Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYBAV5HEP8BZRJFQPWJRDQN

The air in Richmond Park was thick with the kind of damp that clung to skin like a second layer of clothing, the kind that made the back of your neck prickle even before you stepped beneath the gnarled boughs of the standing oaks. Aurora Carter—Rory, to those who knew her—had told herself it was just the autumn chill, the kind that seeped into bones when you stood too long in the wrong place. But she knew better. The Grove didn’t care for visitors, especially not ones who carried things they shouldn’t. She adjusted the silver chain of the Heartstone Pendant beneath her shirt, the faint warmth of it a dull pulse against her ribs. The pendant had been a gift from someone who didn’t want to be named, a relic from a world she didn’t fully understand. It had saved her once, when the Hel had come for her in London, when the streets had bled and the air had tasted of copper and something older, something hungry. Now, it hummed against her skin, a low, insistent throb that made her fingers twitch. The standing stones loomed ahead, their gnarled trunks twisting like the fingers of a corpse reaching for the sky. The clearing beyond them was too still, the wildflowers—always blooming here, always too bright—dulling to a sickly yellow under the sickly moonlight. Rory’s breath hitched. She shouldn’t have come. She *knew* she shouldn’t have. But she had to. Eva had sent the message in the dead of night, her voice tight with fear: *They’re coming. The Fae are wrong. You have to stop them before they open the door.* Rory had packed a bag—just in case—and now stood at the edge of the Grove, her boots sinking slightly into the damp earth. The pendant pulsed harder, as if sensing her hesitation. She swallowed. *Fine. One look. Then I’m gone.* The first wrongness was the silence. Richmond Park was never silent. There were always the distant hum of traffic, the occasional bark of a dog, the rustle of leaves in the wind. But here, in the Grove, there was nothing. Not even the crickets, which usually filled the gaps between the trees like a chorus of tiny, skittering voices. The air was too still, too *thick*, like breathing through a mouthful of honey. Rory’s pulse hammered in her throat. She stepped forward, her boots crunching on something brittle beneath her soles. Twigs, maybe. Or something else. The pendant burned against her skin. She turned her head slowly, scanning the darkness. The trees seemed to lean in closer, their branches twisting unnaturally, like fingers curling around her. The standing stones—ancient, she’d read, older than the park itself—seemed to *watch* her. Their bark was smooth, almost too smooth, as if polished by something that wasn’t water. A sound. Not a rustle. Not a branch snapping. A *click*. It came from the left, just beyond the first of the standing stones. Rory’s breath froze in her lungs. She didn’t move. Didn’t dare. The click came again. Then another. Like teeth on bone. Her fingers tightened around the pendant. The warmth of it seeped into her palm, a slow, insistent heat. *You shouldn’t be here,* it seemed to whisper, though she knew it couldn’t speak. But the message was clear. She took a step back, her heel catching on something uneven. She stumbled, her hand flying out to steady herself. Her fingers brushed against the rough bark of a tree— —and the bark *moved*. Not the wind. Not a trick of the light. The tree’s skin *rippled*, like water disturbed by a stone. And then, just for a second, something *shifted* beneath it. A pale, glistening thing, smooth and wet, like the underside of a fish. It vanished before her eyes could fully register it, but the impression lingered, a cold dread settling in her gut. Rory’s breath came in shallow gasps. She turned in a slow circle, her gaze darting between the trees, the stones, the sickly yellow flowers. Nothing moved. Nothing *should* move. But the air was wrong. She could *smell* it now, a faint, metallic tang beneath the damp earth. Like old blood. Like something that had been dead for a long time. The pendant pulsed again, harder this time, its warmth radiating up her arm. She clutched it tighter, her knuckles white. *You have to leave,* she told herself. *Just walk away. Now.* But her feet wouldn’t move. A sound from the right. Not a click this time. A *whisper*. It was too soft to make out the words, but the tone was unmistakable—wet, slithering, like something speaking through water. Rory’s skin crawled. She pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling a sob. The whisper came again, closer this time. And then— A branch snapped. Not from the wind. Not from an animal. From *something* moving in the dark. Rory’s breath hitched. She turned, her eyes locked onto the source of the sound. The trees were too close now, their shadows stretching long and unnatural across the clearing. The standing stones seemed to lean in, their gnarled forms twisting like the fingers of a corpse reaching for her. And then she saw it. A shape. Tall. Too tall. It moved between the trees, its form shifting, blending into the darkness. Rory’s pulse roared in her ears. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. The shape stepped into the moonlight. And then— It wasn’t a shape at all. It was a *person*. Or what had once been a person. Their skin was too smooth, too pale, stretched taut over bones that seemed to *glow* from within. Their mouth was a lipless slit, their teeth—if they had any—hidden beneath the flesh. Their eyes were black, endless pits, reflecting nothing. And they were *smiling*. Rory’s breath left her in a rush. She stumbled back, her heel catching on a root. She fell to her knees, her hands flying to her face as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. The thing tilted its head, its smile widening. It took a step forward. Rory’s fingers dug into the dirt. She could feel the pendant burning against her ribs, its warmth a beacon in the dark. She had to get away. Had to run. But her legs wouldn’t move. The thing took another step. And then another. Rory’s vision blurred. She could hear her own heartbeat, a drumbeat in her ears. She could smell the metallic tang of blood, thick and heavy in the air. The thing was almost upon her. She closed her eyes. *Please let this be a nightmare,* she thought. *Please let me wake up.* But the thing’s breath was on her face before she could finish the thought. Hot. Wet. Smelling of old blood and something older, something *hungry*. Rory’s eyes flew open. The thing was right there, its breath fanning her cheeks, its black eyes locked onto hers. It reached out, its fingers—long, too long—hovering just above her face. And then— A sound. Not from the thing. From *behind* it. A low, guttural growl. A snarl. The thing turned its head, its black eyes widening. And then it *screamed*. The sound was wrong. Too high. Too wet. Like something tearing itself apart from the inside. Rory didn’t wait to see what happened next. She bolted. Her boots pounded against the damp earth, her lungs burning as she ran. She didn’t look back. Couldn’t. The pendant burned against her ribs, its warmth a guiding light in the dark. She had to get out. Had to reach the standing stones. Had to— A hand clamped over her mouth. Rory screamed, her body jerking as she tried to wriggle free. The hand was cold, too cold, its fingers digging into her skin. She bit down, tasting something metallic, something *wrong*. The hand pulled away. Rory gasped, her breath coming in ragged bursts. She turned, her eyes scanning the darkness. Nothing. Just the trees. Just the standing stones. Just the sickly yellow flowers. And then— A whisper. Not from the thing. From *her*. The pendant burned against her ribs, its warmth seeping into her skin. She clutched it tighter, her fingers trembling. *You have to leave,* it seemed to say. *Now.* Rory nodded, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She turned and ran. Her boots pounded against the damp earth, her lungs burning as she raced toward the standing stones. She didn’t look back. Couldn’t. The pendant burned against her ribs, its warmth a beacon in the dark. And then— She was out. The Grove was behind her, its wrongness fading into the night. She stumbled onto the path, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She didn’t stop running until she reached the safety of the park’s main road, until the distant hum of traffic filled the silence. Only then did she stop. Only then did she let herself look back. And only then did she realize— She wasn’t alone.