Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTY759DXJEGGM66EVK9QNP2

The standing stones of Richmond Park had never looked like teeth before. Aurora adjusted the strap of her courier bag and frowned at the thought. She'd walked past these ancient oaks dozens of times on her delivery routes, their gnarled forms familiar landmarks in the pre-dawn grey. Tonight, though, a half-moon cast shadows that pooled between the trees like spilled ink, and the twisted branches reaching toward the sky seemed to form shapes that her mind refused to process directly. She checked her phone. 11:47 PM. The text from the unknown number had been brief: *Come to the grove. Midnight. Come alone. You'll want answers about your pendant.* The Heartstone hung cold against her chest, hidden beneath her jacket. She'd received it three weeks ago in an unmarked package at the Golden Empress, no return address, no note. Just a silver chain and a deep crimson stone the size of her thumbnail that pulsed with warmth whenever she passed certain spots in the city. Spots that, she'd discovered through experimentation, always seemed to be places where people reported strange disappearances. The pendant had been ice-cold when she'd left her flat above Silas' bar. Now, as she stepped between two of the ancient oaks that marked the boundary of the grove, it flared hot against her skin. She stopped. The heat intensified, then faded to a low, steady warmth. Aurora pressed her palm flat against her sternum, feeling the stone's rhythm through her jacket and shirt. It beat in time with her pulse, or perhaps she was imagining that part. "Okay." She exhaled slowly. "Okay. You came this far." The grove opened before her, a perfect circle of clearing perhaps thirty feet across. Wildflowers dotted the grass in colours that seemed too vibrant for moonlight — deep purples, vivid oranges, a blue so bright it almost glowed. The air tasted different here. Sweeter. Heavier. Like the moment before a storm, though the sky above remained clear and scattered with stars. She'd expected someone to be waiting. A figure in dark clothing, perhaps. The silhouette of whoever had sent that text. Instead, the grove sat empty and silent, its only movement the gentle sway of flowers in a breeze she couldn't feel against her skin. Aurora walked to the centre of the clearing. Her boots made no sound on the grass. That was wrong — the ground should have been damp from yesterday's rain, should have squelched beneath her weight. She looked down. The grass looked wet. It just didn't act wet. "Hello?" Her voice came out flat, swallowed by the air before it could carry. "I got your message. I'm here." Nothing answered. The pendant maintained its low heat, a warning pressure against her chest. She turned in a slow circle, scanning the treeline. The standing stones formed a rough ring around the grove, their bark pale in the moonlight. She counted them. One, two, three... eleven. She turned further. Fourteen. Another rotation. Nineteen. Aurora stopped counting. There had been twelve stones when she'd walked through them. She was certain of it. Twelve ancient oaks, a familiar number, one she'd noted on previous visits because it had seemed significant — twelve months, twelve hours on a clock, twelve of this or that. She turned again. Twenty-three stones now, their trunks pressed closer together, the gaps between them narrowing. "Right." She pulled her phone from her pocket. No signal. The screen showed 11:52 PM, though it felt like she'd been standing here longer than five minutes. "Right, right, right." A sound came from behind her. Soft. Wet. She spun. The grove remained empty, flowers swaying in that unfelt breeze, stones standing sentinel. But one of the wildflowers near the northern edge had been crushed, its brilliant blue petals pressed into the grass. She hadn't stepped there. The pendant burned against her skin, sudden and sharp, and Aurora's hand flew to her chest. The heat faded as quickly as it had come, settling back into that low, steady warmth. Warning, not danger. Not yet. "Is someone there?" Her voice died the same way — swallowed, flat, as if the air itself was thick enough to trap sound before it could travel. The silence that followed pressed against her ears. Not the peaceful silence of a park at night, not the relative quiet of a city sleeping. This was the silence of a held breath. Of something waiting. She moved toward the crushed flower, each step soundless on the impossible dry grass. The blue petals had been pressed into a shape. Not a footprint. Something longer. A groove, as if a hand had dragged through the flowers and grass, fingers splayed. Aurora looked at the nearest standing stone. The oak's trunk was smooth, unnaturally so, stripped of the gnarled bark she remembered. Pale wood gleamed in the moonlight, and carved into its surface were lines that hadn't been there before. She stepped closer. The lines formed a pattern — no, a word. *LEAVE* Her throat tightened. She backed away from the stone, and her heel caught on something. She stumbled, caught her balance, looked down. More crushed flowers. A trail of them, winding through the grass behind her. Following the path she'd walked to reach the centre of the grove. As if something had been crawling behind her, staying low, pressing itself against the ground. She hadn't heard anything. She'd felt no presence, no brush of movement at her back. But the evidence wound through the wildflowers, a destroyed path that ended barely two feet from where she stood. Aurora moved. Not running — running meant panic, meant tripping, meant giving whatever was here an advantage. She walked fast, controlled, her eyes on the gap between two standing stones that should have been her exit. The stones pressed closer together as she approached. She turned her shoulders to slip between them. And stopped. The forest beyond was gone. Richmond Park had vanished. In its place stretched more of the grove, more wildflowers, more standing stones stretching into darkness that the moonlight couldn't penetrate. The air had grown thicker, sweeter, cloying. The pendant blazed hot against her skin. "No, no, no." She turned back. The clearing she'd just left was smaller now, the circle of wildflowers compressed, the standing stones multiplying as she watched. "Come on." Something moved at the edge of her vision. She whipped her head toward it. Nothing but swaying flowers and pale-barked trees. Another movement, opposite side. She spun. Empty grove. Silent. Waiting. Then she heard it. Breathing. Not her own. This was wetter, heavier, each exhale carrying a low whistle that spoke of damaged lungs or a throat built differently from hers. It came from everywhere and nowhere, from the stones and the flowers and the thick, sweet air. Aurora's hand closed around the Heartstone through her shirt. The gem pulsed in response, its glow faint but visible through the fabric, casting her face in crimson light. "I know you're here." She kept her voice level through effort, her father's courtroom training holding steady even as her heart slammed against her ribs. "Show yourself." The breathing stopped. The silence that replaced it was worse. Aurora stood perfectly still, her eyes scanning the stones, the flowers, the impossible geometry of a grove that had grown larger and darker in the span of minutes. Her phone read 11:53 PM. She'd been here longer than a minute. She knew she had. The wildflowers nearest to her began to turn. Not sway — turn. Their heads rotated on their stems, one by one, until every bloom in the grove faced her. Brilliant petals of purple and orange and that impossible blue, all directed inward, all watching. She backed up until her shoulders hit one of the standing stones. The bark — smooth, pale, wrong — was warm against her jacket. She could feel something through it. A vibration. A heartbeat. The stone behind her was alive. Aurora pushed away from it, stumbling into the centre of the grove. The pendant burned. The flowers watched. The stones breathed their slow, wooden breaths. And somewhere in the darkness between the oaks, something that wasn't a tree shifted its weight.