Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXQ2C40EE7GBB4RHTKF1G22

The Heartstone Pendant lay heavy against Rory’s collarbone, its crimson glow bleeding through her shirt like a slow, steady heartbeat. She adjusted the strap of her backpack, the weight of the takeout containers inside shifting with the motion. The standing stones loomed ahead, their gnarled oaks twisting into the night sky like skeletal fingers. Richmond Park should’ve been empty at this hour—just the rustle of leaves, the distant hum of the city beyond the trees. But the air here was too still. Too *watching*. She’d come for answers. The pendant had pulsed against her skin all day, a quiet insistence that grew louder the closer she got to the Grove. Eva had warned her about this place—*Don’t go poking at things that don’t want to be found*—but Eva wasn’t here now. Neither was Silas, or anyone else who might’ve talked her out of it. Rory stepped between the stones. The world tilted. The air thickened, cloying and sweet, like overripe fruit left too long in the sun. The wildflowers at her feet shouldn’t have been blooming—not in October, not with frost creeping in at night. They stretched toward her, petals brushing her boots as if tasting the leather. She kicked at them, and they recoiled, stems twisting away with a sound like wet paper tearing. A twig snapped. Rory froze. The noise had come from behind her, near the stones. She turned slowly, scanning the tree line. Nothing. Just shadows knitting themselves into shapes that dissolved when she blinked. The pendant flared hot against her skin, then cooled just as quickly. "Hello?" Her voice sounded too loud, too *normal* for this place. The wind picked up, carrying something that wasn’t quite a whisper. A breath, maybe. Or a laugh. It curled around her ears, too close, too *knowing*. She spun, but the clearing was empty. The flowers had stopped moving. Even the wind had died. Then the ground shifted. Not an earthquake. Not a tremor. The earth *breathed*. A slow rise and fall beneath her feet, like standing on a chest. She stumbled back, heart hammering, and the pendant burned again—this time with a sharp, insistent heat. A warning. Something was coming. The trees at the edge of the clearing shuddered. Not from wind. Their branches bent inward, as if pulled by unseen hands, then snapped back into place with a crack like breaking bone. Rory’s breath came fast, shallow. She should run. She *knew* she should run. But the stones were too far, and the path behind her had vanished, swallowed by the dark. A voice, this time. Not in her ears. *Inside* them. *"Little lost thing."* The words slithered through her skull, slick and cold. Rory clapped her hands over her ears, but it didn’t help. The voice wasn’t sound. It was *pressure*, a weight pressing down on her thoughts. *"You shouldn’t have come."* The pendant seared her skin. She gasped, tearing it off, and the chain pooled in her palm. The crimson gem pulsed once, twice—then the glow flickered, dimming like a dying ember. The voice laughed, a wet, clicking sound that came from everywhere and nowhere. *"Oh, but you did. And now you’re mine."* The flowers at her feet surged upward, vines snaking around her ankles. Thorns pricked her skin, not deep enough to draw blood, but enough to hold her in place. Rory yanked against them, but the vines only tightened, creeping higher, winding around her calves, her knees— A shadow detached itself from the trees. It moved wrong. Too many joints. Too many *angles*. It didn’t walk so much as *unfold*, limbs bending in ways that made her stomach lurch. The thing had no face, just a smooth stretch of skin where features should’ve been, save for a vertical slit that might’ve been a mouth. It tilted its head, and the slit widened. *"Pretty,"* it murmured. *"Pretty little thing, all alone."* Rory’s fingers closed around the pendant. The gem was cold now, lifeless. Useless. She hurled it at the creature. The thing caught it effortlessly, its fingers—too long, too *many*—curling around the stone. It held the pendant up to the slit of its mouth, and the gem flared back to life, glowing brighter, brighter— Then it *screamed*. Not a sound. A *feeling*. A wave of agony that knocked Rory off her feet, sent her sprawling onto the damp earth. The vines recoiled. The creature thrashed, its body convulsing as the pendant’s light seared its palm. Smoke curled from its skin, and the stench of burning meat filled the air. Rory didn’t wait. She scrambled up, boots slipping on the slick grass, and ran. The stones were closer now. She could see them, pale and jagged against the dark. The creature shrieked behind her, the sound tearing through her skull, but she didn’t look back. She lunged between the oaks— —and the world righted itself with a sickening lurch. The air turned crisp, normal. The wildflowers were gone. The trees stood still. The only sound was her own ragged breathing. Rory didn’t stop running until she hit the park’s outer path. Her hands shook as she fumbled for her phone, the screen casting a sickly blue glow over her face. No signal. Of course. She turned back toward the trees. The Grove was just a clearing now, ordinary and empty. The pendant lay somewhere inside, lost to the dark. And the thing—whatever it was—hadn’t followed her out. Not yet.