Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8A8R2K8EDR6D1752DS59B

Aurora Carter parked her battered scooter at the edge of Richmond Park, the engine's sputter dying into silence under a sky thick with clouds. No moon pierced through. She killed the headlight, swung her leg over, and hefted the backpack strap higher on her shoulder. The Heartstone Pendant nestled against her chest, tucked beneath her jacket—a thumbnail-sized crimson gem on a silver chain, warm as fresh blood even now. It had throbbed all evening, insistent, pulling her from the flat above Silas's bar straight into this midnight trek. Some anonymous note slipped under her door that afternoon: "The Grove calls the stone. Answers wait where oaks stand eternal." She scanned the treeline. Deer paths twisted into bramble-choked shadows. No joggers this late, no dog walkers with their leashed mutts. Just wind hissing through oaks, carrying a salt tang that didn't belong inland. Rory flexed her fingers, traced the crescent scar on her left wrist out of habit. Cool-headed, she reminded herself. Answers about the pendant meant leverage—against Evan, maybe, or whatever mess Eva dragged her into last week with whispers of portals and fae nonsense. Footsteps crunched gravel as she slipped past the park gate, torch beam slicing narrow ahead. Oaks loomed taller here, bark furrowed like clenched fists. The air cooled sharper with each stride, breath fogging despite the mild London night. She checked her phone: 11:47 PM. Signal bars flickered, then vanished. Fine. She shoved it deep in her pocket. The standing stones emerged first as silhouettes—ancient oaks twisted into vertical slabs, bark petrified into rune-etched monoliths. Eight of them ringed a clearing no bigger than her flat's living room. Wildflowers carpeted the grass inside, petals ghostly white even in darkness, blooming defiant against autumn chill. Rory halted at the boundary. The pendant burned hot now, a pulse syncing with her heartbeat. She crossed the threshold. Grass silenced under her boots. No birds called. No insects buzzed. The wind dropped dead. She stood alone in the Fae Grove—or so the note promised. Pocket realm, Eva had called it once, giggling over cheap wine. Time slips here. Minutes stretch to days. Rory swept the torch around. Petals quivered, though nothing stirred the air. She knelt, fingers brushing a bloom. Petals clung damp, cool as cellar stone. "Okay, stone," she muttered, voice flat in the hush. "What answers?" The pendant glowed faint crimson through her shirt. She pulled it free, held it aloft. Light bloomed inward, casting ruby shadows on the oaks. No doors yawned open. No voices whispered secrets. Just flowers nodding in place. She paced the circle, boots pressing silent prints into turf. Minutes ticked—five, ten—phone stayed dark when she checked. Thirst clawed her throat. Backpack unzipped yielded water bottle, twist cap echoing loud. Gulp after gulp chilled her teeth. Wiping her mouth, she froze. A rustle. Beyond the stones, branches parted. Not wind. Too deliberate. Rory snapped off the torch, crouched low. Eyes strained into black. Nothing. Just oaks swaying in rhythm, leaves whispering secrets she couldn't parse. "Get a grip," she breathed. Echoes layered her words, stretching them thin. Pendant throbbed again, heat spreading to her ribs. She rose, circled slower. Flowers crushed underheel released no scent—wrong, all wrong. Blooms should perfume heavy. These lay scentless, waxen. Middle of the clearing held a dip, grass swirled in spirals like fingerprints pressed from below. She probed with her boot. Soil yielded soft, sucked at the sole. Another sound. Click-clack, like nails on wood. From the nearest oak slab. Rory whipped around. Torch flicked on—empty bark, runes stark black. Click-clack again, fainter, circling left. She tracked it, beam jittering. Petals trembled along the stone's base. Something scuttled behind, gone when light hit. Heart hammered. Sweat beaded despite the cold. She backed to the center, pendant clutched fist-tight. "Show yourself," she called. Voice cracked on the edges. Silence swallowed it. Time blurred. She checked her phone: still 11:47. Impossible. Minutes had passed—twenty? More? Backpack slumped to grass. She sat cross-legged, pendant dangling from fingers. Glow pulsed steady, illuminating spirals beneath. Traced one with her nail. Ground hummed faint, vibration climbing her spine. Rustle-shuffle from the treeline. Closer now. Peripheral vision caught a dart—elongated shadow stretching wrong across petals. Rory jerked head. Empty. Just a branch drooping lower, claw-like twigs curling inward. Breathe. Think. Out-of-box: the pendant reacted to Hel portals, not fae. Wrong place? Note lied? She stood, tested the boundary. Stepped toward an oak slab. Air thickened, pressed chest like wading treacle. Pushed through—grass outside crunched normal. Wind returned, chill normal. Phone blared 11:52. Five minutes lost inside. She re-entered. Air glued again. Petals brighter, unnaturally vivid whites glowing faint. Clock reset: 11:47. Pendant scorched. Click-clack multiplied. Four points now, encircling. Rory spun, torch beam whipping shadows long. Glimpses: twig-fingers scraping bark? Pale flickers retreating into oak crevices? No. Eyes played tricks. Hunger gnawed sudden, stomach twisting empty though she'd eaten before leaving Golden Empress. "Enough games," she snarled, voice booming back warped. She yanked the chain, held pendant high like a lantern. Crimson light flooded the grove, etching every petal, every rune sharp. Oaks leaned inward, tops knitting overhead into a dome. Flowers reared stems tall, blossoms unfurling mouths—petal lips peeling back silent. No. Imagination. She blinked hard. Stems normal. Oaks straight. But the sounds grew. Skitter-patter across grass now, petals parting. Torch swept low—indentations webbed the turf, tiny prints overlapping, leading nowhere. Something brushed her calf. Fabric? Fur? She kicked air, stumbled. Backpack toppled, contents spilling: water bottle rolling, torch batteries clattering. She snatched them up, jammed fresh ones in. Beam steadied. Shadows writhed thicker. A shape huddled at the far oak—hunched, elongated, limbs folding inward. Rory froze it in light. Shape dissolved to knothole, wind-carved. Phone buzzed sudden—signal? She lunged for it. Screen lit: 11:47 still. Text from unknown: "Deeper. Stone knows." "Fuck this." Words echoed legion, overlapping her own. She bolted for boundary. Air resisted, oaks groaning roots shifting. Petals tangled ankles, stems whipping. Click-clack swarmed behind, nails gouging turf pursuit. Pendant swung wild, glow strobing chaos. Boundary neared—slab loomed. Brush at neck. Cold fingers trailed spine. Rory screamed, twisted free. Slammed shoulder into oak. Air split. She tumbled out. Grass crunched normal. Wind howled real. Phone flared: 2:13 AM. Three hours gone. She gasped, scrambled up. Grove entrance yawned innocent—oaks still, flowers dim. Pendant cooled, glow dimmed to ember. No prints marred the boundary grass. No sounds chased. But inside, petals pulsed faint white. Watching. Rory backed away, torch shaking. Scooter waited distant. She ran, boots pounding gravel. Every shadow stretched long, every rustle promised pursuit. Flat above Silas's called—lock doors, salt thresholds, call Eva. Phone died mid-dial. Battery full minutes ago. She didn't look back. Grove watched anyway. Dawn crept gray when she burst through Silas's back door, bar empty, stools ghosted in dust motes. Silas wiped counter, paused. "Rory? Christ, you look mauled." "Time," she panted, slamming pendant on wood. "Lost hours in Richmond. Grove pulled me." He eyed the gem, face paling. "Isolde's spot? Should've warned you. Fae don't play fair." Pendant warmed anew under his stare. Pulse quickened. Click-clack echoed faint from the stairs. She whirled. Empty. "Not alone," Silas whispered. "Never are." Rory gripped counter. Prints webbed the floorboards—tiny, overlapping. Leading up. She followed. Stairs creaked underfoot. Flat door ajar. Inside, wildflowers bloomed from cracks, petals peeling mouths. Torch beam caught eyes—dozens, petal-fringed, blinking slow. Pendant blazed crimson. Heat seared skin. Shape unfolded from corner. Elongated. Hungry. Rory backed into wall. No escape. Sounds filled room. Skitter-patter. Nails on wood. Closer.