Run: 2026-03-25-01KMJ92SQYVFN8S6TTEVWAJT27

The moon hung low over Richmond Park, a swollen silver disc that cast more shadow than light. Aurora Carter stepped between two oaks, their gnarled trunks leaning close enough to frame a threshold. The air smelled of wet earth and something sharper—like the tang of burnt sugar. She’d followed the GPS coordinates from the faded envelope, which read "The Grove—Midnight Delivery." Yu-Fei’s part-time gig had her moving boxes of pheasants and veal cutlets, but this one was different. The courier company name had been crossed out, replaced by a hand-scrawled "Golden Empress. Do not delay." She tugged the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder. The silver chain of the Heartstone Pendant dug into her palm, its crimson gemstone throbbing faintly. A minute ago, the stone had felt lukewarm, like a charged phone battery. Now it was hot enough to leave a palm print. *Maybe the "delivery" is a trap,* she thought. But the alternative was worse: Evan had started showing up at the flat above Silas’s bar again. That wasn’t his name on the envelope—never would be—but she’d take whatever help came her way. The clearing opened ahead. Where the forest should have thinned, the trees thickened, their boughs weaving a roof so tight the sky vanished. Inside, wildflowers glowed faintly, petals unbruised by winter. A path of moss snaked through them, and in the center of it stood a stone archway. It wasn’t there on any map, wasn’t in the photos she’d Googled. Runic symbols had been carved into the arch’s base, their edges softened by centuries of lichen. Her phone flickered in her pocket—4:43 a.m. She’d crossed the oaks at 4:28. That math didn’t add up. "Time’s a flexible concept here," a voice said. Aurora spun. No one stood behind her. The path was gone. The oaks now loomed directly behind her, their bark peeling into ragged fingers. The runic symbols were on *every* stone, now—roots curling up her ankles like serpents. Her breath fogged the air. *Cold enough for fog.* She told herself that twice, then trudged toward the arch. The pendant pulsed faster, a galloping heartbeat. The air shifted at the archway’s base. A tremor, like the hush before a thunderclap. She stepped over it and into another silence. This one had teeth. Her boots sank into the moss as if it were quicksand. The flowers around her darkened, shadows pooling in their stalks. She pulled out the pendant, its glow dimming. "Nice to see you’re paying attention." The voice came from the trees. A dry chuckle. Aurora’s hand drifted to the kitchen knife in her back pocket. "Who are you?" "Does it matter?" A woman stepped into the light—tall and draped in a moss-green cloak. Her hair was black as the stones, eyes white as milk. "Cards on the table: you’ve been carrying a piece of Hel since Tuesday." Aurora blinked. The pendant had been in her jewelry box for weeks, tucked beside costume necklaces she couldn’t bear to part with. "That’s not possible." "Denial’s a charming first step." The woman tilted her head, a gesture that made her seem older suddenly. "The Heartstones are cursed. You feel it, don’t you—how it burns your touch, whispers your secrets?" Aurora’s knuckles whitened around the pendant. It didn’t whisper. It just burned. The woman took a step closer, and the flowers flared gold again. Aurora noticed her boots didn’t press the moss flat. She backed away until she hit the arch. "I’m not here for a chat," she said. "I’m delivering something. If you want it, take it." She yanked free the chain, letting the stone clatter to the ground. The woman smiled, a perfect row of teeth. "Too late." The ground shuddered. The pendant slid into a crack in the stone. Aurora lunged to retrieve it, but the woman lifted a hand. A tendril of ivy burst from the soil, wrapping around Aurora’s wrist. The crescent scar prickled. She wrenched free, stumbled sideways, and the ivy recoiled. Her reflection in a dewdrop: pale skin mottled gray. Not right. She wiped the leaf, looked again. The woman’s laugh was a rustle of dead leaves. "You think you’re the first escaped pet they’ve sent here? The first to mistake their gifts as protection?" Aurora’s spine hit a tree. A tree she swore hadn’t been there a second ago. The runic symbols now covered the trunk. The woman’s face was dissolving, her features melting into bark, hair into ivy. Aurora’s phone flickered—6:17 a.m. She hadn’t seen the sunrise. "Back the way you came," the tree-woman said. "Or forward. Try telling which." Aurora fled, crashing through undergrowth until the air tasted of smoke instead of moss. She skidded to a halt. The forest was gone. A gravel road stretched at her back, headlights slicing through the predawn dark. The car hadn’t been there earlier. The driver’s window rolled down. Silas. His bar was five miles east. "Get in," he said. "Now." She hesitated. His usual smugness was gone, replaced by something twitchy. The rearview mirror showed the Fae Grove behind her, the oaks now massive as monoliths, their branches clawing at the empty road. Silas slammed the horn. She threw herself into the passenger seat. The engine roared, tires crunched, and the car lurching forward. In the mirror, the Grove shrank. Then expanded. Then vanished. "Are you following me?" she said. "No," he said, but his knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. "You’re following it." She turned. The rear window didn’t open to her flat above the bar. It opened to the dark. A shape loomed in it—a horse with too many legs, its eyes burning the same crimson as the Heartstone. The car skidded to a halt at the next set of oaks. Silas cursed, stepping on the gas. The headlights died. Outside, branches rattled. Not in the wind. "Your benefactor’s clever," Silas muttered. "But Hel’s smarter." Aurora pressed her forehead to the window. The horse’s breath was fog. Its hooves were made of stone. "Where’s the box?" She didn’t remember packing a box. Her hand found it on the passenger seat, tied with golden twine. The label had been chewed to pulp. She undid the knots, but the string unraveled itself. Inside: a mirror. No, a *portal.* The same crimson stone pulsed in its corner. The rear door creaked open. Aurora grabbed the mirror and the pendant, both glowing fiercely now. The figure behind her didn’t have a face, just a smudge of black where it should be. Its hands—were they hands?—were pale and webbed between the fingers. "Give it," it hissed. "Silas. **Drive.**" He didn’t move. She smashed the mirror against the dash. The portal shrieked, a sound that split her skull. The creature hissed again, louder. The car’s dashboard cracked. The tree-woman’s laugh echoed from somewhere deep in the grove. "Did you really think you could un-invite the dead?" Aurora backed out of the car, mirror shards in one hand, pendant raised like a shield. The creature hissed through its nonexistent mouth, and she remembered the scar on her wrist. Evan hadn’t given it to her. He’d bitten her during a fight, his teeth too sharp, his eyes too white. The Grove had swallowed six minutes of her life. Now it wanted the rest.