AI The silver chain bit into Rory's neck as she stumbled, her boot catching on a root that hadn't been there a second ago. She righted herself, breath hitching in her throat, and scanned the treeline. The air tasted wrong. Not the damp, earthy rot of Richmond Park after rain, but something cloying and sweet, like overripe plums left to ferment in a sealed jar.
She clamped a hand over the Heartstone pendant resting against her collarbone. The crimson gem burned cold, a sharp contrast to the feverish heat radiating from her skin. It pulsed now, a rhythmic thumping against her palm that matched the erratic drumming of her own heart. The device had led her here, to this specific cluster of ancient oaks, claiming a Hel portal lay dormant within the circle. The benefactor who slipped it into her delivery bag had offered no warning about the silence .
Normal night sounds had vanished. No rustle of foxes in the underbrush, no distant hum of traffic from the A307, no hoot of an owl. Just that heavy, suffocating quiet, broken only by the crunch of her own footsteps on moss that felt too soft, too spongy, like walking on cured flesh.
Rory forced her legs to move. She needed to find the standing stones. The codex entry in her mind, scraps of lore Eva had forced her to memorise during those panic-fuelled nights in London, insisted the boundary marked the safe zone. If she crossed the stones without the pendant active, the time dilation could trap her for years while minutes passed outside. Or vice versa. She checked her watch . The hands spun counter-clockwise, a blurred whirl of metal.
Useless.
She pushed through a curtain of ivy that seemed to grasp at her sleeves, the leaves slick with a viscous sap that smelled of copper . Beyond the зелё wall, the clearing opened up. The Fae Grove.
Wildflowers carpeted the ground, vibrant splashes of violet, gold, and blood-red that glowed with their own inner light despite the absence of moonlight. They bloomed in chaotic profusion, ignoring the season, ignoring logic. In the centre stood the oaks. Ancient, twisted giants with bark that looked like flayed muscle, their branches weaving together to form a cage against a sky that lacked stars.
Rory stepped onto the flowerbed. The blooms did not crush under her weight . They bent, then snapped back upright, watching her.
She froze. Flowers did not watch .
The Heartstone flared, the crimson light casting long, dancing shadows that stretched toward the stones rather than away from the light source. The warmth intensified, searing her chest through her jacket. A Hel portal had to be near.
A twig snapped behind her.
Rory spun around, fists clenched , ready to swing at a mugger, a dog, anything human or animal. The path she had cut through the ivy stood seamless. No gap. No disturbance. The vines had knitted themselves back together, leaving no trace of her passage.
Panic, cold and sharp, prickled at the base of her skull. She backed away from the ivy wall, her eyes darting between the impenetrable green and the watching flowers.
"Show yourself," she called out . Her voice sounded flat, swallowed instantly by the thick air. It lacked an echo .
Silence answered. Then, a sound drifted from the direction of the standing stones. A wet, slapping noise. Like bare feet hitting mud.
Rory turned toward the oaks. Three figures stood between the trunks, their backs to her. They wore clothes she recognised. A tattered delivery jacket, yellow and stained. A university hoodie, grey and frayed at the cuffs. A barrister's suit, dark and impeccably tailored.
Her stomach lurched . The yellow jacket matched the one she wore for the Golden Empress. The hoodie belonged to Eva. The suit was her father's favourite, the one he wore to court before the stress made his hands shake too much to hold a pen.
The figures did not move. They stood perfectly still, shoulders slumped in identical poses of exhaustion.
"Ev?" Rory whispered.
The figure in the hoodie twitched. Its head rotated. Not a turn, but a rotation, the neck twisting far past the point where bone should snap, until the face looked back over its own shoulder.
It was not Eva. The face was a smooth expanse of pale bark, featureless save for two deep knots that served as eyes. Wood grain rippled across where a mouth should be.
The figure in the suit turned next. Same bark face. Same knot eyes. The delivery jacket figure followed suit, the movement jerky, unnatural, as if pulled by invisible strings.
Rory backed away, her heel catching on a hidden root. She fell hard, the impact jarring her teeth. The Heartstone screamed against her skin, hot enough to blister.
The three figures began to walk toward her. Their gait was wrong. Too fluid. Their legs bent at odd angles, knees popping backwards with every step. The wet slapping sound grew louder, rhythmic and relentless.
Slap. Drag. Slap. Drag.
Rory scrambled to her feet, abandoning dignity for speed. She bolted toward the far side of the clearing, aiming for a gap between two of the massive oaks. If she could reach the other side, maybe the boundary rules would shift. Maybe she could break the line of sight.
Branches lashed out as she ran, whipping her cheeks, tearing at her hair. They felt deliberate. Aimed. One thick limb swept low, tripping her again. She hit the ground, rolling to absorb the impact, and came up spitting dirt and petals.
The figures had not hurried. They had not run. Yet they stood only ten yards away, closing the distance with terrifying efficiency. The smell of them hit her now, cutting through the floral sweetness. Rotting wood. Stagnant water. Old blood.
"Not real," she muttered, forcing her brain to engage, to find the logic. "Hallucination. Spores. Gas."
The thing wearing her father's suit raised a hand. The fingers elongated, stretching into sharp, wooden splinters. It pointed at her wrist.
Rory looked down. The crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist, the one from the bicycle accident when she was seven, throbbed in time with the Heartstone. The skin around it turned grey, the colour spreading like ink in water.
The barrier between her and the Grove was thinning . The pocket realm was digesting her.
She yanked the pendant free from her jacket, holding it out like a weapon. The crimson glow intensified, bathing the clearing in a bloody haze.
"Back off!" she shouted.
The wooden faces did not react. The thing in the Eva-hoodie opened its mouth. The bark split with a sickening crack, revealing not teeth or tongue, but a hollow cavity filled with swirling grey mist . A voice emanated from the fog, a chorus of whispers that layered over one another, sounding like her mother, her father, Evan, herself.
*Stay, Rory. It's warm here. No more running. No more Evan. No more deliveries.*
The voice knew her fears. It knew the name she hated most.
Rory tightened her grip on the chain. The metal bit into her palm, drawing blood. She needed a plan. Fighting was suicide. Running led nowhere; the exit had sealed itself. She needed to disrupt the connection. The pendant reacted to Hel portals. If she could overload it, maybe she could tear a hole in their reality instead of letting them pull her into theirs.
She scanned the ground, looking for anything heavy, anything metallic. Nothing but flowers and soft earth.
The figures took another step. The grey spread past her wrist, creeping up her forearm. Numbness followed the discolouration. She tried to flex her fingers. They responded sluggishly, stiffening like drying clay.
*We are family,* the chorus whispered. The thing in the suit tilted its head, the motion bird-like and jagged. *Join the grove. Become eternal.*
Rory gritted her teeth against the creeping paralysis. She remembered the lore Eva had drilled into her. Time moves differently here. An hour inside is minutes outside. Or days. Or years. If she stayed, she would age into dust while London blinked.
She looked at the Heartstone. It pulsed faster, the light strobing now. It wanted to open a door. She just needed to give it enough energy.
She bit down on her own lip, hard. Copper flooded her mouth. She spat the blood onto the gem.
The reaction was instantaneous. The crimson light exploded outward, blinding and white-hot. The air shrieked, a high-pitched wail that vibrated in her bones. The flowers wilted instantly, turning to black ash that swirled in the sudden updraft.
The wooden figures halted, their forms shuddering. Cracks appeared in their bark faces, glowing with the same red light as the pendant.
*No,* the chorus screamed, the harmony shattering into discordant noise. *You cannot leave. The debt is unpaid.*
Rory stood her ground, holding the burning stone high. The numbness in her arm receded, pushed back by the heat radiating from the artifact. The grey skin peeled away like dead sunburn, revealing pink, living flesh beneath.
"I don't owe you anything," she snarled, her voice steady despite the terror clawing at her gut .
The ground beneath her feet began to buckle. The standing stones groaned, shifting in their sockets as the pocket dimension destabilised. The sky above fractured , shards of darkness falling like rain. Through the cracks, she saw glimpses of the real world. Streetlights. Rain-slicked pavement. A passing bus.
The thing in the delivery jacket lunged, its wooden fingers extending into long spears aimed at her throat.
Rory swung the pendant like a flail, the chain whipping through the air. The gem struck the creature's chest.
Wood shattered . Splinters flew. The figure collapsed into a pile of dry twigs and rotting leaves. The other two hesitated, the cracks in their forms widening, leaking the red light.
The earth opened up beneath Rory's feet. Not a gentle sinkhole, but a jagged maw tearing the world apart . She felt the pull of the void, the promise of falling forever.
The last standing figure, the one wearing Eva's face-less mask, reached out. Its wooden hand grasped her ankle. The grip was iron-tight, freezing cold.
*Take us with you,* it begged, the voice now just Eva's, small and terrified. *Please, Rory. Don't leave us in the dark.*
Rory looked down into the eyes that weren't there. For a fraction of a second, hesitation froze her blood. Then the Heartstone flared one final time, a pulse so strong it knocked the wind from her lungs.
She kicked out, smashing her boot into the wooden wrist. It snapped with a dry crack.
The ground gave way completely .
Rory fell.