Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXPN99Q2HPQA1H8RAD6PWMQ

The Heartstone Pendant lay heavy against Rory’s collarbone, its crimson glow bleeding through her shirt like a slow-burning ember. She adjusted the strap of her backpack, the weight of the takeout containers inside shifting with a dull clink. The standing stones loomed ahead, their gnarled oaks black against the bruised twilight sky. Richmond Park stretched empty around her, the usual hum of distant traffic swallowed by the thickening mist. She shouldn’t have come. Not at this hour. Not after the last delivery to this grove had left her with a headache that pulsed behind her eyes for days. But Yu-Fei had been insistent—*special order, very important, must be tonight*—and Rory needed the extra cash. The pendant’s warmth had flared against her skin the moment she’d stepped onto the park’s gravel paths, a warning she’d chosen to ignore. The air smelled wrong. Too sweet, like rotting flowers. She wrinkled her nose and stepped between the stones. The grove unfolded before her, a perfect circle of wildflowers and moss-slick boulders. The last time she’d been here, the clearing had been bathed in golden afternoon light. Now, the shadows stretched long and jagged, pooling between the trees like spilled ink. The Heartstone’s glow intensified, casting a ruddy halo over her gloved hands. “Hello?” Her voice sounded thin, swallowed by the damp air. No answer. Just the rustle of leaves—too loud, too deliberate. Rory exhaled through her nose and set the backpack down. The containers inside were still warm, their grease-stained paper bags crinkling as she pulled them out. She arranged them in a neat line at the base of the largest standing stone, the way Yu-Fei had instructed. The scent of ginger and garlic curled into the air, cloying against the grove’s sickly sweetness. A twig snapped. Rory’s head jerked up. The sound had come from behind her, near the edge of the trees. Nothing moved. The shadows sat still, thick as syrup. “Eva?” she called, though she knew it wasn’t her friend. Eva was working the late shift at Silas’ bar, and even if she wasn’t, she’d never set foot in the grove. Not after what had happened last summer. Silence. Rory crouched, pretending to adjust the straps of her backpack. Her fingers brushed the pocketknife she kept on her keychain—useless, but better than nothing. The Heartstone pulsed against her sternum, its heat seeping through her layers. Another sound. A whisper of fabric against bark. Closer this time. She turned slowly. The trees stood motionless. The wildflowers swayed, though there was no wind. Then she saw it. A figure, half-hidden behind the nearest oak. Tall. Too tall. Its limbs bent at angles that made her stomach clench. It didn’t move, didn’t breathe—just *watched*. The shadows clung to it like a second skin. Rory’s pulse hammered in her throat. She forced herself to stand, to take a step back. The figure didn’t follow. It didn’t need to. The air between them hummed, thick with something that wasn’t quite sound. “Who’s there?” Her voice didn’t shake. Good. The figure tilted its head. The movement was wrong, too fluid, like a marionette with too many strings. A low, clicking noise emanated from it, a sound that vibrated in her teeth. Rory’s fingers closed around the pocketknife. The Heartstone burned hotter, its glow now visible through her shirt. She took another step back. The figure mirrored her. One step. Two. Then it *moved*. Not walked. Not ran. It *unfolded*, limbs stretching, elongating, until it loomed over her. The shadows peeled away, revealing skin the color of old bruises, stretched too tight over jagged bones. Its face—if it could be called a face—was a smooth, featureless plane, save for a slit where a mouth should be. Rory’s breath came fast. The grove spun. She stumbled, her heel catching on a root. The figure didn’t rush. It didn’t need to. It was already between her and the standing stones. The clicking grew louder. The slit in its face twitched. Rory lunged to the side, sprinting for the trees. Branches lashed at her arms, her face. The grove seemed to stretch, the path to the stones twisting away from her. The Heartstone seared against her skin, its glow now a steady, blinding crimson. Behind her, the clicking turned to a wet, guttural sound. Something scraped against the earth. She didn’t look back. Her boots pounded the damp ground. The standing stones were ahead, just beyond the next cluster of trees. She could make it. She had to. A hand—cold, skeletal—closed around her ankle. Rory screamed. She hit the ground hard, her chin cracking against a root. Pain exploded through her jaw. The pocketknife flew from her grip, lost in the undergrowth. The figure loomed over her, its breath a rancid gust. The slit in its face split wider, revealing rows of needle-thin teeth. The Heartstone flared, its light searing her vision. A sound tore through the grove—a deep, resonant *hum*, like a thousand voices singing in unison. The figure recoiled, its limbs jerking spasmodically. Rory didn’t wait. She scrambled to her feet, her ankle screaming in protest. The standing stones were right there. She could see the park beyond, the faint glow of streetlights. She didn’t hesitate. The moment her foot crossed the threshold, the grove vanished. She was back in Richmond Park, the air crisp and clean, the distant hum of traffic a welcome intrusion. The Heartstone’s glow faded to a dull pulse. Rory collapsed onto the gravel path, her chest heaving. Her hands shook as she pulled the pendant from beneath her shirt. The crimson gem was dark now, its light extinguished. She didn’t know what she’d just seen. She didn’t want to know. But the grove wasn’t done with her. Not yet. From the trees behind her, something *laughed*. A sound like dry leaves skittering across stone.