AI The park breathed around her, but Aurora didn’t hear it. Her boots crunched over frost—*strange *, since the calendar said late October—and she pressed a hand to the frayed fabric of her jacket, palms slick. The Heartstone Pendant hung heavy against her sternum, its crimson gem warmer than usual, like it was nervous . *Don’t be *, she thought, though her throat tightened. Eva had left the note in her delivery bag an hour ago: *Meet me at the Grove. Trust the stone. They ’re looking for it.* Eva . *They *.
The oak standing stones loomed ahead, their trunks gnarled, bark split like dried blood. She’d followed the heartstone here, its red glow cutting through the murk even before she’d crossed the park boundary. Now, the light dimmed, as if the Grove itself were holding its breath. Aurora stopped, hand on a stone’s rough surface. It didn’t cool her skin; it burned, just a little. *Eva *, she prayed. The girl she’d grown up with, the one who’d snuck her out of Evan’s apartment at 3 a.m., the one who’d vanished three weeks ago, leaving only a text: *Help me. They ’re not from here.*
A twig snapped.
She spun. The trees along the path stood silent, their branches void of leaves—*it was autumn *, but the Grove had wildflowers, Eva had written, and now, beneath her feet, a patch of clover unfurled, purple blooms glowing faintly. They shouldn’t be here, not in November. Aurora’s pulse hammered. *Imagination *, she told herself. *You’re tired. You haven’t slept since Eva …*
A whisper . Not words, just a hush, like breath through a keyhole. It came from behind her. She turned again. Nothing. The clover was gone , replaced by dirt.
“Eva ?” Her voice cracked . She fumbled for her phone. No service—*of course *. The bars on the screen winked out, then flared, then went dark. Good. No one to call. If she’d told anyone about this, they’d have called her crazy. But Evan had called her crazy, too, right up until the day he’d thrown her against the wall. “Come on,” she said, more to herself . “Talk to me.”
The heartstone warmed suddenly , a hot pinprick above her collarbone. Aurora unclasped it, letting the chain fall. The gem glowed now, brighter, casting a red haze over the stones. She stepped forward, into the clearing.
The air shifted. Not a breeze—*weight *. Like someone had exhaled. Her breath hitched. The stones encircled them, but the clearing was wide, bounded by a ring of trees with leaves that weren’t green, were they? Pale, almost gray, but shifting, like water. And the flowers—hundreds of them, now, all glowing, petals pulsing in time with her heartbeat. *They ’re not pulsing*, she realized. *They ’re keeping time with something else.*
A sound: a low, wet *crawl *. It came from the undergrowth. Aurora backed up, tripping over a root. Her hand hit the cold ground, and she saw it—a trail of something brown, sticky, leading toward her. Not mud. Not dirt. Blood? But her jacket was intact; she hadn’t been hurt.
“Hello?” The word came out a whimper. She gripped the heartstone, its warmth seeping into her palm. It throbbed now, a steady beat, faster and faster. *Danger *, it seemed to say. *Danger .*
A shadow moved at the edge of her vision.
She looked up. The tree above her had no leaves, but its branches writhed, fingers splaying. Aurora scrambled back, her shoulder hitting a stone. The thing loomed , taller than any tree, its trunk split into a face—two black holes for eyes, a mouth stretched too wide, teeth like shards of glass. It didn’t speak, but she *knew * its thoughts: *She comes for the stone. She comes for the girl.*
Eva .
The whisper returned, closer this time, in her ear. *It’s not just stone *, it said. *It’s a key. To the gate. To him.* Its voice was a laugh, wet and rotty. *Funny, isn’t it? You ran from one cage to another.*
Aurora fumbled for the heartstone, but it slipped from her hand, rolling into the dirt. The glow dimmed. The flowers flickered , then went dark. The temperature dropped, sharp enough to sting her lungs. The tree’s face leaned closer, breath cold on her cheek. *You thought you could outrun them?* it said. *Evan, the girl… they were always here. Watching.*
Her left wrist burned. She grabbed it, the crescent scar from when she was seven—falling off a bike—stinging like fire. The thing hissed. *Remember the scar. Remember the fear.*
Aurora’s legs gave way. She hit the ground, the dirt hard beneath her. The tree’s branches reached for her, fingers probing her face, cold as ash. She screamed, but her voice was lost. The world narrowed to the *thump * of her heart, the *crawl * of the thing in the dirt, the *whisper * in her ear.
*Eva *, she thought. *I’m sorry. I should have come sooner.*
The tree’s face smiled. And then, everything went still.
For a moment.
The heartstone flared, a burst of red light. Aurora shot to her feet, the scar on her wrist blazing. The flowers reappeared, screaming in color. The tree reared back, howling—a sound like metal grinding on stone. The shadow in the undergrowth lunged, but it wasn’t a shadow. It was a thing, with too many limbs, too many teeth, eyes like the standing stones—black holes.
Aurora ran. She didn’t know where. She just ran, the heartstone in her hand, its light guiding her, its warmth a shield. Behind her, the howling rose, the crawl of the thing faster, closer. The stones shifted, their faces now turned to her, all watching, all waiting.
And somewhere, in the distance, she heard a laugh.
Eva ’s laugh.
Aurora stumbled, skidding to a halt. The Grove was different now. The trees were gone , replaced by a wall of blackness, cracked with blue light. Beyond it, a figure stood—tall, in a coat, hair as black as night.
Eva .
“Rory,” she said, her voice clear, not a whisper . “Come here. It’s time.”
The thing from the dirt was almost on her. Aurora took a step forward. The wall of blackness dissolved, revealing a path—paved, warm, familiar .
Eva smiled. “Hurry. Before they notice you’re gone.”
The thing’s teeth were inches from her throat. Aurora ran.