Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYA8JH8H2BCPDARDFXZBE6G

Aurora pushed through the thicket of brambles lining Richmond Park's edge, her boots crunching over frost-kissed leaves. Night had fallen hard, the kind that swallowed London whole, leaving only the distant hum of traffic as a faint echo. She clutched the Heartstone Pendant in her fist, its deep crimson gem pulsing against her palm like a second heartbeat. Warmer now, insistent. It had started that afternoon, during her shift at the Golden Empress, a steady throb that dragged her gaze westward. Answers. That's what she chased. The unknown benefactor's note had promised them here, in this hidden grove Eva had whispered about once, half in jest, half in warning. "Fae-touched," Eva called it. Rory shook off the chill creeping up her spine. Superstition wouldn't stop her. Moonlight filtered through the canopy as she stepped past the ancient oak standing stones. They loomed like forgotten sentinels, bark twisted into shapes that hinted at faces if she stared too long. The air shifted. Thicker, somehow. Sweeter, laced with the scent of wildflowers that shouldn't bloom in November's bite. Time moved differently here, or so the old tales went. An hour inside could stretch or shrink outside. She checked her watch—11:47 PM. Fine. She'd poke around, find whatever the pendant pointed to, and bolt before midnight. The clearing opened before her, a pocket of unnatural green amid the park's winter-barren sprawl. Grass swayed gently, though no wind stirred. Rory released the pendant, letting it dangle from its silver chain around her neck. It glowed faintly, casting a ruddy hue on her black hair as it swung. She scanned the space. Empty. Just the stones circling the perimeter, and in the center, a cluster of wildflowers nodding in impossible bloom. Reds and purples vivid under the moon. She knelt, fingers brushing petals. Soft. Real. But the warmth from the pendant spread, pooling in her chest. Closer now. Whatever it sensed lurked nearby. A twig snapped. Sharp, deliberate. Rory froze, ears straining. The park lay quiet beyond the stones, but here? Silence pressed in, broken only by her breath fogging the air. She stood, turning slow. Nothing. Just shadows pooling under the oaks. Her scar on her left wrist itched, the old crescent from that childhood fall in Cardiff. Nerves. That's all. She shoved her hands into her jacket pockets, pacing toward the center. "Why here?" she muttered, voice swallowed by the grove. "What the hell am I supposed to find?" No answer came. The pendant pulsed again, stronger. She followed its pull, weaving through the flowers toward a denser thicket at the far edge. Vines tangled there, forming a natural arch. Beyond it, darkness deepened. She hesitated, pulse quickening. The note had been cryptic: "The Heartstone calls to its kin. Seek the grove when it warms." Kin? Her family tree didn't branch into fairy tales. Brendan and Jennifer raised her on facts, law books, chalk dust. Not this. But Evan’s grip had shattered that life, and Eva’s plea had hauled her to London. Maybe this pendant tied into the fragments she’d fled. She ducked under the arch. The air grew heavier, like stepping into a greenhouse forgotten for decades. Leaves brushed her shoulders, cool and damp. A faint rustle sounded behind her. She whipped around. The clearing stared back, empty. Flowers still bloomed. Stones stood sentinel. But the shadows between them stretched longer now, reaching like fingers across the grass. "Get a grip, Rory." She rubbed her wrist, the scar a rough reminder. "It's just the wind playing tricks." No wind. The realization hit her. Not a single breeze stirred the grove, yet those flowers had swayed. She backed up a step, eyes darting. There, at the edge of vision—a flicker. Something small, darting behind a stone. She blinked. Gone. Probably a fox. Or a rabbit. Richmond Park teemed with wildlife. But foxes didn't make her skin crawl like this. The pendant warmed again, urging her forward. She pressed on, deeper into the thicket. Thorns snagged her jeans, but she ignored them. The path narrowed, forcing her to sidle through. Sounds filtered in now. Soft at first. A whisper of leaves, not from her movement. Then a low hum, like distant voices murmuring in a language she almost recognized. Welsh? No, older. It tugged at her, familiar yet alien, like eavesdropping on a dream. She stopped, heart pounding. The hum faded. Silence again, thicker. Oppressive. She glanced back. The arch loomed farther away than it should. Ten steps? Twenty? Distance warped here. Time too, maybe. Her watch read 11:50 PM. Only three minutes? Felt like longer. "Something's off." Her voice cracked the quiet. "This place... it's watching." Paranoia. That's what Evan would call it, back when he'd twist her doubts into weapons. But this felt different. Real. She shook her head, pushing forward. The thicket opened into a smaller glade, ringed by more oaks. In the middle sat a flat stone, etched with symbols that matched the pendant's glow. Runes? They shimmered faintly as she approached. The Heartstone thrummed against her chest, alive. She knelt, tracing the etchings. Warm to the touch. "What are you?" she whispered. "Why me?" A branch creaked overhead. Not wind. Too deliberate. She looked up. Branches intertwined, forming a canopy that blocked most of the moon. But something shifted up there. A shadow, elongating. It slipped away as her eyes focused. Gone. Her breath caught. Not alone. The certainty bloomed in her gut, cold and unshakeable. She stood, backing toward the path. Another snap. Closer this time, from the left. She spun. Bushes rustled, leaves parting as if something pushed through. Small. Fast. She caught a glimpse—pale skin? No, just moonlight on bark. But the rustle continued, circling now. From the right. Then behind. "Show yourself!" she called, voice steadier than she felt. "I'm not here to play games." Silence answered. Then laughter. Soft, tinkling, like wind chimes made of glass. It echoed from everywhere and nowhere, bouncing off the oaks. Childlike, but wrong. Too high, too sharp. It faded, leaving her ears ringing. Rory's mind raced. Fae tales. Eva loved them—stories of tricksters in groves, luring wanderers with illusions. But those were myths. Weren't they? The pendant pulsed hot, almost burning. She clutched it, the crimson light flaring brighter, illuminating the glade. Shadows retreated, but not all. One lingered, huddled behind the etched stone. It moved. Slithered, really, low to the ground. She bolted back toward the arch, boots slamming earth. Thorns tore at her arms, drawing thin lines of blood. The laughter returned, closer. Multiplied. Two voices now? Three? They whispered her name. "Aurora... Rory... Laila?" Aliases from her past, ones she'd buried. How? The path twisted. She swore it hadn't before. Left turn, then right, but the arch didn't appear. Her watch: 11:52 PM. Time crawled. Or sped? Panic clawed up her throat. She stopped, forcing calm. Think. Out-of-the-box, like always. The pendant. It led her in; maybe it could lead out. She held it up, letting its glow cut through the dark. The light revealed shapes in the underbrush—eyes? Glowing pinpricks, watching. They blinked out as she stared. Not animals. Too intelligent. Too many. A touch brushed her ankle. Light, like fingers trailing. She kicked out, connecting with nothing. Air. But the sensation lingered, cold and probing. Another brush, this time on her shoulder. She swatted, spinning. Empty space. The whispers grew. "Stay... play... ours..." "No." She ran again, crashing through vines. The arch appeared suddenly, as if it'd been hiding. She burst into the main clearing. Flowers crushed underfoot, releasing a burst of sickly sweet pollen. The standing stones encircled her, but they leaned inward now, closer. Impossible. Stones didn't move. The laughter swelled, a chorus. Shapes flitted at the periphery—tall, slender figures darting between oaks. Not human. Limbs too long, movements too fluid. One paused, just long enough for her to see a face. Pale, with eyes like voids. It smiled, teeth sharp. Then gone. Rory sprinted for the boundary stones. The pendant scorched her skin, warning or guiding? She didn't care. Cross the stones. Get out. The ground trembled faintly, as if the grove breathed. Roots shifted under her feet, tripping her. She fell hard, knees grinding into dirt. Something grabbed her wrist—the scarred one. Not a hand. A vine? It wrapped tight, thorns pricking. She yanked free, blood welling. The whispers turned to hisses. "Mine... blood... kin..." Kin. The word echoed. Her mother's Welsh roots? Or something older? No time. She scrambled up, lunging for the stones. A shadow loomed behind her, close enough to feel its breath—cold, fetid. Fingers? Claws? Grazed her back. She vaulted over the boundary. The air popped, like surfacing from water. Park sounds rushed back—distant cars, wind rustling normal leaves. She collapsed onto frosted grass, gasping. The grove loomed behind her, but the stones stood straight again. Silent. Empty? Her watch: 3:17 AM. Hours gone in minutes. The pendant cooled, its glow dimming. But the certainty lingered. Not alone. Whatever watched from within hadn't let her go entirely. Eyes still burned into her back, waiting. She pushed to her feet, legs shaking. London sprawled ahead, lights winking like distant stars. Safe. For now. But the whispers echoed in her mind, faint but persistent. "Come back... Rory... ours..." A leaf fluttered from the grove, landing at her feet. Not a leaf. A petal, crimson as the Heartstone. It withered before her eyes, curling into ash. She crushed it under her boot and ran, the park's paths twisting longer than they should. Shadows followed, always at the edge. Watching. Hungry.