Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY7ZVX0327Y9E3NRA0K2M69

Rory Carter pushed through the thicket at the edge of Richmond Park, her boots sinking into the dew-slick grass that shouldn't have been so lush at midnight. The Heartstone Pendant hung heavy against her chest, tucked beneath her jacket, its faint warmth pulsing like a second heartbeat since she'd crossed the park's outer paths. She'd come here on a hunch—Eva's cryptic text about "weird lights in the grove" two nights ago, combined with the pendant's insistent throb pointing her straight to this forgotten corner of the deer park. Eva hadn't answered her calls since, and Rory's gut twisted with the familiar churn of worry. But she was no stranger to late-night chases; delivering for Yu-Fei's kept her out till dawn half the week anyway. This felt different, though. Personal. The standing stones loomed ahead, ancient oaks twisted into rough-hewn pillars that marked the boundary of the Fae Grove—or so the half-remembered folklore from her Cardiff Uni days whispered. She ducked under a low branch, her straight black hair catching on thorns, and emerged into the clearing. Wildflowers bloomed riotously under the sliver of moon, petals unfurling in impossible shades of indigo and silver, defiant against the October chill. No frost touched them. The air hummed, thick and sweet, like honey laced with something metallic. Rory paused, breath fogging faintly, and checked her phone. 12:17 AM. Signal dead. She pocketed it, fingers brushing the small crescent scar on her left wrist—a childhood reminder of clumsier days—and pressed on. At first, it was just the quiet. Too quiet. Richmond Park teemed with night sounds even at this hour: distant traffic from the A307, the rustle of fall leaves, the occasional bark of a fox. Here, nothing. The grove swallowed sound, muffling her footsteps into silence. She circled the perimeter, torchlight from her phone slicing pale beams across the flowers. Petals quivered as if breathing, though no wind stirred the air. The pendant warmed further, its deep crimson gem pressing hot against her skin, a faint inner glow seeping through her shirt. Near a Hel portal, it was supposed to pulse—or so the note from her unknown benefactor had claimed, slipped under her flat door above Silas' bar three weeks back. Hel, Fae, whatever this was, it tugged at her like a hook in her ribs. She stopped at the center, where a flat stone slab jutted from the earth like an altar. Kneeling, she traced its edges, cool moss yielding under her fingertips. Eva's text had mentioned lights here, dancing like will-o'-the-wisps. Nothing now. Just the flowers, nodding in unison. Rory straightened, rubbing her arms against the unnatural stillness. Her blue eyes scanned the treeline, shadows pooling thick between the oaks. Something flickered there—a leaf? No, too deliberate. She swung the torch. Empty. The first sound came as a whisper, so soft she dismissed it as her pulse thundering in her ears. A sigh, like wind through dry reeds, but there was no wind. She froze, torch beam darting left, right. The flowers closest to her feet curled inward, petals folding like shy fingers. Her skin prickled. "Eva?" she called, voice flat and absorbed by the grove. No echo. Just that sigh again, closer now, threading from the stones behind her. Rory spun, heart kicking up. The oaks stood sentinel, bark etched with patterns that hadn't been there moments ago—swirling glyphs that seemed to shift when she blinked. Peripheral vision tugged: a shadow darted between two stones, low and quick, like a fox vanishing into bracken. But foxes didn't sigh. She swept the light across the gap. Grass, undisturbed. The pendant burned now, hot enough to sting. She yanked her collar open, staring at the thumbnail-sized gem. Its crimson core pulsed brighter, syncing with her breath—inhale glow, exhale dim. Warmth spread through her chest, not comforting but invasive, like fingers probing her veins. She backed toward the entrance, boots crunching flowers that sprang back unharmed. Another sound: a soft scrape, like nails on wood, circling to her left. Her eyes strained into the dark. The moon slipped behind a cloud—or had it? Time felt slippery here; her phone read 12:19 now, but the night seemed deeper, stars wheeling slower overhead. The grove's boundary blurred; the thicket she'd pushed through looked denser, thorns elongated into barbs. Not alone. The certainty settled in her bones, cold and absolute. Something watched from the edges, patient, waiting for her to notice fully. Rory's breath quickened. She clicked off the torch to listen, plunging the clearing into moonlight that painted everything silver and wrong. Flowers gleamed with dew that sparkled unnaturally, like ground glass. The whispers multiplied—sibilant murmurs overlapping, not words but suggestions of them, brushing her mind like cobwebs. *Stay. Look closer.* She shook her head, hair whipping her cheeks. Imagination, fueled by too many late shifts and Eva's ghost stories. But the pendant throbbed in protest, heat radiating down her arms. A twig snapped to her right, sharp and close. She whirled, eyes locking on a shape at the treeline: tall and slender, humanoid but elongated, limbs too long for bone and sinew. It melted into shadow as she stared, leaving only swaying branches. Her pulse hammered. Run. But the stones seemed to lean inward now, oaks creaking softly, roots shifting beneath the soil like waking serpents. The air thickened, pressing on her lungs, carrying a scent of crushed petals and something older—wet earth and decay masked by honey. She edged sideways, toward what she hoped was the exit. The whispers grew bolder, forming fragments: *Rory... Laila...* Aliases from her past, ones she'd buried with Evan back in Cardiff. How? Her scar itched fiercely, as if reopening. The pendant glowed steadily now, casting bloody light on her hands. Another movement—peripheral again, a pale hand withdrawing behind an oak, fingers unnaturally jointed. She bolted the torch back on, beam shaking. Nothing. But the flowers parted before her, petals peeling back like lips revealing teeth. Time warped harder. Phone: 12:22. Impossible—she'd been circling for minutes, felt like hours. Sweat beaded her forehead despite the chill. The grove breathed with her, flowers expanding on inhale, contracting on exhale. Sounds layered: scrapes circling wider, sighs deepening to chuckles muffled by leaves. Shapes multiplied at vision's edge—hunched forms slinking between stones, eyes glinting briefly like dew on thorns before vanishing. Not foxes. Not deer. Fae-touched, the lore said. Pocket between worlds. Isolde's grove. Time dilates—an hour here, days out there. Rory's mind raced, out-of-the-box as always. The pendant—anchor or lure? She gripped it, intending to hurl it into the flowers, but her fingers wouldn't release. Heat surged, visions flickering unbidden: Eva's face, pale and laughing, beckoning from the altar stone. No. Hallucination. But the whispers cooed her name again, *Auroraaa*, drawn out like smoke. Footsteps pattered now, light and multitudinous, encircling from all sides. Shadows lengthened, oaks bowing inward, forming a cage of bark and branch. She ran. Boots pounded soft earth that clung like mud, flowers whipping her calves with silken lashes. The exit warped—thicket thickening into a wall of thorns, barbs snagging her jacket. A shape lunged from the corner of her eye: elongated, faceless, arms unfolding like paper. She veered left, torch catching a glimpse—skin like birch bark, eyes hollow voids. It recoiled from the light, hissing. The pendant blazed, scorching her skin, but she clutched it tighter, using the glow as a beacon. Whispers roared into near-words: *Join us. Eva waits.* Scrapes closed in, footsteps multiplying into a chorus. Peripheral horrors swarmed: fingers curling from stone crevices, faces peering from flower hearts, all dissolving when confronted. The air pulsed, grove contracting, stones grinding closer. Her lungs burned; time fractured—phone blinked 12:30, then 11:55. Outside minutes, inside eternity. Rory burst through a gap in the thorns, branches raking bloody trails down her arms. She stumbled into Richmond Park proper, collapsing against a normal oak—rough bark, no glyphs. Gasping, she checked the pendant: glow dimming, warmth ebbing. Phone signal flickered back: dozens of missed calls from Silas, texts from Yu-Fei. Time stamp: 3:47 AM. Hours lost. Behind her, the grove exhaled—a collective sigh slithering through the boundary. Flowers rustled faintly, shapes withdrawing into the oaks. Watching. Waiting. She staggered to her feet, blue eyes wide, and fled the park, the pendant's pulse a mocking lullaby against her racing heart. Not alone. Never again. But as dawn crept over the deer paths, a new warmth stirred in the gem. Faint. Insistent. Calling her back.