Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXQ7WDXQC6ECD9A7HRBWA1B

The night air was thick with the scent of damp earth and wildflowers, the kind that bloomed only in places where time bent like a bowstring. Rory adjusted the strap of her messenger bag, the Heartstone Pendant tucked safely beneath her shirt, its faint warmth a steady pulse against her skin. She had come to the Fae Grove for answers—not that she expected them to be kind. The standing stones loomed ahead, their gnarled oaks black against the indigo sky. The boundary hummed, a low vibration just beneath hearing, like the thrum of a plucked wire. She hesitated, fingers brushing the crescent scar on her wrist. The last time she’d crossed into the Grove, she’d been with Eva, laughing as they chased fireflies that weren’t fireflies at all. Now, the silence was suffocating. She stepped between the stones. The world tilted. The air pressed in, too warm, too close, and then— She was inside. The Grove stretched before her, bathed in silver moonlight that didn’t come from any moon she knew. The wildflowers glowed faintly, their petals shimmering like scattered embers. Rory exhaled, forcing her shoulders to relax. She wasn’t here to panic. She was here because the pendant had led her, its warmth flaring to life whenever she neared the Grove, as if it knew something she didn’t. She followed the path deeper in, her boots sinking slightly into the moss. The trees here were older than memory, their bark etched with symbols that made her eyes ache if she looked too long. A whisper slithered through the branches—no, not a whisper. A breath. Too slow, too deliberate. Rory froze. The sound came again, closer this time. A wet, dragging inhale, like something pulling air through a clogged throat. She turned, scanning the shadows between the trees. Nothing. Just the sway of branches, the rustle of leaves. Her pulse hammered in her throat. She kept walking. The path forked ahead, one branch leading to the heart of the Grove, the other curling back toward the standing stones. She hesitated. The pendant’s warmth had faded, as if whatever it had wanted her to find was already behind her. But that didn’t make sense. She hadn’t found anything. A twig snapped. Rory spun, heart leaping into her throat. The sound had come from her left, near a cluster of ferns. The fronds trembled, though there was no wind. She took a step back, fingers curling into fists. “Hello?” Her voice sounded too loud, too brittle. The ferns stilled. Then, from the darkness beyond, a child’s laughter—high, clear, and wrong. It echoed, bouncing between the trees, coming from everywhere and nowhere. Rory’s breath hitched. She knew that laugh. She’d heard it in dreams, in the half-second before waking when the sheets were tangled and her skin was slick with sweat. Evan’s voice, but not Evan. Something wearing his voice like a mask. “Rory,” it sang. “Come find me.” Her stomach twisted. She hadn’t told anyone about the dreams. Not even Eva. The laughter faded, leaving only the sound of her own ragged breathing. She should leave. Now. Before whatever was playing with her decided to stop playing. But the pendant was cold against her skin, and the path behind her was gone. Only the fork remained, both branches leading into darkness. She chose the left. The trees pressed closer, their branches knitting together overhead like skeletal fingers. The moonlight dimmed, swallowed by the canopy. Rory’s breath came faster, her fingers trembling as she reached for the pendant. It was still cold. Dead. A shape moved at the edge of her vision. She whipped her head around, but there was nothing—just the shifting shadows, the endless dark. Then, from directly ahead, a whisper: *“You’re almost there.”* The voice was wrong. Too many layers, like two people speaking at once. One voice smooth, the other a guttural rasp beneath it. Rory’s legs locked. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t run. A figure stepped onto the path. Tall. Too tall. Its limbs were too long, its joints bending in ways that made her stomach lurch. It wore a coat—no, not a coat. A *skin*, stretched too tight over its frame, the seams splitting at the shoulders. The face was a blur, shifting between features she almost recognized—Evan’s smirk, her father’s stern frown, her own wide eyes staring back at her. “Aurora,” it said, and the rasp beneath the voice was louder now, like something struggling to get out. “You’ve been looking for me.” She stumbled back, her heel catching on a root. The pendant flared to life against her chest, searing hot. The figure hissed, recoiling as if burned. “No,” it snarled. “Not yet.” Then it lunged. Rory screamed, throwing herself to the side. The thing’s fingers grazed her arm, the touch like ice and rotting meat. She scrambled to her feet, bolting down the path, branches whipping at her face. The pendant burned against her skin, its crimson glow casting jagged shadows on the trees. Behind her, the thing shrieked—a sound like tearing fabric, like a voice unraveling. She didn’t look back. The standing stones appeared ahead, their gnarled forms a promise of safety. She sprinted, her lungs burning, her legs screaming. The boundary hummed, the air thickening, and then— She was through. Rory collapsed onto the damp grass of Richmond Park, gasping. The night was quiet, the stars overhead unchanged. She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the pendant’s heat fade to a dull warmth. Her fingers came away sticky with blood. The crescent scar on her wrist was bleeding. She didn’t remember it being cut.