Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTYFPQT196RVFTRFDXRFDRQ

Mist tangled around the ankles of the ancient oaks, burying the forest floor in a shifting, spectral ocean. Richmond Park slept under a heavy, moonless sky, the distant hum of London traffic severed the moment Aurora stepped off the paved path and onto the deer trail. The cold bit through her denim jacket, sharp and wet, clinging to the strands of black hair that had escaped her ponytail. She adjusted her grip on the flashlight, the beam cutting a weak, jittery cone through the dark. Shadows stretched and snapped back like elastic bands as she swept the light across the gnarled bark of the trees. Every rustle of dry bracken sounded like a footstep. "Just trees, Rory. Just overgrown, creepy trees." Her voice sounded thin, swallowed instantly by the vastness of the park. She rubbed her left wrist, thumb tracing the crescent scar there out of habit. The rhythmic friction grounded her. Against her sternum, the Heartstone warmed her skin. It started as a dull hum when she hopped the fence near the Roehampton Gate, but now, a mile deep into the scrub, the pendant burned with a feverish intensity. The crimson gemstone pulsed beneath her shirt, a second heartbeat out of sync with her own. She stopped. Ahead, the two massive oak standing stones loomed out of the fog. They looked like jagged teeth piercing the gums of the earth, marking the threshold. Between them lay the entry to the Grove. She took a breath, holding it until her lungs burned, listening. Silence. absolute and oppressive. No wind rattled the dead leaves. No owls hooted. Even the distant city ambience had vanished, as if the world effectively ended at the perimeter of the trees. Rory stepped between the stones. The transition hit her like a drop in cabin pressure. Her ears popped. The biting chill of the English autumn vanished, replaced by a humid, cloying warmth that smelled of wet earth and over-ripe jasmine. "Okay. Strange weather patterns. totally normal." She swept the light low. Wildflowers carpeted the clearing, their petals fully open despite the dark. Blues, violets, and whites glowed faintly, as if they held their own luminescence. It was beautiful in the way a poisonous dart frog is beautiful—vibrant, inviting, and deadly. The heavy air pressed against her eardrums. She moved deeper into the clearing, boots sinking into moss that felt too soft, like flesh yielding under pressure. The layout was wrong. She had been here weeks ago during the day, and the clearing had been a perfect circle. Now, the trees on the eastern edge seemed to have stepped closer, distorting the geometry into a claustrophobic oval. *Snap.* The sound cracked like a whip behind her. Rory spun, dropping into a crouch, the flashlight beam slashing through the dark. Nothing. Just the swaying heads of foxgloves and the dark wall of the forest. She straightened slowly. "Isolde? If this is some Fae prank, I'm not in the mood." Silence answered, but it felt different now. Before, it was empty. Now, it felt attentive. She turned back to the path, intending to check the center of the grove, but movement flickered in the corner of her eye. A tall, thin shape standing just behind a hawthorn bush. She jerked the light toward it. Branches. Just tangled branches and shadow. Rory exhaled, a harsh sound in the stillness. "Get a grip, Carter. You faced down a possessive ex and London rent prices. A bush won't kill you." She forced her feet forward, but the sensation of being watched clawed at the back of her neck. The heat from the pendant flared hot enough to sting. She pulled it from beneath her shirt. The crimson gem glowed violently, casting a bloody light onto her palm. It wasn't just pulsing; it was vibrating, the silver chain trembling against her collarbone. The Heartstone warned of portals to Hel. This wasn't just Fae magic. Something else was here. Something that didn't belong in a grove meant for peace. Another sound drifted from the trees to her left. A wet, slurping noise. Like a boot pulling out of deep mud. *Slurp. Thud.* Rory killed the flashlight. Being able to see ten feet in front of her wasn't worth being a beacon to whatever was out there in the dark. The crimson glow of the pendant was the only light left, painting her face in steep, red shadows. She struck a hand over the gem, smothering the light. Blindness took her. She held perfectly still, straining her senses. The smell of jasmine had curdled into something metallic—copper and old meat. *Slurp. Thud.* Closer. She backed away, placing her feet with agonizing care, heel to toe, rolling her weight to avoid crunching the undergrowth. Her hand brushed against a tree trunk. The bark felt slick, warm, and pulsing. She snatched her hand back, wiping the slime onto her jeans. A whisper slithered through the air, seemingly coming from right next to her ear. "Rory." It wasn't a voice. It was the sound of dry leaves scraping together, manipulated to mimic the syllables of her name. She spun, swinging her fist into the empty air. Nothing. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. She needed to leave. Now. The questions could wait. She oriented herself toward where the standing stones should be. The exit was straight back the way she came. Just fifty yards. Rory moved, abandoning stealth for speed. She navigated by memory and the faint, greyish contrast of the sky above the canopy. The moss snagged at her boots. Thorny vines that hadn't been there a moment ago lashed out, snagging her jacket, scratching at her denim. She reached the perimeter. The standing stones were gone. A wall of dense, impenetrable briar stretched across where the path had been. "No." She shoved at the thorns. They were hard as iron, digging into her palms. She kicked at the base, but the wall was solid. *Slurp. Thud.* Ten yards back. Rory turned, her back pressing against the thorns. She uncovered the pendant. The red light washed over the clearing. The wildflowers were gone. The ground was churning, the earth rolling like boiling water. And in the center, where the beautiful clearing had been, a shadow detached itself from the ground. It rose, unfolding limbs that had too many joints, stretching taller than any man. It didn't have a face, just a slick, smooth surface where features should be. But it tilted its head, mimicking the exact angle she held hers. "Rory," the leaves rasped again. The shape took a step. The sound was wet and heavy. Rory scrambled sideways, forcing her way through a gap in the ferns, plunging into the deeper woods away from the blocked exit. She didn’t know this part of the grove. The trees here grew close together, their branches interlocked like skeletal fingers barring the sky. She ducked under a low bough, the wood scraping her scalp. The air grew colder, biting at her exposed skin, yet the pendant seared her chest. She paused behind the thick trunk of an ancient yew, chest heaving. She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle her breathing. Wait. The footsteps had stopped. She peered around the bark. The red glow of the pendant illuminated the small patch of forest around her. Empty. A drop of liquid landed on her cheek. It was warm. Thick. Rory wiped it away, looking at her finger in the crimson light. Dark, viscous fluid. She slowly tilted her head back, looking up into the branches of the yew tree directly above her.