Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTYP0564MT79528NRBB26Y2

The air in the Fae Grove was too still. Rory adjusted the strap of her backpack, her fingers brushing the crescent scar on her wrist—a nervous habit. The Heartstone pendant pulsed faintly against her collarbone, its warmth inconsistent. She’d come here because Eva swore the grove held answers, but the place felt wrong. Not dangerous, not yet. Just... off. Like walking into a room where someone had rearranged the furniture and didn’t tell you. Moonlight filtered through the ancient oaks, casting long, skeletal shadows across the standing stones. The wildflowers shouldn’t have been blooming in November, but they sprawled in riotous color underfoot, petals unnervingly vibrant in the dark. Rory exhaled, watching her breath mist in the cold. The grove was supposed to be a shortcut, a way to bypass the hours of research she’d been drowning in. Now, she wasn’t so sure. A twig snapped somewhere to her left. Rory froze. The sound hadn’t been close, but it wasn’t the wind. Too deliberate. She turned her head slowly, scanning the tree line. Nothing moved. “Hello?” Her voice didn’t echo. The grove swallowed it whole. The pendant flared hot against her skin. She reached for it instinctively, the crimson gem humming under her fingertips. Eva had warned her about this—the Heartstone reacted to things unseen. Rory’s pulse kicked up. She wasn’t alone. Another sound. Not a snap this time, but a whisper of fabric, like someone brushing against low-hanging branches. Behind her. Rory spun. The grove was empty. Her breath came faster now. She could leave. She should leave. But the stones loomed ahead, marking the heart of the clearing, and something tugged at her—curiosity or stupidity, she wasn’t sure. The pendant’s warmth spread, insistent. She took a step forward. The air thickened, pressing against her skin like damp velvet. The wildflowers swayed, though there was no breeze. Rory’s boots sank slightly into the earth, as if the ground itself was softening beneath her. A low, rhythmic hum filled the space between the trees. Not a voice. Not an animal. Just... vibration. It thrummed in her ribs, in her teeth. The pendant pulsed in time. Rory’s fingers tightened around the strap of her backpack. “Okay,” she muttered. “This is fine.” A shadow flickered at the edge of her vision. She jerked her head to the side. Nothing. Just the play of moonlight and leaves. But the back of her neck prickled. She was being watched. The humming grew louder. Rory took another step. The standing stones were close now, their surfaces rough with carvings she couldn’t make out in the dark. The air smelled wrong—sickly sweet, like overripe fruit left to rot. Something brushed her shoulder. She gasped, whirling, but there was nothing there. Just the empty grove. The pendant burned against her chest. “Stop it,” she hissed, though she wasn’t sure who she was talking to. Herself. The grove. Whatever was playing games with her. The humming stopped. Silence crashed down, sudden and suffocating. Rory’s ears rang with the absence of sound. The flowers had stilled. Even the shadows seemed to hold their breath. Then, from the trees—a laugh. Soft. Giggling. Childlike. Rory’s blood turned to ice. The laughter came again, closer this time. Playful. Taunting. It skittered through the underbrush, just out of sight. “Who’s there?” Her voice shook. No answer. Just another giggle, this time from her right. Rory backed toward the standing stones, her heartbeat thundering in her ears. The pendant was scalding now, the chain biting into her neck. She didn’t dare take her eyes off the trees. A figure darted between the oaks. Small. Quick. Gone before she could focus. Her breath hitched. “Eva?” The laughter came again, but it wasn’t Eva’s. It was wrong. Too high. Too sharp. Like something trying to mimic joy and failing. The ground beneath her feet shifted. Rory looked down. The wildflowers were wilting, petals curling black at the edges. The earth darkened, damp spreading in inky tendrils toward her boots. The humming returned, warped now—a dissonant, grating noise that set her teeth on edge. The pendant’s glow flickered, dimming as if drained. Something moved in the trees. Not a shadow this time. A shape. Hunched. Watching. Rory’s hands trembled. She took a step back. Another. The figure tilted its head. Then it stepped into the moonlight. Rory didn’t scream. The sound lodged in her throat, trapped. The thing staring back at her wore Eva’s face—but the eyes were wrong. Too wide. Too black. The smile stretched too far. “You’re not her,” Rory whispered. The thing that wasn’t Eva giggled again. The pendant went cold.