Run: 2026-02-19-01KHTZ0WJ597BY75GW238K1YBW

The ancient oak standing stones loomed over the entrance, bark rough and blackened by centuries of rain. Aurora Carter stepped between them, the air shifting against her skin like a change in pressure before a storm. Richmond Park slept beyond the boundary, quiet and mundane, but the Grove held its breath. Night here possessed a weight, pressing down on her shoulders. She pulled her jacket tighter around her neck, the collar rubbing against her jaw. Wildflowers bloomed at her feet, petals open wide despite the lack of sun. Blues and violets glowed with a luminescence that defied the darkness. Rory scanned the clearing, her bright blue eyes adjusting to the low light. Straight black hair fell across her face, and she tucked a strand behind her ear, fingers brushing the silver chain around her neck. The Heartstone pendant rested against her collarbone, deep crimson gemstone catching the ambient glow of the flora. Warmth radiated from the stone, faint at first, then sharpening into a burn. She stopped. The heat pulsed in rhythm with her own heartbeat, or perhaps the pulse came from the stone itself. A Hel portal lay nearby. The codex entries she had studied warned of the energy signature, but reading about it differed from standing in its shadow. Silence filled the space between the trees. No crickets chirped. No owls called. The stillness felt manufactured, a vacuum waiting to be filled. Rory shifted her weight, boots crunching on dry leaves. The sound echoed too far, bouncing off trunks that stood too straight. She touched the small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist, a habit from childhood when anxiety spiked. The skin felt cold compared to the pendant. A rustle came from the left. She turned, head snapping toward the movement. Shadows pooled beneath the oak trees, thick and unnatural. Nothing stood there. The wildflowers swayed without wind. Show yourself. Her voice sounded flat, absorbed by the dense air. The pendant grew hotter. She unclasped the top button of her jacket, needing space between the metal and her skin. The crimson glow intensified, casting faint red lines down her neck. Something moved at the edge of vision. A shift in the darkness near the standing stones behind her. She spun around, hands curling into fists. The stones remained stationary, roots gripping the earth like gnarled fingers. Time moves differently here. An hour inside could be minutes outside. Or days. The thought surfaced, unbidden. If she stayed too long, London would move on without her. The delivery shifts at Golden Empress would go uncovered. Silas would wonder why the flat above the bar stayed dark. Another rustle. Closer. Rory held her breath. The air smelled of ozone and wet earth, metallic and sharp. She took a step forward, boot settling on a patch of white clover. The flowers wilted under her sole, turning brown within seconds. Life drained away where she touched. She lifted her foot. The clover remained dead. This place consumes. A low hum vibrated through the soles of her boots. The ground trembled, subtle enough to miss if she stood still. She walked toward the center of the Grove, drawn by the heat in the pendant. The crimson light strengthened, illuminating the mist that curled around her ankles. It clung to her legs, cold and wet. Branches cracked overhead. Rory looked up. The canopy blocked the sky, leaves weaving together so tight no stars pierced through. Yet the light persisted, sourceless and grey. A shape detached itself from the trunk of a large oak. It stood tall, limbs elongated, blending with the bark. She stopped walking. The pendant burned now, a genuine pain against her sternum. I know you're there. The shape did not answer. It shifted, mimicking the sway of the branches above. Rory took a slow step back. The figure mirrored her movement, sliding across the tree trunk without friction. Her pulse hammered against her ribs. She forced her hands to unclench. Panic clouded judgment. She needed clarity. Cool heads solved problems. Panic got people killed. Evan had taught her that, though not in the way he intended. The figure stepped away from the tree. It had no face, only a smooth surface where features should rest. It wore the darkness like a cloak. The hum increased in pitch. The wildflowers around her began to close, petals snapping shut one by one. The light in the Grove dimmed, leaving only the red glow of the Heartstone and the grey mist. Rory reached for the pendant, fingers hovering over the gem. The heat seared her fingertips. She pulled back. Where is the portal? The figure tilted its head. A sound emerged, not from the shape, but from the air around it. It sounded like breathing, ragged and wet. She scanned the perimeter. The standing stones formed a circle, marking the boundary. To leave, she needed the exit point. The time distortion meant she could lose days in seconds. She checked her watch. The second hand ticked backward. She tapped the glass face. The hand spun counter-clockwise, faster and faster. Time unravels here. The figure took a step toward her. The ground did not crunch under its weight. It glided. Rory matched the movement, stepping sideways toward the eastern stone. The mist thickened, obscuring her boots. A branch snapped behind her. She whipped around. Another shape stood near the western boundary. Identical to the first. Faceless. Tall. They herded her. Rory backed toward the center. The pendant vibrated, shaking against her chest. The crimson light flared, casting long shadows that stretched toward the figures. The shadows moved independently of the light source, reaching for her ankles. She kicked at the shadow. Her boot passed through the darkness, but the cold intensified, numbing her leg up to the knee. Get back. The figures did not stop. They closed the distance. The breathing sound grew louder, surrounding her. It came from everywhere, inside her head and outside in the air. Rory gripped the chain of the pendant. The metal bit into her palm. She needed leverage. The stones held the boundary. If she could touch the oak while holding the stone, the reaction might open a path. She lunged for the nearest tree. The figure intercepted her, appearing instantly in her path. It stood inches away. The cold radiating from it froze the moisture in the air, creating a halo of frost around its form. The pendant screamed. A high-pitched whine pierced her ears. She dropped to one knee, hand clamping over her ear. The crimson light blinded her, filling her vision with red. Through the glare, she saw the surface of the figure ripple. A face formed in the smooth darkness. Eyes opened, hollow and empty. A mouth stretched wide, lacking teeth or tongue. It spoke without sound. The words formed in her mind, heavy and intrusive. You do not belong. Rory scrambled backward, heels digging into the dirt. The dead clover crumbled to dust under her boots. She pushed herself up, back hitting the rough bark of an oak. The tree vibrated against her spine. The pendant cooled instantly. The light died. Darkness swallowed the Grove. She stood alone in the black, breath coming in short gasps. The figures vanished. The breathing stopped. Only the sound of her own heartbeat remained, loud and erratic in the silence. She waited. Minutes passed. Or hours. The watch on her wrist remained still, the hands frozen. A twig snapped behind her.