Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYA2V0PC83HHZH05R126JNG

The air in Richmond Park was thick with the damp chill of an English autumn, the kind that seeped into bones and lingered long after the body had stopped shivering. Rory Carter pulled her jacket tighter around herself, the collar turned up against the wind that whispered through the skeletal branches of the oaks. She kept her eyes on the path, the beam of her phone flashlight cutting a narrow swath through the dark. The standing stones loomed ahead, their gnarled silhouettes pressing against the bruised sky like sentinels guarding something older than the park itself. She shouldn’t have come. Not like this. Not alone. But the pendant had been insistent, its faint pulse warm against her throat, a steady, rhythmic throb that had woken her from a restless sleep. She’d pressed her fingers to it, half-expecting it to be warm to the touch, but no—it was just metal, just silver and crimson stone. Still, the sensation had lingered, a prickle at the back of her neck, the certainty that she was being watched. Not by people. Not by anything human. The standing stones marked the edge of the Grove, the place the locals whispered about in hushed tones, the place where the veil between worlds was thin enough to see through. Isolde’s Grove. A name that carried the weight of something forgotten, something dangerous. Rory had never believed in the Fae, not really. But the pendant had been a gift—no, not a gift, a warning. And warnings, in her experience, were things to be heeded. She stepped past the stones, and the world shifted. The air grew heavier, thick with the scent of damp earth and something sweet, like rotting fruit left too long in the sun. The path beneath her feet changed—no longer gravel, but something softer, spongy, as if she walked on moss or crushed petals. The trees around her didn’t just stand; they *leaned*, their branches twisting toward her like skeletal fingers. The sky above was wrong, too. The stars were too bright, too many, crowded together in a way that made her head ache. Rory exhaled slowly, forcing her shoulders to relax. *It’s just the Grove. Just a place where time moves differently.* That’s what the notes had said. That’s what Eva had told her, back when they’d still talked about such things before Rory had cut herself off from the old world, from the old fears. She adjusted the strap of her bag, her fingers brushing the pendant again. The pulse was stronger here, almost a heartbeat. A warning. A twig snapped. Rory froze. The sound hadn’t come from the path. It had come from the trees. From *behind* her. She turned slowly, her breath shallow. The flashlight beam trembled as she swept it across the undergrowth. Nothing. Just shadows. Just the way the Grove played tricks on the eyes. “Hello?” Her voice was too loud in the sudden silence. No answer. She told herself it was just an animal. A fox. A badger. Something small and harmless. But then the wind shifted, carrying with it a sound that wasn’t quite a sound—a whisper, a breath, a voice that wasn’t a voice. It brushed against her skin like cold fingers, and for a second, she swore she felt lips move against her ear, though no one was there. Rory’s pulse hammered in her throat. She backed up a step, then another, her heel catching on something unseen. She stumbled, barely catching herself before she fell. The pendant swung forward, the crimson stone catching the dim light and flashing like a warning beacon. She didn’t look down. She didn’t breathe. Because something was moving in the trees. Not an animal. Not the wind. *Something.* The flashlight flickered. The beam wavered. And then— A shape. Tall. Too tall. Its limbs were too long, its joints bending in ways that made her stomach clench. It stood just beyond the edge of the light, watching. Waiting. Rory’s fingers curled around the pendant. The stone was warm now, burning against her skin. She had come here for a reason. She had to remember why. But all she could think was: *Run.* She turned and bolted. Branches lashed at her arms, roots twisted beneath her feet, but she didn’t stop. She didn’t dare. The air behind her seemed to *thick*en, like something was pushing against her back, urging her forward, deeper into the Grove. A sound cut through the night—a laugh. Not human. Not quite a laugh. A wet, clicking noise, like bones shifting in a cage. Rory’s breath came in ragged gasps. She didn’t know where she was going. She only knew she had to keep moving. The path ahead split. Left or right. She chose left, her boots sinking into the damp earth. The trees here were thicker, their trunks knotted and blackened as if scorched from within. The air smelled of iron and something older, something that made her teeth ache. She risked a glance over her shoulder. Nothing. Just the trees. Just the dark. But the wrongness was still there, pressing against her skin like a second shadow. A voice—soft, melodic, wrong—drifted through the branches. *“You shouldn’t have come, little thief.”* Rory skidded to a halt. Her pulse roared in her ears. She knew that voice. She’d heard it in dreams. In the spaces between waking and sleep. *“Who—?”* The trees seemed to lean in closer. *“You took what wasn’t yours.”* The pendant burned. Rory fumbled at her neck, her fingers closing around the chain. The stone was hot now, searing her skin. *“I didn’t—”* *“Liar.”* A figure stepped into the light. Tall. Pale. Its skin was too smooth, too perfect, like wax stretched over bone. Its eyes—black, endless—locked onto hers. It tilted its head, studying her with something like curiosity. *“You feel it, don’t you?”* Its voice was a sigh, a breath against her neck. *“The hunger. The *need*.”* Rory’s breath hitched. She should have been terrified. She should have been running. But all she could do was stare. Because the thing in front of her wasn’t just watching her. It was *smiling.* And its teeth were too sharp. *“You’re not supposed to be here,”* it murmured. *“But you are. And now… you’ll stay.”* The last word hung in the air, heavy as a curse. Rory’s hands trembled. She had come here for answers. For closure. For whatever reason the pendant had dragged her into this nightmare. But now she understood. She wasn’t leaving. And whatever was coming for her wasn’t going to let her go.