Run: 2026-04-27-01KQ73MMA0CVBMRFJVV13JVPY3

Rory stepped past the third standing stone and the air thickened. The oak bark ran rough under her fingertips, moss stripped away to reveal smooth grain worn by centuries of hands that never belonged to Surrey. She released the trunk. The grove opened ahead, a bowl of impossible green swallowed by midnight. Wildflowers pushed through the loam in thick clusters, petals uncurled and bright against the dark. Their scent hit her nose, cloying and sharp, like copper wire and crushed mint. She checked her wrist. The digital display read 2:14 AM. She tapped the screen. The numbers flickered, then reset to 4:00 AM. She frowned, thumb brushing the crescent scar on her left wrist. The silver chain at her collarbone grew warm against her skin. The crimson stone caught the low light, a dull ember bleeding into the dark. She had come for answers. The file on her desk mentioned coordinate intersections, old parish records, whispers of a threshold that didn’t bleed time but folded it. She stepped forward. The gravel cracked beneath her boots. She walked the narrow track winding between the flower beds. The ground felt spongy, yielding without soaking her soles. Branches arched overhead, woven into a canopy that blocked out the sky. No stars. No moon. Just a flat, suffocating black. She kept her pace steady, boots measuring distance by sound. The pendant’s heat climbed. A rustle moved to her left. She stopped. The rustle stopped. She turned. Nothing but ferns unbothered by wind. She took two steps right. The sound shifted left, mirroring her weight. She slowed. The grove held its breath. A twig snapped behind her spine. She didn’t spin. She kept her eyes forward, watching her own shadow stretch and shrink against the white blooms. The shadow didn’t match her stride. It lagged, then rushed, then froze while her boots kept moving. She exhaled through her nose. Hello. Her voice dropped flat against the dense air. No echo. The sound just died. You’re tracking wrong. The words came from everywhere and nowhere, threaded through the rustle of leaves, the damp soil, the hum in her teeth. Rory stopped. Her fingers found the pendant. The stone pulsed. Once. Twice. Show yourself. She stepped left. A branch scraped her shoulder. She brushed the fabric off her sleeve. I’m not playing tag. The voice shifted closer, dropping to her right ear, warm as a breath but dry as bone. You count wrong. One step. Two steps. Three. You skip the gap. She glanced down. Her boots tracked mud onto the pale petals. A dark handprint smudged the ground to her left. She hadn’t stepped there. She traced the edge with her boot tip. The mud shifted, reforming into fingers, then sinking back into the soil. She backed up. The pendant burned. What are you. The words hung. The grove answered with a low thrum, vibrating through the soles of her shoes. A click echoed from the tree line. Then another. Then a third, spaced just slightly off rhythm. Someone paced behind her. Matching her stops. Delaying by a fraction of a second. She turned. The trunks stood thick, dark and seamless. No shape. No breath. Just the sound of leather on dirt. She pointed inward. Follow the stones. The footsteps halted. A long pause. Then the pacing resumed, tighter now, closing the distance between trees and her back. She walked. The pendant’s heat spread to her ribs. The flowers bent away as she passed. Petals peeled back like wet paper. She pressed through a thicket of white blooms. Thorns caught her jacket. She ignored the snag. The ground sloped downward, leveling into a shallow depression. A circular arrangement of grey rocks marked the center. Moss coated them smooth. The air tasted metallic. She knelt, fingers brushing the nearest stone. Cold. She rubbed her thumb over the surface. A fine tremor ran through her arm. The pendant flared, warm enough to sting. She stood. The footsteps stopped. Silence thickened. She listened. The grove held itself still. Too still. No insects. No distant traffic from Richmond. Just the slow press of her own pulse in her ears. She spoke first. I’m leaving. The words bounced off the trees. Then the space between them answered. You already did. The voice came clearer now. Flat. Measured. It didn’t sound human, but it carried the weight of habit. Rory stepped back. Her boot caught a root. She staggered, catching herself with one hand on the dirt. The footsteps resumed, closer now. She could hear the shift of weight from heel to toe. She turned slowly. The tree line stood empty. She faced it. Talk or I walk. A branch snapped. The sound came from behind her. She kept her eyes forward. You don’t leave. The words pressed into her back. Warm air brushed her neck. She refused to turn. Watch. The pendant pulsed faster. She felt the heat bloom down her spine, spreading to her shoulders. The ground beneath her feet gave way slightly, sinking into soft loam. She pulled her boots free. The dirt left shallow prints where she stood. Prints that matched hers, but deeper. Wider. She stepped forward. The prints stayed. She walked again. More prints formed behind her. She stopped. They stopped. She backed up. They stayed. She turned. Empty air. The scent of crushed stems and wet soil thickened. What do you want. The voice answered low. The path. It drifted left. She followed. The tree line parted just enough to let her through. A narrow corridor opened, flanked by trunks slick with damp bark. Faint light bled from ahead, pale and steady. Not moonlight. Something else. She walked. The footsteps matched hers now, perfectly synchronized. No delay. No misstep. She felt the weight of presence pressing against her spine, a hand resting on her shoulder blade, a chest at her back. She didn’t shrug it off. She kept her shoulders straight. The pendant burned. She tapped the chain. Turn off. Silence. Then a single word. No. She pushed through the corridor. The light brightened, casting long shadows that stretched past her boots, merging with another shadow that walked beside her. She glanced down. Two sets of footprints. The second set didn’t match her stride length. It was longer. Deliberate. She stepped faster. The second set lengthened. She slowed. It tightened. She stopped. The footsteps halted. You’re not real. Air shifted. A breath moved against her ear. Try me. She turned. Nothing stood there. She faced forward. Then stand still. The shadows didn’t move. The grove didn’t change. The pendant’s glow brightened, casting a faint red ring on the dirt ahead. She stepped into it. The light flared, then dimmed. The footsteps resumed. She matched them. The presence moved with her, exact and silent. She pointed at the tree line. What’s out there. A rustle answered. Leaves shifted. Branches bowed. The sound of fabric tearing. She flinched. Did you just rip something. The voice stayed quiet. You will. She frowned. She looked down. Her jacket sleeve hung loose where a thorn had caught it. The tear hadn’t been there a second ago. She pulled the fabric straight. Prove it. The footsteps stopped. The grove exhaled. Something moved at the edge of her vision. A shape. Tall. Thin. It didn’t step forward. It just shifted, angling closer to the center of the clearing. She tracked it. The shape stayed at the periphery, sliding along the tree line, keeping pace with her gaze. It never met her eyes. It just existed. Waiting. She walked toward it. The presence backed up, matching her approach. The shadow stretched, thinning at the edges. She stopped. It stopped. The pendant grew hot enough to burn her collarbone. She unfastened the clasp. The chain slipped from her neck. The stone dangled against her palm. The light pulsed in time with her heartbeat. The shape shifted closer. The grove held its breath. She held it out. Take. The air grew still. The shadow didn’t move. She stepped closer. The presence didn’t retreat. The stone’s glow brightened, washing over the dirt, the roots, the empty space between her and the tree line. The light didn’t touch anything. It just stopped at the edge of the clearing. She lowered her hand. The glow faded. The footsteps returned. She put the chain back around her neck. The clasp clicked. The presence stepped forward. She backed up. The sound of leather on soil filled the space. She kept walking. The grove closed behind her. The trees stood still. The flowers bent away. She moved deeper. The shadows followed. She checked her watch again. The display showed 4:00 AM. The numbers didn’t change. She tapped the side. The screen went dark. She left it off. The pendant warmed again, a steady thrum against her sternum. She traced the scar on her wrist, the old curve of skin that never quite healed right. She remembered the file. The coordinates. The silence of the archive room. The way the records ended without explanation. She stepped over a fallen branch. The wood split under her weight. Splinters caught the hem of her trousers. She didn’t brush them off. The footsteps behind her matched her rhythm. Closer now. The air grew heavier. The scent of loam and crushed petals turned sour, metallic. She stopped. The footsteps stopped. She turned. The tree line stood dense, roots tangling into raised mounds. Dark soil rose in soft arcs. She pointed at the ground. You’re moving the earth. A low sound vibrated through her boots. Not a word. A hum. She stepped forward. The soil shifted, flowing around her ankles like slow water. She pulled her feet free. The mounds flattened. Another ridge formed behind her. She walked again. The ridge followed. She stopped. It stopped. She knelt, pressing her palm flat against the dirt. The ground trembled. Faint vibrations rolled up her arm. She stood. She faced the tree line. The darkness thickened. The shape at the edge of her vision slid closer. She tracked it. It stayed just outside her direct sight. She turned her head slightly. The shape moved with her eyes. She straightened her neck. It settled. She spoke. What are you waiting for. The air pressed against her skin. Warm. Dry. A breath moved behind her left shoulder. She didn’t turn. She kept her jaw set. She tapped the pendant. The stone pulsed. Once. Twice. The glow brightened, casting a faint red wash over the roots ahead. The footsteps resumed. She walked. The presence followed. The trees stood tight. The canopy held firm. No wind. No light. Just the steady rhythm of boots on soil. The grove stretched ahead, narrow and unyielding. She kept her eyes forward. The shadows lengthened. The dirt grew soft. The air stayed still. She didn’t break pace. The footsteps matched her stride. The presence pressed against her back. The grove closed around her. She moved forward. The path narrowed. The trees leaned in. The pendant burned. She walked.