Run: 2026-07-25-01KYD5207YRBH33EMQFVARBGAE

The gate at Richmond Park was locked. Rory stared at the chain. Rust flaked off the iron. The padlock hung open. She pushed. The gate shrieked. Wind cut through her hoodie. October had stripped the trees. Branches clicked together above the path like knuckles. Her phone said 11:47 and one bar. The screen glowed against her palm. "Yeah, I'm here." Eva's voice crackled in her ear. Small. Far away. "You sure this is the spot?" "Standing stones. The grove. You said Isolde would meet me here. Inside the circle." Static ate half the words. "Ror? You there? Don't—" The line died. Rory thumbed redial. No signal. The search bar spun and gave up. She shoved the phone into her delivery bag. The bag bounced against her hip. Empty except for the brown paper parcel Eva asked her to bring. She stepped past the gate. The air changed. Richmond Park at night smelled of wet earth and dog shit and diesel from the road. This pocket smelled of nothing. No rot. No leaf mold. The cold held a strange, clean note, like ozone before a storm. The oaks rose out of the dark. Ancient. Too straight. The trunks were wider than her flat. Carved. Not with symbols. With shallow grooves where something had dragged nails for centuries. The Heartstone Pendant burned against her throat. It was the size of a thumbnail. Silver chain. Deep crimson stone. She had not put it on tonight. She found it already on, when she woke. Now it pulsed. Heat against skin, then cool, then heat again, faster than a heartbeat. Rory touched it. The metal stung. "Isolde?" Her voice fell flat. The trees swallowed sound. No echo. She ducked between two standing stones. The grove opened. Grass grew high inside the circle. Wildflowers. Impossible. Delicate white heads and violet bells thrust through frost. They did not move in the wind. The wind did not touch them. Outside the stones, trees thrashed. Inside, stillness pressed on her ears until her own breath sounded loud. The parcel in her bag had grown heavier. She set the bag down. Knees popped as she crouched. Grass prickled through her leggings. Her left wrist, crescent scar pale in dark, caught moonlight. She opened the bag. The parcel was not brown paper anymore. It was wrapped in something green and damp. Leaves sewn together with black thread. It wept dark fluid onto her fingers. Rory jerked her hand back. "What the fuck." The pendant spiked hot. She gasped. The smell hit her then. Not rot. Sap. Fresh sap and iron. "Isolde! Eva said midnight. I'm here. Take your fucking..." She could not finish. Something rustled at the edge of the grove. Not a rustle. A shift of weight. Grass bent where no one stood. Rory stood. Her legs locked. The hair on her arms rose under her hoodie. "Eva? If that's you messing—" No answer. The wildflowers turned. Not all of them. A handful, near the eastern stone. Their heads swiveled on stalks too thin to support the motion. They faced her. She took a step back. Her heel hit stone. Another rustle. Opposite side now. A drag through grass. Slow. Heavy. The pendant beat against her chest like a second heart desperate to get out. "I don't want this. I didn't ask for this." She ripped the chain. It held. Silver dug into her neck. She yanked. The clasp held. Leaves on the parcel twitched. The thread that bound them tightened. Rory kicked the bag away. It slid a foot and stopped. The grass around it darkened as if water spread beneath. Above, branches groaned. All the oaks groaned at once, though no wind touched the grove. Bark split. Thin lines opened along trunks and showed pale wood underneath, wet and glistening. The drag sound came again. Closer. Around the circle. Whatever made it stayed behind the stones, out of sight. Rory spun, trying to track it. The sound stopped when she looked. Her breath sawed. White clouds in still air. "You want the box? Fine. Have it. I'm leaving." She grabbed the bag strap. The parcel stuck. Leaves had rooted. Tiny white roots pierced paper and bag and sank into soil. Rory pulled harder. Roots snapped. The parcel shuddered. A giggle, then. High. Childlike. From the canopy. Rory's head snapped up. No one in branches. Only stone limbs and moon. "Who's there!" The giggle came from ground level now. Behind her. Right at her ear. She whirled. Empty air. Flowers shivered. The violet ones opened wider. Inside each bell, something dark and wet contracted. The pendant went ice cold. Then footsteps. Not a drag. Bare feet. Through grass outside the circle. One. Two. Three. Deliberate, unhurried, walking the rim of standing stones. Each step matched the pulse in her throat. Rory counted without meaning to. Four. Five. Six. The steps continued all way around, though she saw no shape. Seven. Eight. The steps passed directly behind one stone. A shadow fell across grass though moon was overhead. Tall. Too tall. Antlered at top. Nine. Ten. The steps stopped at the gap she had entered through. Something breathed there. She felt it on her neck despite distance. Warm, damp breath that smelled of wildflowers blooming year-round, of earth that never knew death. The parcel split open on its own. Inside, no box. A hand. Small. Pale. Palm upturned. Fingers curled inward as if beckoning. Rory stared at crescent scar on her own wrist. The little hand had same mark. Same exact curve. On same wrist. The breathing at the gap hitched. Amused. "Rory?" Eva's voice came from behind stones. Clear now. Close. "Rory, you left phone on. I hear you. I'm at gate. Don't go in. Don't—" The call cut again. But voice at gap repeated words. Same cadence. Same worry. Exactly Eva's. "Don't go in. Don't—" The pendant cracked. A thin line of crimson light bled from stone and ran down her shirt. The grass around her ankles entwined. Tightened.