Run: 2026-02-19-01KHV1418JAT4NSW648C4YAFHC

The ancient oak standing stones loomed overhead, their bark blackened by centuries of London soot and something older, something deeper. Rory stepped across the boundary where the grass of Richmond Park shifted into the vibrant, unnatural green of the Grove. The air changed instantly. The city hum faded into a heavy silence that pressed against her eardrums. She pulled her jacket tighter around her neck, the cold biting through the leather. Her fingers found the silver chain at her throat. The Heartstone pendant rested against her collarbone, deep crimson catching the moonlight. It pulsed. A steady rhythm, like a second heartbeat beneath her skin. Warmth radiated from the gemstone, seeping into her chest. Rory stopped. She scanned the tree line. Wildflowers bloomed in the shadows, petals unfurled in colours that had no name. Poppies bled into violets, and white lilies opened wide despite the frost coating the ground outside the boundary. This place does not follow the rules. She touched the small crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist. The skin tingled. Come on, Carter. You wanted answers. You walked through the door. Her breath plumed in the air, white and thick. She moved deeper into the clearing. The ground felt spongy, absorbing the sound of her boots. No crickets chirped. No owls called. The silence waited for her to make a mistake. A branch snapped behind her. Rory spun around. The oak stones stood silent sentinel at the edge of the clearing. Nothing moved between them. The shadows stretched long across the grass, pointing away from the moon. Who is there? The words hung in the air, dead and flat. No echo returned. The silence swallowed the sound whole. She turned back to the centre of the Grove. The pendant grew hotter. The warmth shifted from comforting to burning. She slipped the chain over her head and held the stone in her palm. The crimson glow intensified, casting red light across her fingers. Something shifted in the periphery. A flicker of movement near the old oak to her left. She snapped her head toward it. Only the wind moved the leaves, yet the air remained still. Her hair stuck to her cheeks, damp with sweat despite the cold. I am not doing this. I am not losing it now. She walked toward the oak. The grass brushed against her jeans, dry and scratching. The pendant vibrated in her hand. A low hum started in her bones, resonating with the stone. Another sound. A footstep. Soft. Deliberate. To her right. Rory froze. She held her breath until her lungs burned. The silence returned, heavier than before. The flowers seemed to turn toward her, petals tracking her position. Show yourself. Nothing answered. The shadows between the trees thickened. They pooled around the base of the trunks like oil. She took a step back. The ground beneath her boot felt different. Harder. Like stone beneath the soil. Time moves differently here. An hour inside can be minutes or days outside. She checked her watch. The second hand ticked backward. Then forward. Then it stopped. Great. Just great. She shoved the watch into her pocket. The pendant burned her palm. She dropped it back against her chest. The heat seared through her shirt. A whisper drifted through the clearing. It sounded like her name. Not Rory. Aurora. Spoken with a weight that dragged the syllables out. She gripped the pendant tight. The silver chain dug into her neck. I heard that. The wind picked up, rustling the leaves of the wildflowers. They did not bend. They stood rigid. The sound came from above. She looked up. The canopy blocked the sky, leaves woven so tight no starlight penetrated. Yet the grove remained lit by a sourceless grey light. Something walked in the darkness beyond the firelight of the pendant. Heavy boots on dry leaves. A rhythm matching her own heartbeat. Rory backed away from the oak. Her heel caught on a root. She stumbled, catching herself on the rough bark. The wood felt warm. Alive. She pulled her hand away. A smear of sap coated her palm, dark and thick like blood. She wiped her hand on her jeans. The stain remained. You want to play games? Fine. She stood straight. Her blue eyes scanned the tree line. The darkness pressed in closer. The circle of light provided by the Heartstone shrank. The shadows encroached, eating the edges of her vision. A figure stood between the stones. Tall. Indistinct. It wore the shape of a man but moved like smoke. I know you are there. The figure did not move. It waited. The pendant screamed in her hand, heat spiking to a unbearable level. She gritted her teeth. Sweat dripped down her temple. The figure took a step forward. The grass did not bend beneath its feet. It hovered inches above the ground. Come any closer and I leave. The figure tilted its head. A gesture too human. Too familiar. Rory's stomach turned. She knew that tilt. She had seen it in mirrors. She had seen it in photographs of her father. That is not possible. The figure raised a hand. It pointed at the pendant. The crimson glow flared, blinding white for a second. Rory squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, the figure stood ten feet closer. The air smelled of ozone and burnt hair. What do you want? The figure opened its mouth. No sound came out, but the whisper returned, louder this time. Inside her head. *You brought the key.* Rory clutched the stone. Her knuckles turned white. I did not bring anything. I found this. *You woke it.* The wildflowers around her feet began to wilt. Petals turned black and crumbled into dust. The decay spread outward from her boots in a rapid circle. She stepped back. The decay followed. Stop it. *Time runs out, Aurora.* The voice sounded like Evan. Her ex. The memory hit her like a physical blow. The bruise on her arm throbbed in phantom pain. She shook her head. Evan is dead. You are not him. *Death is a door.* The figure dissolved into shadow. It reformed behind her. She felt the cold breath on her neck. She spun around, swinging her fist. Her hand passed through empty air. The momentum threw her off balance. She fell to her knees. The pendant hit the ground. It did not make a sound. It sank into the earth as if the ground were water. No. Rory clawed at the soil. Her fingers dug into the dirt. Nothing. The chain was gone. The warmth vanished. The cold rushed in to fill the void. The grey light faded. Darkness took the Grove. Only the moonlight outside the boundary remained, distant and useless. She stood up. Her hands shook. She wiped the dirt on her trousers. Give it back. The shadows coalesced in front of her. The figure returned. Solid now. Real. It held the pendant. The crimson light illuminated its face. It had no eyes. Just smooth skin where sockets should be. *You do not own the stone.* Rory backed away until her back hit the oak standing stone. The bark dug into her spine. I need it to find the way home. *There is no home.* The figure raised the pendant. The light swung like a pendulum. Rory's eyes followed the movement. Her eyelids grew heavy. The hum in her bones turned into a song. Low. Melodic. Wrong. She shook her head. She bit the inside of her cheek. Pain sharpened her focus. I am not sleeping. *You are already dreaming.* The wildflowers behind the figure bloomed again. Instantly. Full burst of colour in the dark. They grew taller. Vines shot out from the stems, writhing like snakes. They moved toward her. Rory pushed off the tree. She ran toward the boundary. The oak stones stood fifty yards away. The distance stretched. She ran harder. Her lungs burned. The stones did not get closer. The vines brushed her ankles. Cold. Slimy. She kicked them away. Thorns tore at her jeans. Blood welled on her shin. Let me out. The figure stood in her path. It had moved without walking. It blocked the way to the stones. *The Grove keeps what it takes.* Rory stopped. She stood her ground. Her chest heaved. She looked at the figure. She looked at the pendant in its hand. Take me then. The figure paused. The vines stopped moving. *You offer yourself?* I offer a trade. The stone for me. The figure tilted its head again. The motion jerked, unnatural. *The stone is not mine to give.* Then give me back my property. Rory held out her hand. Her palm faced up. The scar on her wrist glowed faintly. A matching crimson light. The figure looked at her wrist. It looked at the pendant. *The mark binds you.* I know. *Then you cannot leave.* The vines retreated. The figure lowered the pendant. It dangled from its fingers. *Not yet.* Rory dropped her hand. The glow on her wrist faded. When? *When the portal opens.* Where? *Where the blood meets the stone.* The figure stepped back into the shadows. The darkness swallowed it whole. The pendant light vanished with it. The Grove plunged into total blackness. Rory stood alone in the dark. The silence returned. Heavy. Waiting. She touched her wrist. The skin felt hot. I am coming back for you. She turned toward the stones. They glowed faintly now. A path opened between them. The city hum returned, faint but present. She walked toward the light. The grass crunched under her boots. Real sound. Real ground. She stepped across the boundary. The cold London night hit her face. The pendant was gone. The scar remained. Rory looked back at the Grove. The trees stood still. The flowers wilted in the moonlight. Something watched from the deep shadows. Two points of crimson light blinked once. Then vanished. She turned away. She walked toward the park exit. Her steps echoed on the pavement. Behind her, the wind rustled the leaves. It sounded like laughter.