Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8PS3H8R1RN5BYMYY7TMYT

The Grove smelled wrong. Rory Carter stepped through the standing stones, her boots sinking into damp earth that clung to her soles like it didn’t want to let go. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of damp moss and something else—something metallic, like old blood left to rust. The pendant at her throat pulsed once, twice, a faint warmth against her skin. She ignored it. The path ahead should have been clear. She’d memorised the route from the old maps, the ones Eva had smuggled out of the library before they’d burned them all. But now, the trees leaned in too close, their gnarled branches twisting like fingers. The wildflowers that usually carpeted the ground were sparse here, their petals curled inward as if recoiling. Rory adjusted the strap of her bag, her fingers brushing the cold edge of the knife tucked inside. She hadn’t brought it for this. She’d come for answers, not to fight. A twig snapped. She froze. The sound came from the left—too sharp, too deliberate. Not the wind. Not an animal. Her breath hitched. The Grove was supposed to be empty. Isolated. But the wrongness coiled in her gut, tight and suffocating. “Hello?” Her voice sounded too loud in the sudden silence. Nothing. She exhaled, slow, and turned left, stepping onto the path. The trees here were older, their bark blackened in patches, like something had clawed at them. The standing stones loomed ahead, their surfaces slick with moisture. She reached out, her palm pressing against the cold stone. The pendant flared, a pulse of heat that made her flinch. “You shouldn’t be here.” The voice wasn’t a voice. It was a whisper, slithering into her ear from nowhere and everywhere at once. Rory spun, her heart hammering. The path behind her was empty. The trees were still. Too still. “Who said that?” She kept her tone steady, but her pulse roared in her ears. Silence. Then—footsteps. Not hers. She whirled, her knife half-drawn before she remembered she wasn’t supposed to be armed. The blade stayed sheathed. The footsteps stopped. The air thickened, pressing in around her like a physical weight. Her skin prickled. “Show yourself,” she demanded, though she already knew it was useless. A rustle. A shift in the shadows. Something moved at the edge of her vision—a flicker of motion, too fast to be human. Rory’s breath came shallow. She backed up, her heel catching on a root. The ground tilted beneath her, and for a second, she was falling—not down, but *sideways*, as if the world had tilted on its axis. She hit the earth hard, her palms scraping against damp leaves. The pendant burned now, searing her skin. She fumbled at the chain, yanking it over her head. The moment the crimson stone left her throat, the world snapped back into place. She gasped, rolling onto her back, staring up at the canopy. The trees were wrong. Their branches weren’t branches anymore. They were limbs, twisted and elongated, fingers stretching towards the sky. The flowers at their feet weren’t flowers. They were eyes—dozens of them, black and glossy, blinking slowly in the dim light. Rory scrambled to her feet, her legs unsteady. The Grove wasn’t just a place. It was *alive*. And it had been watching her. A sound cut through the silence—a wet, clicking noise, like bones snapping together. She turned, her breath ragged, and saw them. Figures. Not people. Not quite. Their forms were blurred at the edges, shifting like smoke given shape. Their skin was too pale, stretched too tight over jagged bones. Their mouths were sewn shut with dark thread, but their eyes—oh, their eyes were wide and black, reflecting nothing. One of them tilted its head. Rory’s blood turned to ice. She didn’t wait. She ran. The path twisted ahead, the standing stones looming like sentinels. She didn’t dare look back. Her lungs burned, her legs ached, but she didn’t stop. The clicking grew louder, closer. The air thickened, pressing against her skin like sticky fingers. She skidded around a bend—and froze. The standing stones weren’t stones anymore. They were *doors*. Three of them, standing open, their surfaces pulsing with the same crimson light as the pendant. The wrongness radiated from them, a living thing, hungry and waiting. The figures were there too, their sewn mouths stretching into grins as they advanced. Rory’s mind raced. She’d come for answers. She’d come for *him*. But the Grove had other plans. The pendant lay in the dirt at her feet, its glow casting long, writhing shadows. She snatched it up, her fingers closing around the cold stone. The moment she did, the world *shifted*. The figures lunged. She didn’t scream. She didn’t have time. Rory Carter turned and ran straight through the nearest standing stone—and didn’t come out the other side.