Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY7KNJE2TAE3V1J7H634WY8

Rory hauled her delivery bag’s strap higher on her shoulder, boots crunching over frost-dusted grass that should’ve been brown and brittle in mid-January’s London chill. She’d ducked out of the Golden Empress mid-shift, a crumpled note from an unmarked envelope burning a hole in her denim jacket pocket—“The Grove holds the pendant’s truth. Go at midnight.” She paused at the first oak standing stone, its bark ridged like a prisoner’s knuckles rubbed raw from years of chain, and brushed a strand of straight black shoulder-length hair from her bright blue eyes. The wildflowers at its base hit her first, a riot of clover, poppies, and cornflowers bursting in hues that shouldn’t exist under a cloud-shrouded moon—no flower blooms in January’s frost, not even in Richmond Park’s well-tended borders, and the Grove’s year-round wildflower flora felt like a silent taunt. She twisted the crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist, a childhood accident’s memento that pulled tight whenever she tensed, and let her eyes scan the stone’s circumference for any sign of the unknown benefactor who’d slipped the Heartstone Pendant into her delivery bag three weeks prior. I shouldn’t have left the restaurant. The pendant hung around her neck, its silver chain digging slightly into her collarbone, thumbnail-sized crimson gem glowing with a faint inner warmth she’d learned to ignore until last night’s note arrived. She’d worn it every day since it appeared—through delivery runs to rain-soaked London flats, through late nights studying old Pre-Law textbooks she’d abandoned in her flat above Silas’ bar (a relic of her reluctant Cardiff University tenure), through the quiet moments she’d caught herself staring at Evan’s old text messages before deleting them. The pendant’s odd behavior—faint pulses when she passed certain alleyways, a glow that brightened when she felt Evan’s presence nearby—had nagged at her, but she’d brushed it off as a trick of the light until the note came. The note gave no other clues. She stepped past the standing stone, crossing the Grove’s hidden boundary between Earth and the Fae realm, and the air shifted. It thickened, sweet with pine that had no business growing in Richmond Park’s deciduous landscape, and the frost under her boots vanished. The grass turned soft, dewy, as if it were mid-July’s peak, and her watch’s hands spun backward for three sharp ticks before freezing at 12:01 AM. She’d left the Golden Empress at 11:50 PM, a ten-minute bike ride to the park’s edge, but the Grove’s warped time behavior—an hour inside minutes or days outside—pricked at her intelligent, quick-thinking mind. She’d heard old tales from her Welsh mother about Fae-touched places, but she’d never believed them until now. My watch isn’t broken. She tapped the face with a gloved finger, the leather scraping against the metal. A branch creaked overhead. She froze. No wind stirred the oak boughs, no leaves rustled beyond the initial creak. She reached into her delivery bag, fingers wrapping around the cold metal of her bike lock—her only weapon, a heavy U-shaped piece she’d carried since Evan’s last attempt to corner her on a delivery run to a quiet London alley. Where’s the wind? She took another step, and the Heartstone Pendant pulsed. The warmth seeping through her shirt flared, a tiny flame fighting the dark, and the crimson gem’s inner glow brightened to match. She grabbed the silver chain, pulling it into view, and watched as its light danced across the Grove’s clearing—empty, save for the oak standing stones that ringed it like silent sentinels, and the wildflowers that dotted the ground in impossible hues. You’re reacting to something. She turned in a slow circle, eyes darting to the edges of her vision. A flash of movement—something small, pale, darting behind the next standing stone. She stepped toward it, left wrist’s scar pulling tighter as she clenched her fist, and let her bright blue eyes narrow. The wildflowers at her feet closed their petals, as if hiding from the thing she couldn’t quite see, their vibrant hues fading to a dull gray. Show yourself. The sound hit her next: a lullaby, high and thin, the same one her Welsh mother used to sing her before bed, the words tangled in a melody that had faded from her memory until now. She stumbled back, boots hitting a patch of poppies that had been blooming seconds before, and felt her breath catch. The lullaby wasn’t coming from the Grove’s edges—it was coming from inside her head, as if someone were prying into her most private memories, digging up the comfort of her mother’s voice to disarm her. Mom’s lullaby. She fumbled with her jacket pocket, pulling out the crumpled note. The ink had faded, the words rearranged into a new message—“The Grove hunts those who seek answers.” She crumpled it tighter, her mind racing to connect the dots: the pendant’s pulse, the time shift, the lullaby, the vanishing frost, the closed petals. She’d fled Cardiff for London at Eva’s behest to escape Evan’s abuse, to start over with a part-time delivery job and a tiny flat above a bar, but now she’d walked into another trap, one tied to the pendant she couldn’t explain. I didn’t come here to be hunted. Another creak. This time, it came from every standing stone at once. The oak boughs overhead drooped, their leaves rustling in a wind she still couldn’t feel, and the dewy grass vanished again—frost coating the ground once more, the wildflowers turning black as ash. She pressed her hand to her chest, the pendant’s pulse quickening with each creak, as if it were warning her of an approaching threat. You’re warning me. She turned again, and a flash of movement caught her eye—closer this time, pale and elongated, with fingers that curved like thorns. It darted behind a standing stone, and she followed, boots slipping on the frost. The Heartstone Pendant’s glow brightened, and she noticed a faint crack in the stone’s ridged bark—wider than the others, oozing a thin black liquid that looked like tar, its stench mixing with the pine’s sweet scent to create a sickening aroma. That’s the source. She stepped closer, left wrist’s scar throbbing as she raised the bike lock. The lullaby merged with Evan’s voice, sharp and cruel—“You can’t run from me, Rory.” She flinched, not from fear, but from the memory of his fist connecting with her left wrist, the scar’s origin a childhood accident (a fall from a Cardiff park’s oak tree) but its pain amplified by his abuse. She’d fought back that day, grabbing a broken bottle to defend herself, and that’s when she’d fled to London. I ran once. I’ll run again if I have to. The crack in the standing stone widened, and a small, pale figure stepped out—child-sized, with skin like dry paper and eyes like empty sockets. It reached for her, its thorn-like fingers grazing her delivery bag’s strap, and she swung the bike lock, hitting its arm with a loud clang. The figure dissolved into a cloud of black petals, which floated to the ground and vanished into the frost, leaving no trace behind. That’s one. Another figure appeared, then another, all around her—dozens of pale, paper-thin beings with thorn-like fingers and empty eyes. They moved in a slow, jerky rhythm, their whispers growing louder, a tangle of Evan’s voice and her mother’s lullaby that made her head ache. She swung the bike lock again, hitting nothing but air, and the Heartstone Pendant’s glow dimmed. The warmth faded, leaving a cold weight around her neck. She glanced at her watch: 12:04 AM. By her internal clock, she’d been in the Grove for hours, and the Golden Empress’s boss, Yu-Fei, would be wondering where she’d vanished to mid-shift, her undelivered orders piling up by the restaurant’s counter. Time’s not on my side. She pushed herself back, boots slipping on the frost, and her quick out-of-the-box thinking kicked in—she’d use the pendant’s fading pulse to find the boundary stone, then escape before the time shift trapped her outside for days, leaving her flat above Silas’ bar empty and her job at the Golden Empress lost. She couldn’t afford to lose either; the flat was her first safe space in years, and the delivery job was her only source of income. Follow the last of the warmth. She turned toward the nearest standing stone that marked the Grove’s boundary, the pendant’s faint warmth guiding her. The pale figures followed, their whispers growing louder, a tangle of taunts that picked at her most vulnerable memories—Evan’s rage, her father’s disappointment when she left Pre-Law, her mother’s quiet sadness when she fled Cardiff. She ran toward the stone, boots crunching over the frost-dusted grass, and grabbed its ridged bark as the time shift hit her hard. One second, she was in the Grove’s cold dark, surrounded by whispering figures; the next, she was standing in Richmond Park’s normal grass, her watch reading 12:05 AM. Don’t let them catch you. She leaned against a normal oak tree, breathing hard, left wrist’s scar throbbing, and stared at the Heartstone Pendant. Its crimson gem had returned to its faint inner glow, the warmth gone. She pulled out her phone, seeing a missed text from Yu-Fei—“Where are you? Your deliveries are piling up. Get back here or you’re fired.” She clenched her fist, the scar pulling tight, and tucked the phone back into her pocket. I have to get back. She turned toward her bike, parked by the park’s edge, but paused. A flash of movement caught her eye—something pale, darting behind a tree. It was smaller than the Grove’s figures, but its thorn-like fingers were visible in the moon’s faint glow. She clenched her fist, raising the bike lock, and watched as the figure vanished into the dark. She didn’t stay to look for it. She mounted her bike, pedaling toward the Golden Empress, her legs burning with the effort. The Grove’s cold still clung to her jacket, and the pendant’s faint glow pulsed once more against her chest.