Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYABHYMH0EA63EEB6Y5XGVF

The park gates clanked shut behind Rory with a finality that didn’t sit right. Usually, Richmond Park felt…peaceful. Even odd, with the deer wandering about like they owned the place. Tonight, though, the air tasted metallic, and the trees pressed in too close. She adjusted the strap of her messenger bag, the Heartstone pendant warm against her skin. A nervous habit. She’d been coming to the Grove for months, following Isolde’s cryptic directions, scrawled on the back of a napkin during a particularly messy night at Silas’s. Isolde claimed the Grove held answers about the…shifts. The moments where the veil between worlds thinned, letting things slip through. Rory hadn’t believed her at first, figuring the old woman had simply had one too many gins. But Isolde’s details, the almost painfully specific details, had been too accurate. Too much about Rory's past, things she hadn’t spoken aloud to anyone. The path wasn’t visible in the dark, only an impression of worn earth. She trusted her feet, remembering the route from previous visits. The scent of pine and damp earth should have been comforting, but it felt…suffocating. A cold seeped into her bones that had nothing to do with the late autumn air. A twig snapped to her left. She stopped, breath catching in her throat. Deer. It had to be. Richmond Park was full of them. Still, her hand instinctively went to the small, utilitarian knife she kept tucked inside her jacket pocket. “Hello?” she called out, her voice sounding thin and reedy in the vast darkness. Silence. Just the rustle of leaves, which seemed…too deliberate. Like someone dragging their feet through the undergrowth. She started walking again, quicker now, pushing through branches that snagged at her coat. The ancient oak standing stones, marking the boundary of the Grove, loomed ahead like skeletal fingers. Even in daylight, they were imposing. Now, they were monstrous. The air changed as she passed between the stones. It grew noticeably colder, and the scent of wildflowers—which she knew bloomed year-round within the Grove—became sickly sweet. The usual gentle hum of the place was gone, replaced by a quiet that felt actively hostile. She scanned the clearing. Usually lit by a soft, ethereal glow, the Grove tonight was swallowed by shadows. The wildflowers, normally a riot of color, looked faded, almost grey. “Isolde?” she called, her voice a little stronger this time. She’d expected the old woman to be waiting. Isolde always waited. No response. Rory walked deeper into the clearing, her boots sinking slightly into the soft earth. The Heartstone pendant pulsed faster against her skin. It hadn't done that before. Not this quickly, not this intensely. A flicker of movement at the edge of her vision. Just beyond a cluster of hawthorn trees. She whipped her head around, but saw nothing. Probably just her eyes playing tricks. “Okay,” she murmured to herself, “this is stupid. Just a little spooked.” She pulled out her phone, intending to text Eva, just to let her know she’d arrived. No signal. Of course. The Grove had always been a dead zone. Another sound. A low, guttural growl that seemed to vibrate through the ground. This wasn’t a deer. Rory froze, listening intently. The growl didn’t come again. But the silence that followed was worse. It felt…expectant. She took a tentative step forward, then another. The shadows seemed to shift and writhe around her, taking on vaguely humanoid shapes. “Is anyone there?” she demanded, her voice trembling. A voice answered, but it wasn’t Isolde’s. It wasn't a voice at all, not one she recognized. More like a rasping whisper that seemed to come from inside her own head. "Lost." Rory clutched the Heartstone pendant. It was almost burning now. The crimson gem glowed brighter, casting an eerie red light on the wildflowers. “Who’s there?” The whisper again, closer this time. It felt like a cold breath against her ear. "Always lost." She turned slowly, scanning the perimeter of the clearing. Nothing. Just the trees, the shadows, the strangely muted wildflowers. Then she saw it. Or thought she saw it. A shape. Standing between two of the standing stones. Tall and gaunt, barely visible in the darkness. It wasn’t solid, more like a distortion of the air. Its head tilted at an unnatural angle. “Show yourself!” The shape didn’t move. It just…waited. Rory’s hand tightened around the handle of her knife. She knew, with a sickening certainty, that whatever was out there wasn’t human. Wasn’t anything she could reason with. The air grew colder still. A fine mist began to swirl around her feet, obscuring the wildflowers. The scent of decay mingled with the sickly sweetness of the blooms. Another sound. A slow, dragging sound, like nails scraping against stone. It came from behind her. She spun around, heart hammering in her chest. Nothing. "Don't turn your back," the voice whispered, right behind her ear. She hadn’t felt a presence, hadn’t heard footsteps. The voice just *was*. Rory bit back a scream. Her legs felt like lead. She was trapped, surrounded by shadows and whispers and something…else. The Heartstone pendant was now radiating intense heat. It felt like it was about to explode. She risked a glance down. The gem pulsed with a frantic, desperate rhythm. It was reacting to something. Something close. She forced herself to breathe, to focus. She had to find Isolde. Isolde knew something about this place. She had to know how to get out. “Isolde!” she shouted, her voice cracking with fear. “Where are you?” A chuckle, dry and brittle, echoed through the clearing. It wasn’t Isolde’s laughter. “She’s not coming.”