Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYAH19MGB9B1TJ77C3Q8Y3Q

The gate creaked closed behind her, the sound swallowed almost instantly by the stillness of the Grove. Rory shivered, though the air wasn't particularly cold. It was…muted. As if the usual London hum—the distant sirens, the rumble of traffic—had been filtered out, leaving only a dense quiet pressing in on her ears. Richmond Park at night, even this secluded corner, shouldn’t have felt this stifling. She checked the Heartstone Pendant tucked beneath the collar of her delivery jacket. The crimson gem, no bigger than her thumbnail, pulsed weakly against her skin, a subtle warmth that hadn’t been there when she’d left her flat above Silas’ bar. It meant she was close. Close to what, she wasn't entirely sure. Just close. The benefactor—a tall woman with eyes like polished slate and a voice like wind chimes—had been frustratingly vague. “It calls to you, doesn’t it? The legacy. The… imbalance.” And then pressed the pendant into her hand and vanished, leaving Rory standing alone on a drizzly Camden High Street with a cryptic warning and a feeling that she’d stumbled into something far larger than herself. The standing stones were unmistakable, even in the dim moonlight filtering through the dense canopy. Ancient oaks, their gnarled branches interwoven, formed a circle, and the lichen-covered stones stood guard within. This was the Fae Grove, Isolde’s Grove. She’d read about it, of course. Every urban legend in London had a connection to some forgotten corner of Richmond Park, and this was the queen of them all. A pocket between worlds, they said. Time flowed differently here. Rory took a tentative step into the clearing. Wildflowers, defiant and vibrant despite the hour, carpeted the ground—bluebells, primroses, and something she couldn’t name, their petals luminous in the gloom. It was beautiful, undeniably so, but a tremor of unease coiled in her stomach. Beautiful things could be dangerous. She’d learned that much from Evan. The air smelled wrong. Not rotten, not exactly. Just…off. Like too much sweetness, cloying and unsettling. It clung to the back of her throat. She ran a hand over the crescent-shaped scar on her left wrist, a familiar comfort. A clumsy childhood fall from a tree. A reminder of a simpler time. A rustling sound made her jump. A rabbit, she told herself. Just a rabbit. But the rustling didn't stop. It circled her, a slow, deliberate movement beyond what a rabbit would do. She scanned the periphery of the clearing, her heart hammering against her ribs. The moonlight cast long, distorted shadows, making it difficult to discern anything clearly. "Hello?" she called out, her voice sounding thin and reedy in the oppressive silence. No reply. Just the continuing rustle, closer now. She tightened her grip on the delivery bag slung over her shoulder, the weight of the unsold Pad Thai a meager comfort. Her gaze fixed on a patch of shadow beneath one of the oaks. Something was there. Something shifting, indistinct. A trick of the light, probably. She blinked, and it was gone. Rory took a deep breath, trying to control the fluttering in her chest. Logic. She needed logic. She was tired, stressed, and possibly imagining things. The woman in Camden had seemed…unreal. The pendant felt like a prop in a badly written play. Another sound. This time, it wasn’t a rustle. It was a hum. A low, resonant vibration that seemed to emanate from the ground itself. It resonated in her teeth, in the bones of her skull. Rory clenched her jaw, trying to block it out. The Heartstone pulsed again, this time noticeably warmer. It throbbed against her skin, a frantic beat that mirrored her own heartbeat. Definitely closer now. She turned slowly, scanning the clearing. The wildflowers seemed to be swaying, though there was no wind. Their colors appeared more intense, almost too vibrant. Their scent intensified as well, triggering a wave of nausea. Something moved at the edge of her vision, a flicker of white amongst the shadows. She spun around, but there was nothing there. Just the trees, the stones, the unnervingly bright flowers. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered, her voice barely a whisper this time. “I’m being paranoid.” But the humming intensified. It was accompanied now by a new sound, a faint clicking—like insects, but larger, more deliberate. It seemed to be coming from within the standing stones themselves. She felt a presence. Not a visual presence, but a weight in the air, a feeling of being watched. Hundreds of eyes on her, cold and assessing. The temperature in the clearing dropped suddenly, and Rory pulled her jacket tighter around her. A fine mist began to swirl, clinging to the wildflowers and obscuring the stones. The moon, which had been shining brightly just moments ago, was now hidden behind a veil of clouds. Rory's breath hitched in her throat. The rustling started again, closer than ever. Not around her now, but directly behind her. She didn't dare turn. One of the wildflowers, a deep violet bloom, swayed directly in front of her face. As she watched, its petals unfolded further, revealing a cluster of tiny, chitinous legs. Rory choked back a scream. They weren’t wildflowers. At least, not entirely. The pendant flared, burning against her skin. It pulsed with an almost unbearable heat. The humming escalated to a deafening drone. The clicking intensified, resonating from the stones, from the ground, from *within* her. A voice, impossibly old and laced with glacial indifference, whispered in her ear. “You shouldn’t have come.” Rory finally turned, and what she saw stole the air from her lungs. Standing just beyond the circle of stones, partially obscured by the swirling mist, were figures. Tall and slender, their forms shifting and indistinct. They weren’t human. Their limbs were too long, their faces too smooth, their eyes glowing with an unnatural luminescence. They were smiling. And they were all looking at her.