Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTYCKKVTWM9C08GQ5N7M9HW

The air in Richmond Park tasted different after sunset—thicker, with a metallic tang that clung to the back of Rory’s throat. She’d walked these paths a hundred times on her delivery route, but never this late, and never with purpose. The pendant resting against her collarbone pulsed a steady, warm rhythm, a silent guide through the deepening dark. She found the standing stones exactly where Eva’s frantic, coded message said they would be. Ancient oaks, twisted and gnarled, formed a near-perfect circle just off the main path, their roots snaking over the earth like petrified serpents. Wildflowers she couldn’t name bloomed in violent profusion between the roots, their petals glowing with a faint, impossible luminescence under the sliver of moon. This was the place. The Fae Grove. Rory stepped between two of the massive trunks, the pendant’s warmth flaring against her skin as she crossed the threshold. The change was immediate. The sounds of the city—the distant hum of the A316, a siren wailing miles away—snuffed out like a candle. A profound, ringing silence descended, broken only by the rustle of leaves in a wind she couldn’t feel. She pulled her jacket tighter. “Eva?” Her voice was too loud, swallowed by the dense air almost before it left her lips. No answer came. Of course it didn’t. Eva’s message had been clear: *Meet me at the grove. Midnight. It’s the only place he can’t follow. Bring the stone.* Rory’s fingers closed around the Heartstone pendant. The silver chain was cool, but the crimson gem at its center throbbed with a living heat. She’d found it tucked inside a takeaway container from Golden Empress two days ago, with no note, no explanation. Just this strange, beautiful, unnerving thing. And then Eva’s message, scrawled on a napkin and slipped under her door. She moved further into the clearing, her boots sinking into moss so deep and soft it felt like walking on a breathing creature. The flowers brushed against her jeans, leaving trails of shimmering pollen. The air grew warmer, humid, carrying a cloying scent of honeysuckle and damp earth. It was beautiful. It was all wrong. A crack snapped in the trees to her right. Rory spun, her heart hammering against her ribs. “Eva? Is that you?” Nothing moved. The trees stood sentinel, their branches still. The only movement was the gentle sway of the glowing flowers. An owl should have called. A fox should have scurried. This was a park. There should have been life. This silence was a vacuum. She took another step, and the pendant flared, a sudden, sharp heat that made her gasp. At the same moment, a whisper brushed against her ear, a sigh of sound without words. She jerked her head around, scanning the shadows between the thick oaks. Empty. “Hello?” Her voice wavered. She hated that it wavered. Evan’s voice echoed in her memory, cold and mocking. *You’re not as tough as you think you are, Rory. You just freeze up.* She clenched her fists, the small crescent scar on her left wrist a pale smudge in the weird light. “I’m not freezing,” she muttered to herself, a habit she’d picked up living alone. “I’m assessing.” Another sound, this one from behind her. A soft, shuffling step. Not an animal. Too deliberate. Too… bipedal. Rory didn’t turn. She stood perfectly still, every muscle taut, listening with her whole body. The shuffling stopped. The pulsing of the pendant was a frantic drumbeat against her sternum. *It’s just the wind. It’s a badger. It’s your imagination, you idiot. Eva’s late, that’s all.* But the wind didn’t shuffle. Badgers didn’t feel… attentive. She forced herself to move, to walk toward the center of the grove where the flowers grew tallest, their light casting her long, distorted shadow ahead of her. The sense of being watched was a physical pressure between her shoulder blades. She was a specimen under glass. A flicker of movement at the very edge of her vision—a shift in the darkness between two trees. She snapped her gaze toward it. Nothing. Just deeper shadow. She kept walking, her pace quicker now. The clearing seemed larger than it had from the outside, the far side no closer than when she started. Another whisper, this one closer. It wasn’t a language she knew, but the tone was clear. Mocking. Hungry. “Who’s there?” she demanded, her voice sharper now, laced with a fear she refused to let take over. “Show yourself!” The only answer was a low, melodic humming that seemed to come from everywhere at once, vibrating up through the soles of her boots. It was a tune she almost recognized, a nursery rhyme her mother used to sing, but the notes were twisted, sour. The flowers around her began to sway in time with it, though the air remained utterly still. The pendant burned, a searing brand against her skin. Rory fumbled with the clasp, her fingers clumsy with panic. She couldn’t get it off. The silver felt fused to her neck. She yanked at it, the chain biting into her flesh. A figure detached itself from the shadows of a great oak twenty feet away. It was not Eva. It was tall and impossibly thin, a man-shaped void where the grove’s light simply died. It had no face, no features, just a suggestion of a head that tilted too far to one side, observing her. It didn’t walk. It drifted, its feet not quite touching the glowing flora. Rory’s breath hitched in her throat. Every instinct screamed at her to run, but her legs were leaden. The thing’s presence was a cold weight pushing down on her, pinning her in place. The humming grew louder, filling her head, drowning out her own frantic thoughts. It raised a long, slender limb—an arm, maybe—and pointed a finger that tapered into a sharp, darkness-shrouded point. Not at her. At the pendant still burning on her chest. Its intention was a cold certainty in her mind. It wanted the stone. The paralysis broke. Rory stumbled backward, her boots catching on the treacherous moss. She fell hard, the impact jarring her teeth. The thing glided forward, silent and relentless, closing the distance without any apparent effort. She scrambled backward on her elbows, kicking up clumps of glowing earth. Her hand closed around a fallen branch. She swung it wildly, a pathetic defense. The branch passed through the figure’s torso as if through smoke, and a soundless, freezing cold rushed up her arm. She cried out, dropping the wood, her fingers numb. It was almost upon her, that pointed finger stretching out to touch the gemstone. The humming was deafening, a physical force. Rory did the only thing she could think of. She ripped the pendant from her neck with a brutal, desperate yank, the chain snapping with a sharp *ping*. She didn’t throw it at the thing. Instead, she slammed the pulsating crimson stone flat against the earth, into the soft, breathing moss. The effect was instantaneous. The humming cut off. The figure recoiled as if struck, a ripple of distorted darkness passing through its form. The wildflowers at its non-feet withered and turned black, their light snuffing out. A different sound began—a low, deep thrumming from the ground itself, answering the stone’s call. The earth beneath her palm vibrated, a powerful, ancient heartbeat. The thing hesitated, its form flickering uncertainly. It took one more gliding step toward her, its pointed finger trembling. Then it was gone. Not vanishing, but unraveling, its darkness dissipating like smoke in a sudden gale. The silence rushed back in, heavier and more profound than before. Rory remained on the ground, panting, her hand still pressed over the Heartstone buried in the dirt. The gem’s heat was fading, its pulse slowing to match the deep, steady rhythm of the ground. She was alone. Truly alone. Slowly, she pushed herself up to her knees. The broken silver chain dangled from her numb fingers. The crescent scar on her wrist stood out lividly white. In the perfect, watchful silence of the grove, a single, glowing flower near her knee unfurled a new blossom, its petals the colour of fresh blood.