Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTZ0DRG8MP1BENCM7ZJB0AX

The air in the Fae Grove clung thick with the scent of damp earth and something sweet—honeysuckle, maybe, though Rory couldn’t see any. Moonlight filtered through the dense canopy above, casting jagged shadows across the standing stones that marked the grove’s boundary. She shouldn’t have come here at night. Silas had warned her. Eva had begged her not to. But the Heartstone pendant around her neck had pulsed with warmth all evening, a persistent, rhythmic heat that matched the frantic beat of her own pulse. She stepped carefully over gnarled roots, her boots crunching on fallen leaves. The grove was never silent, not really—there was always the whisper of wind through branches, the occasional rustle of unseen creatures—but tonight, the sounds were off. The wind didn’t move the leaves right. The rustling wasn’t just behind her; it was *around* her, circling. Rory’s fingers brushed the pendant. The crimson stone throbbed against her skin, warm as living flesh. A twig snapped to her left. She froze. Nothing. Then—another sound, too deliberate to be an animal. A slow, dragging scrape, like something being pulled across the ground. “Hello?” Her voice sounded too loud in the unnatural quiet. The grove swallowed the word whole. No answer. She exhaled through her nose and kept moving, deeper into the clearing. The wildflowers here bloomed unnaturally bright under the moonlight, their petals too vivid, their stems too straight. The air grew heavier, pressing against her skin like damp hands. Something flickered at the edge of her vision. Rory turned. Nothing. But the space between the standing stones—hadn’t it been wider a second ago? The pendant pulsed again, sharper this time. A warning. She swallowed. “If someone’s there, you should know I’m not in the mood for games.” A low, breathy laugh rippled through the trees. Not from one direction. From *everywhere*. Her stomach dropped. The flowers nearest her trembled, though there was no wind. Their petals curled inward, as if recoiling. Another sound—a wet, clicking noise, like tongues against teeth. Rory’s breath hitched. She took a step back. The standing stones loomed closer than they should have. The laugh came again, closer now. A voice, if it could be called that—something that mimicked speech but didn’t quite get it right. “Little thing,” it crooned. “Lost thing.” She spun, searching the shadows. “Show yourself.” A shape detached from the darkness between two oaks. Tall. Too tall. Its limbs bent at angles that made her eyes ache. It stepped forward, and the moonlight slid off it like oil, revealing nothing but a silhouette that wavered at the edges, as if it wasn’t entirely there. The pendant burned against her chest. “You don’t belong here,” the thing said. Its voice was wrong—too many tones layered over each other, a chorus of whispers and sighs. Rory’s fingers twitched toward the pocket where she kept her phone. Useless. No signal here. No help. The thing tilted its head. “Running won’t help.” She forced her voice steady. “I’m not running.” It took another step. The ground beneath it darkened, the grass withering where it passed. “Liar.” The air thickened, pressing against her lungs. The flowers around her shriveled, their colors leaching away. Rory backed up, her heel catching on a root. She caught herself before she fell, but the thing laughed again, a sound like dry leaves skittering across stone. “You feel it, don’t you?” It stretched a hand toward her, fingers too long, too many. “The grove knows you. It *tastes* you.” The pendant flared, sudden and searing. She gasped, clutching at it— —and the thing recoiled, hissing. For a heartbeat, the pressure in the air eased. Rory didn’t wait. She turned and ran. The trees blurred around her. The path twisted, branches snatching at her clothes, roots rising to trip her. The thing’s laughter chased her, a sound that wormed into her skull, vibrating behind her eyes. She skidded to a stop at the edge of the standing stones. The exit. But the space between them was gone. The stones had closed ranks, forming an unbroken wall. The dragging sound came again, right behind her. Rory whirled. The thing loomed, its form shifting, stretching. “No way out,” it murmured. “Not for you.” The pendant burned hotter, the chain digging into her neck. She gripped it tight, the stone’s edges biting into her palm. “Let me pass.” It leaned in, close enough that she could smell it—rot and honey, cloying and thick. “Or what?” She didn’t have an answer. The thing smiled, a jagged split in the dark. “Exactly.” Then it reached for her.