Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY9R7N3PGV99HD3Y5DJGWA3

Rory’s boot crunched over frost-dusted oak leaves as she tracked the glow of her phone’s flashlight toward the first of the ancient standing stones. She’d ducked out mid-delivery run for Yu-Fei’s Golden Empress, a steaming bag of pork dumplings abandoned in her bike’s basket at the edge of Richmond Park—she’d spotted the crumpled note under her delivery bag’s strap before her next drop, its ink smudged like it had been written in a hurry, words blaring Find the Grove—answers about the pendant wait. The Heartstone hung heavy at her throat, its crimson thumbnail-sized gem thrumming warmth into her sternum, a pulse she’d learned to trust only when it meant trouble. She paused at the stone’s gnarled base, her left wrist’s crescent scar tingling where the frost nipped at it; the scar’s childhood accident memory flickered—she’d scraped it on a broken fence while running from a stray dog, Evan later mocking her for crying—but she pushed it away. Cool-headed, quick thinking, that’s who she was, even when she was ditching deliveries to hunt fae-touched groves she’d only heard whispers of in her mom’s old Welsh folk stories. That’s a stupid risk. She tucked her phone into her jacket, the flashlight’s beam dying to a faint glow through the fabric. The standing stones’ oak grain twisted like frozen screams, and beyond them, a clearing bloomed with wildflowers—daffodils, poppies, clover, all pushing through frost, their petals glowing faintly in the moon’s weak light. That was the first wrongness: no wildflower blooms in London’s December frost, not even in Richmond Park’s most secluded corners. She stepped through the stone’s shadow, and the air shifted—thicker, sweeter, like overripe berries left in a closed jar. Her straight black shoulder-length hair caught on a low-hanging branch, and she tugged it free, her bright blue eyes scanning the clearing for any sign of the note’s sender. She’d hesitated before entering, Eva’s voice echoing in her head (Avoid strange places, Rory—you don’t need more trouble) but the Heartstone’s pulse had been too insistent, a warm thrum that matched the curiosity gnawing at her about the unknown benefactor who’d left it in her flat’s mailbox a month ago. Wildflowers in winter. That’s not natural. She glanced at her phone’s clock: 9:17 PM. She’d told Yu-Fei she’d be back in 20 minutes, but something in the air made the numbers on the screen blur, then snap back to 9:17, like time was holding its breath. The Heartstone’s pulse quickened, warmth seeping up her neck. She brushed a strand of hair from her eyes, her fingers grazing the scar on her left wrist—she’d never felt it throb like that, not since the accident. She bent to pluck a daffodil, its petals soft against her fingers, but when she lifted it to her face, the scent turned to rot—sharp, putrid, making her gag. She dropped it, and it vanished into the frost-dusted grass before it hit the ground. It just… disappeared. She stepped deeper into the clearing, her boot catching on a poppy’s stem. A sound pricked her ears: not the rustle of leaves, not the hoot of an owl, but the high, thin tinkle of a child’s wind chime—something that had no place in a hidden fae-touched grove. She spun, her jacket’s edge catching on a standing stone, but there was nothing there—only the dark between the oaks, shifting like a curtain pulled by invisible hands. The wildflowers around her had shifted, their petals now facing her, all of them, as if they were watching. She thought of the flat above Silas’ bar, where she’d spent countless nights poring over old pre-law textbooks, and how this grove felt like a twisted mirror of that quiet space—every sound amplified, every shadow a threat. Wind chimes? No one lives out here. She pressed her palm to the Heartstone, its glow now faint enough to see through her jacket fabric. The clock on her phone blurred again, this time snapping to 9:18, but the tightness in her chest told her more time had passed—maybe an hour, maybe more. She’d never been one for superstition, but the flat had its share of odd noises (a faint tap on her window at 3 AM, a glass falling off her shelf for no reason) and this grove felt like a more menacing version of that. She reached for her jacket pocket, where she kept a folded delivery receipt she used as a makeshift bookmark for her pre-law textbook—she’d tucked it there that morning before her shift, a reminder of the life she’d fled in Cardiff—but her hand came up empty. The receipt had vanished, just like the daffodil. My receipt’s gone. She turned in a slow circle, her boots crunching over grass that now felt like it was wrapping around her ankles—faint, almost imperceptible, but enough to make her yank her foot free. The Heartstone’s pulse grew so strong it made her fingers tingle. A faint movement caught her eye: a shadow slipping between two standing stones, its shape too tall to be a fox, too thin to be a deer. She froze, her bright blue eyes narrowing, her cool-headed streak keeping her from panicking—for now. She’d dealt with abusive Evan’s mind games, with Yu-Fei’s sharp reminders about late deliveries, but this shadow felt like something she couldn’t reason with, something that didn’t play by human rules. Who’s there? I’m not here to cause trouble. No answer, but the shadow shifted again, this time closer, so she could see a flash of something silver—like a chain, but not the thin silver chain of her Heartstone. She stumbled back, her boot hitting a standing stone, and the shadow vanished. The wildflowers’ glow dimmed, and the air’s sweet scent turned back to rot, thicker now, making her eyes water. She wiped at them with her sleeve, and when she looked again, the standing stones had shifted—their positions reversed, so she couldn’t tell which one she’d come through. She’d mapped their twist pattern when she entered, a trick she’d learned in pre-law to track witness testimonies, but now the grain was unrecognizable, a jumble of frozen screams. They moved. She pressed her back to a stone, her heart hammering now. The moon had shifted so far across the sky it was almost hidden by the oaks—proof that time was warping, just like the grove’s whispered tales she’d dismissed until now. She thought of her dad’s barrister lectures, of her mom’s Welsh folk stories she’d ignored as a kid, of Eva’s plea to flee Cardiff for London—all of them feeling like distant memories now. The Heartstone’s pulse had slowed to a faint throb, but her left wrist’s scar was throbbing so hard it made her wince. She’d covered the scar with a bandage for weeks after Evan mocked it, calling it a “baby’s scrape,” but now it felt like a beacon, drawing the shadowy figures closer. That scar’s never hurt like this. A faint whisper reached her ears, not a child’s chime, but a voice, low and rough, like someone gargling with leaves. It came from every direction at once, wrapping around her like a cold blanket. She leaned forward, her bright blue eyes scanning the clearing for the source, but there was nothing—only the black wildflowers (they’d turned black while she wasn’t looking, their petals curling into tiny fists) and the shifting dark between the oaks. She could feel the wildflowers’ tiny fists wrapping around her calves now, a gentle but unyielding pull that made her tug her legs free with a sharp gasp. What did you say? I can’t hear you. The whisper grew louder, but the words were unintelligible, a jumble of sounds that made her head ache. She clutched the Heartstone tighter, its warmth faded to cold. She glanced at her phone, and the screen was dead, black as the wildflowers’ petals. She’d charged it fully before her shift, but it now felt heavy and useless in her pocket. She pushed off the stone, her straight black hair falling in front of her eyes, and stepped toward the clearing’s center—she had to find the exit, had to get back to her bike, had to finish her delivery before Yu-Fei fired her. She’d worked too hard to keep her part-time job, too hard to build a quiet life in London after fleeing Evan, and she wasn’t going to throw it away for a mysterious pendant and a fae-touched grove. Come on. Think. The stones had a twist pattern when I came in. She scanned the standing stones, but their grain had shifted too, twisting into unrecognizable shapes. A movement caught her peripheral vision again—this time, multiple shadows, all shifting toward her, their shapes twisting like smoke. She tensed, her cool-headed thinking fraying at the edges. She’d never been trapped like this, not even when Evan had locked her in his apartment for three hours. The shadows drew closer, and she could hear the faint scuff of shoes on grass, multiple pairs now, and the whisper returned, more voices joining in, all unintelligible but menacing. She could feel their cold breath on her neck, a faint chill that cut through her jacket’s warmth. I shouldn’t have left the dumplings. Yu-Fei’s going to kill me. She pressed her left wrist to her chest, the crescent scar’s throbbing matching the faint pulse of the Heartstone. She thought of the unknown benefactor who’d left the pendant in her mailbox, of the note that had led her here, and wondered if they’d set a trap. She’d been so curious about the pendant’s origin, so desperate for answers about who’d given it to her and why, that she’d ignored every warning sign—Eva’s plea, Yu-Fei’s reminder, her own cool-headed sense of self-preservation. A shadow brushed her arm, cold as ice, and she jumped back, her boot slipping on the slick grass. She fell to her knees, her hands scraping the frost-dusted earth—she could feel the wildflowers’ tiny fists wrapping around her fingers, pulling her down. She tugged her hands free, her bright blue eyes widening as she saw a figure standing at the edge of the clearing, its face hidden by a hood, its left wrist bearing a scar that glinted in the moon’s faint light—same crescent shape as hers. The figure lifted a hand, and a silver chain dangled from its fingers, a crimson gem identical to her Heartstone glinting at its end. You have mine. I want it back.