Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8D6VXZWNFZDMKDFYFKH5W

The Grove smelled wrong. Rory stepped through the oak standing stones, her boots sinking into damp earth that gave off the faint metallic tang of old blood. The air thickened around her, pressing against her skin like a held breath. Richmond Park stretched beyond the clearing, but here—here, the world had folded in on itself. The trees loomed taller, their branches knitting together overhead into a canopy so dense it blotted out the moon. No stars pierced through. Just darkness, thick and watching. She adjusted the silver chain beneath her jacket, fingers brushing the Heartstone pendant. It lay cool against her palm, its crimson glow muted in the gloom. The pendant had brought her here, or so she’d been told. A message scrawled in ink that smudged like tears: *Find the grove. Before the veil thins.* No signature. No explanation. Just the address of a place that didn’t exist on any map. Rory exhaled, slow and steady. She wasn’t here by choice—not really. But the alternative had been worse. Evan’s threats still clung to her like a second skin, his voice a rasp in her ear: *You think you can hide? The Fae don’t forget.* She’d laughed then, but the laugh had died in her throat when she’d found the pendant waiting on her pillow, warm as a living thing. Now, standing in the Grove, she wondered if she’d traded one nightmare for another. A twig snapped. Rory froze. The sound hadn’t come from the direction of the path she’d taken. It had come from *inside* the trees. From the space between the trunks, where no human should fit. She turned, scanning the shadows. Nothing moved. No rustle of leaves, no shift in the undergrowth. Just the oppressive stillness, like the world was holding its breath. “Hello?” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat, tried again. “Is someone there?” Silence. Then—a whisper, so faint she almost missed it. A syllable, dragged out like a dying breath: *Laila.* Her stomach lurched. No one called her that. Not anymore. Rory’s fingers tightened around the pendant. The crimson glow flickered, just for a second, like a heartbeat. Then it steadied. “Who’s there?” she demanded, her pulse hammering in her throat. The trees didn’t answer. But the air did. It thickened further, pressing in around her, heavy with the scent of damp earth and something older—something *rotten*. The wildflowers that should have been in bloom here withered at her feet, their petals blackening like scorched paper. A sound then. Not a snap this time. A *shift*. Something large moving through the undergrowth, just beyond the edge of her vision. Rory spun, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The Grove stretched out around her, endless and wrong. The standing stones at the boundary loomed like silent sentinels, their carvings worn smooth by time—or by something else. She backed up, her heel catching on a root. The pendant grew warmer against her skin, its glow intensifying. A warning? A promise? “Show yourself,” she snapped, her voice steadier now. “If you want something, just say it.” The trees exhaled. A figure stepped into the clearing. Tall. Too tall. Its limbs were too long, its joints bending in ways that made Rory’s eyes ache. Its face—if it had one—was hidden beneath a tangle of ivy and thorn, the branches twisting like fingers over its features. It didn’t walk. It *slid*, its movements fluid and unnatural, like liquid poured into human shape. Rory’s breath hitched. The pendant burned against her skin now, its glow searing through the silver chain. She fumbled for it, yanking it free. The moment it left her neck, the air around her *shifted*. The Grove seemed to recoil, the trees groaning as if in pain. The thing in the clearing tilted its head—or where its head should have been. The ivy parted just enough for Rory to see two slits of darkness where eyes should have been. They fixed on her, unblinking. “You’re not supposed to be here,” it said. Its voice wasn’t a voice. It was the sound of leaves scraping against stone, of roots twisting through soil. “The grove doesn’t like visitors.” Rory swallowed hard. “I didn’t come here by choice.” The thing took a step forward. The ground trembled beneath its weight. “Everything has a choice.” She didn’t wait to hear more. Rory turned and ran, her boots pounding against the earth. The pendant pulsed in her hand, its warmth guiding her—not toward the standing stones, but deeper into the Grove. Deeper into the dark. Behind her, the trees whispered.