Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY7GX9GCDSD902GVBGH3T4R

The damp chill seeped through Rory’s jacket, despite the late hour of the spring evening. Richmond Park felt different at night. Not just quieter, though the usual dog walkers and families were long gone. It felt…watched. She tugged the silver chain of the Heartstone Pendant beneath her collar, the smooth, cool gemstone a small comfort against her skin. It hadn’t pulsed all day, not even faintly. Still, she wore it. Habit, mostly. And a vague sense of obligation to the woman who had pressed it into her hand last month, a woman she couldn’t quite recall beyond the impression of intense, dark eyes and a voice like wind chimes. She’d navigated the park’s winding paths for twenty minutes, following the increasingly vague directions Eva had given her. “Past the Isabella Plantation, towards the old oaks. You’ll know it when you feel it.” Helpful. Eva, with her chaotic energy and infuriatingly accurate intuitions, had insisted Rory come here. Something about a growing disturbance, a thinning of the veil. Rory had dismissed it as Eva being Eva, chasing shadows and whispers. Until the dreams started. Fractured images, cold stone, a suffocating darkness, and always, the feeling of being hunted. The standing stones loomed ahead, ancient oaks gnarled with age, their branches clawing at the inky sky. They weren’t marked on any map, and Rory had cycled past this part of the park dozens of times without noticing them. Now, they practically pulsed with an unseen energy. This had to be the place. The Fae Grove, Eva had called it. She stepped between the largest stones, the air immediately growing heavy, thick with the scent of wildflowers. Wildflowers shouldn’t be blooming in April, not like this. Every conceivable color spilled across the clearing, a riot of blossoms that seemed almost…too bright. Unnatural. Rory pulled out her phone, the screen a stark rectangle of light in the gloom. No signal. Of course. She shoved it back in her pocket, a knot forming in her stomach. It wasn’t the lack of service that bothered her; it was the speed with which it had vanished. She’d had three bars just moments before crossing the threshold. The silence was enormous. Not the peaceful quiet of the park, but a suffocating absence of sound. No birds, no rustling leaves, no distant traffic. Just…nothing. She took a tentative step forward, her boots sinking slightly into the soft, mossy ground. A twig snapped. She froze, heart hammering against her ribs. It wasn’t nearby, but far enough that she couldn’t pinpoint the direction. Probably a deer. Richmond Park was full of them. Still, she scanned the perimeter, her eyes straining to penetrate the shadows that clung to the edges of the clearing. Nothing. She continued, forcing herself to walk at a normal pace, trying to appear confident even though every instinct screamed at her to turn back. The Heartstone remained stubbornly cold, offering no indication of anything amiss. Eva had said the pendant reacted to Hel portals. If a portal was opening, Rory should feel *something*. Another sound. A soft, dragging noise, like something heavy being pulled across the ground. This one was closer, coming from beyond a thicket of hawthorn bushes. Rory stopped again, her hand instinctively reaching for the small, legal-sized notepad she carried for deliveries. Hardly a weapon, but better than nothing. “Hello?” she called out, her voice sounding unnaturally loud in the oppressive silence. No response. Only the persistent, unsettling dragging sound. She started to circle the thicket, keeping her back to the clearing, her eyes fixed on the dark tangle of branches and thorns. The air grew colder, raising goosebumps on her arms. A faint, sickly-sweet odor wafted on the breeze, like overripe fruit and something else…something metallic. A flash of movement. Not a large animal, but something quick, slender, disappearing behind the bushes before she could get a clear look. “Just a fox,” she muttered, trying to reassure herself. London foxes were practically the size of small dogs. But the dragging sound had stopped. And now, there was something else. A faint, rhythmic clicking, like fingernails tapping against stone. It seemed to be coming from *within* the hawthorn thicket. She stopped, breathing shallowly. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t a fox. This wasn’t any animal she’d ever heard. The Heartstone suddenly warmed. Not a noticeable surge, but a subtle pulse of heat against her skin. It wasn’t a strong reaction but it hadn’t reacted at all since she’d arrived. Rory’s gaze dropped to the pendant, tracing the crimson glow of the gemstone with her fingertip. A Hel portal. Eva had been right. Something *was* happening here. The clicking stopped. Then, a voice. It wasn’t a human voice. It wasn't a voice at all really, more like a scraping, a rasping whisper that seemed to resonate in her bones. It didn’t register as words, not in any language she recognized, but the intent was clear. It was…inviting. Luring. Rory took a step back, her heel crunching on a fallen branch. The sound echoed in the silence, and the whispering stopped. She risked another glance at the hawthorn thicket. This time, she saw it. A shape. Not fully formed, but a distortion in the shadows, a shifting silhouette that seemed to ripple and warp the air around it. It was tall, impossibly thin, and from its vaguely humanoid form, two points of light burned with a cold, blue intensity. Her breath hitched in her throat. Those eyes. They weren’t looking *at* her. They were looking *through* her. The Heartstone pulsed again, faster this time, its warmth spreading across her chest. She could feel a prickling sensation on the back of her neck, the feeling of being observed, scrutinized. A single wildflower, a vibrant crimson poppy, detached itself from its stem and drifted towards her, impossibly slow, suspended in the air like a morbid offering. The shape within the thicket began to move, slowly, deliberately. It didn't walk. It *flowed*. The branches of the hawthorn bushes seemed to bend inwards, as if to accommodate its passage, to welcome it. Rory didn’t think. She turned and ran, stumbling over uneven ground, forcing her legs to move faster, faster. She didn't dare look back. Didn’t dare acknowledge the cold dread that was solidifying in her chest. The scent of overripe fruit and metal grew stronger, filling her nostrils, suffocating her. The clicking started again, closer now, keeping pace with her frantic flight. She could feel its presence behind her, not as a physical being, but as a weight, a pressure, a growing certainty that it wasn't trying to catch her. It was trying to *collect* her.