone until her knuckles turned white. She needed to think. There was always a way out. Always a logic to the chaos, even if it was buried under layers of magic and madness. "Time moves differently," she whispered, reciting the lore she’d half-read in old texts. "An hour inside can be minutes outside. Or days." If she couldn't find the exit, she had to wait it out. Or make her own. She scanned the ground again. The wildflowers. They were all turning. Slowly, imperceptibly, the heads of the flowers were rotating on their stems, tracking her. Every single one of them pointed toward the centre of the grove. Toward her. A mound of earth near the largest stone shifted. Rory took a step back, her heel catching on a exposed root. She stumbled, catching herself before she hit the ground. From the darkness beneath the oak, something slid forward. It wasn't a person. It was a shape, a coalescence of shadow and twig, roughly humanoid but elongated. Its limbs were too long, the joints bending in ways that made her stomach turn. It moved without sound, gliding over the flowers that crushed instantly beneath its mass. Rory scrambled backward, keeping her eyes fixed on the entity. The Heartstone in her hand blazed crimson, casting the creature in stark relief. It had no face. Just a smooth, pale surface where eyes and a mouth should be. She bumped into something hard and cold behind her. Another standing stone. She was trapped against the rock. The thing stopped. It tilted its head, listening. Rory held her breath. She could smell it now—ozone and rotting earth. The pendant’s heat became unbearable. She looked down at the stone in her palm. The light wasn't just shining outward; it was pulling inward. The gemstone seemed to be a black hole dragging the light from the grove into its centre. The creature took a step forward. It raised a hand, the fingers stretching, lengthening into sharp, wooden spines. "Back off," Rory snarled, swinging the chain. The pendant lashed out, the crimson gem grazing the creature's limb. A shriek split the air—not from the creature, but from the trees themselves. The wood groaned and cracked as if in pain. The shadow-thing recoiled, its featureless face contorting. Rory didn't wait to see if it would recover. She bolted toward the thicket of brambles that blocked the entrance. She had no weapon, no tools, just adrenaline and desperation. She hit the wall of thorns hard, brambles tearing at her jacket and scraping her skin. She ignored the sting, the sharp thorns digging into her palms, and clawed her way through the foliage. The breathing sound grew louder, turning into a roar of wind. She threw her weight against a particularly dense patch, felt branches snap, and tumbled forward onto the damp grass of Richmond Park. The air rushed back into her lungs—cold, city air, smelling of exhaust and wet pavement. She gasped, rolling onto her back and staring up at the sky. The moon was there. The stars. Normal. Quiet. She scrambled to her feet, looking back at where she had fallen. The oak trees stood tall and menacing in the distance, but there was no grove. No glowing flowers. No wall of brambles. Just an empty field leading to the woods. Rory looked down at her hand. The silver chain lay tangled in her fingers, the Heartstone Pendant dark and cold. On the back of her hand, a thin scratch welled with blood, matching the crescent scar on her left wrist. She looked at the woods again. The silence felt different now. Not empty, but waiting. She turned and ran toward the distant streetlights, not looking back until the neon glow of a sign washed over her, chasing the shadows away.