Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY7ZWPW7C0BTMWB9EVN0Z0W

Aurora Carter slipped through the iron gate of Richmond Park, the chain-link clinking shut behind her. Moonlight sliced the deer paths in silver ribbons, but the air hung thick, unmoving, like breath held too long. She tugged her jacket tighter against the chill that seeped from the ground. The Heartstone Pendant nestled against her chest, its deep crimson gem pulsing faint warmth through her shirt. That pulse had started an hour ago, during her last delivery run—insistent, directional, yanking her east from London like a fishhook in her ribs. Eva's cryptic text had nudged her over the edge: "Grove in Richmond. Pendant knows. Go alone." No details, just urgency. Rory trusted Eva's instincts, even when they veered into the uncanny. Her boots crunched gravel as she veered off the main path, flashlight beam cutting fog that rolled low over bracken. The park sprawled vast and empty at this hour—no joggers, no late-night dog walkers. Just the rustle of leaves in a breeze that never touched her skin. She checked her phone: 12:47 AM. Signal bars flickered, then died. Normal for deep park, she told herself. The pendant throbbed harder now, a steady heartbeat syncing with her own. Ancient oaks loomed ahead, their trunks twisted into shapes that suggested faces if she stared too long. She pushed through a thicket, thorns snagging her jeans, and there it stood—the boundary. Massive oaks shaped like standing stones, bark etched with grooves that mimicked runes under her light. No fence, no signpost. Just a cleft between two giants, wildflowers spilling from the gap in defiant bloom. Petals glowed pale in the dark, violets and foxgloves unfurling as if noon baked them instead of night. Wrong. Winter gripped London; these shouldn't flower. She stepped across. Grass muffled her steps inside the clearing. The Fae Grove. Eva called it that once, half-joking after a pub crawl, but the name stuck now. Air sweetened with honeysuckle, cloying, pressing into her lungs. The oaks ringed a perfect circle, thirty paces across, moonlight pooling center-stage on a mossy altar stone. No wind stirred the flowers. Silence blanketed everything. Rory circled the perimeter, beam sweeping trunks. The pendant burned hot against her sternum. She pulled it free, silver chain cool in her palm. Crimson depths swirled, faint glow threading veins like trapped blood. It pointed straight ahead, toward the altar. She pocketed the flashlight—moonlight sufficed here, brighter somehow, shadows crisp as cut glass. Her wrist scar itched, crescent moon from a playground fall, but sharper tonight, like fresh ink. A twig snapped behind her. She froze. Deer, maybe. Park teemed with them by day. She turned slow. Nothing. Just flowers nodding in place. Ears strained. Distant, a low hum rose— not wind, not insects. Chords of voices, layered thin as spider silk, weaving nonsense words. Welsh? No, older. Her mother's tongue twisted wrong. She blinked hard. Ears played tricks after midnight rides. Back to the altar. Stone surface gleamed slick, etched spirals worn smooth by rain or hands. She traced one groove with her finger. Cold bit deep. Pendant swung free again, chain taut, gem inches from stone. Warmth surged, veins pulsing brighter. A map? Coordinates to whatever Eva chased? Rory knelt, breath fogging. Edges of vision prickled. Something shifted left—a flower stem bending sideways, petal curling back like an eye closing. She whipped her head. Stem stood straight now. Imagination. Cool-headed, that's her. Quick fixes, not panic. But pulse hammered ears. Grove shrank around her, oaks leaning inward, branches interlacing overhead into a dome. Moonlight filtered green-tinged. Time check: phone dead now, screen black. How long since the gate? Ten minutes? Her watch read 12:49. Stuck. Hum swelled, voices parting curtains. "Lai-la..." Slurred, childlike. Her alias from the restaurant, Yu-Fei's joke name for tipsy customers. Coincidence. She stood, boots sinking into moss that clung like wet fingers. Circle the altar twice. Flowers crushed underfoot released scent thick as syrup—jasmine laced with rot. Edges flickered again. Right periphery: shadow stretched long from an oak, not matching moon angle. Too thin, jointed wrong. She stared. Shadow snapped back, trunk bare. Breath shallowed. Not alone. Certainty coiled gut. Grove watched. Oaks creaked, wood fibers stretching. No wind. Branches dipped low, leaves brushing her hair. She ducked, spun. Empty ring. Pendant scalded now, chain links heating skin. Glow throbbed crimson Morse code. Warning? Guide? Hum fractured into giggles. High, bubbling from soil. Flowers quivered, petals unfurling wider, stamens twitching like antennae. Center altar: moss peeled back slow. Black soil yawned, threads of root writhing blind. Rory backed step. Roots quested air, pale as veins, coiling toward her boot. She stamped one flat. Soil sealed seamless. Phone buzzed in pocket—impossible, no signal. Screen lit: Eva's text, timestamp 12:52. "Get out. Time slips." Watch still 12:49. Heart slammed. Grove tightened. Oaks groaned closer, bark splitting grins. Voices chorused now, "Rory-Carter-Mal-pho-ra..." Names layered, hers and strangers, peeling identity like onion skin. Peripheral dance intensified. Left: silhouette darted tree to tree, tall and spindled, limbs folding origami-sharp. Right: low scuttle, bramble parting for claws uncurved. Center flowers: blooms pulsed open-shut, yellow throats gaping black. She clutched pendant, fist white-knuckled. Heat drilled bone. Run? Gate lay thirty paces, but oaks crowded path, trunks merged seamless. Snap-crackle behind. Footfall, deliberate. Heavy, then light—pads shifting weight. Breath huffed warm on neck. She whirled. Nothing. Honeysuckle choked throat. Watch ticked: 12:49 still. Minutes outside, hours here? Eva's warning echoed. Oaks whispered secrets. Bark faces sharpened—eyes hollows, mouths knotholes exhaling frost. One trunk wept sap, red as pendant, dripping petals. Flowers drank it, swelling fat. Rory edged altar opposite gate. Roots bubbled soil again, fingers questing. She kicked dirt over. Giggles pealed underground. Shadow play ramped. Full circle now—forms paced her, moon-silhouettes mocking stride. One paused, head cocking birdlike. Elongated neck unspooled, sniffing. She bolted three steps. Branches lashed down, thorns raking sleeve. Fabric tore; skin grazed, no blood. Yet. Hum drowned thought, voices naming scars. "Crescent-wrist-Evan-fled..." Past clawed up. Ex's fists, mother's pleas. How? Grove knew. Pendant flared supernova crimson, illuminating altar cracks. Fissures spidered stone, exhaling cold blue mist. Mist shaped faces—Brendan, Jennifer, twisted grins mouthing silent. She sprinted gap. Oaks slammed shut, wood grinding bone-deep. No exit. Flowers surged ankle-high, stems wrapping laces. Tugged. She stomped free, breath ragged. Watch mocked 12:49. Pendant swung wild, chain whipping cheek. Scuttles converged. Low forms ringed flowers, eyes glint-ember. Tall spindles loomed branches, fingers dangling hooks. Voices swarmed, "Stay. Play. Time bends." Certainty crushed lungs: watched, hunted, claimed. Rory crouched altar, pendant thrust forward like ward. Glow bathed clearing sickly red. Shadows recoiled fraction. Roots snaked boot again, coiling calf. She slashed free with stone shard. Giggles bubbled glee. Moon dimmed. Oaks blotted sky. Flowers towered knee-high, petals brushing thighs, throats pulsing hunger. Peripheral closed in—forms half-stepped vision, gone when faced. Breath synced theirs: wet, eager. She gripped pendant harder. Heat promised path. Altar center beckoned, fissures widening to stairs descending black. Voices lured, "Down, Rory. Home." No. Fight. But certainty rooted: never left alone. Grove birthed watchers from soil, bark, bloom. They paced eternal, hungry for company. Snap behind. Closer. Hot puff on ear. Fingers ghosted hair. She turned.