Run: 2026-09-03-01M1K55QVDE18FFES433C4DWQE

The gate at Richmond Park stood open after midnight. Rory checked the ticket on her mobile again. A hand-drawn map. A circle in biro. No street. No house. A late order from the Golden Empress, bag strapped to her back and gone cold. Her scooter ticked as the engine cooled behind her. Mist curled around her trainers. The main path stretched ahead, black tarmac gone grey under a thin moon. Rory tipped the bag forward and sniffed. Salt and star anise. The cartons leaked heat through canvas. "Brilliant. Eva, you owe me for this one." She thumbed the call button. One bar. Ring tone stretched and snapped. "Rory? Where are—" "Your pin. It dropped in the middle of the park. There is no road here, no lights, nothing. Who ordered chow mein at one in the morning from the middle of grass?" A breath crackled down the line. Then static swelled up, thick as water. "Eva? Eva, can you hear me?" The screen stuttered. No service. The time read 01:14, then 01:13, then 01:14 again. Rory shoved the mobile into her jacket pocket. Her torch beam cut a white lane through the dark. Moths barged through it. Her breath puffed out and hung. Ancient oaks lined the path, trunks wide as doorways, bark split in deep black furrows. Beyond them the grass sank into shadow. She walked. Gravel popped under her soles. A fox screamed somewhere far off, a raw human sound, then stopped. The Heartstone hung against her sternum. A thumbnail of deep crimson on a silver chain. No note had come with it, no sender, left in her pigeonhole above Silas' bar in a jiffy bag with her name in block capitals. Tonight it burned through her T-shirt. Rory fished it out with two fingers. An inner glow pulsed in the core of the stone, red as an ember. Heat throbbed against her skin in time with her own blood. "Okay. What are you doing? You were cold all week." She let it drop. It settled and branded a warm coin on her chest. She kept her hand around it as she walked. The path forked. The biro circle on her screen sat to the left, off the tarmac, past a row of low posts and a sign she had to wipe moss from. RICHMOND. NO CYCLING. NO DOGS AFTER DARK. The letters flaked under her thumb. Past the sign the ground changed. Grass grew tall and tangled, wet to the knee. Wildflowers stood open in November cold. White stars. Yellow cups. Purple bells with black throats. Petals brushed her jeans and left pollen in damp streaks. The scent hit her, sweet and green and wrong for the season, thick enough to chew. Rory stopped and swept the torch in a slow arc. The beam caught stems, mist, more stems. "This is not on any map. This is not right." Her voice fell flat. No echo. The trees swallowed sound. Even the distant hum of London — traffic, planes, sirens — had gone. Silence pressed on her eardrums until they rang. Then a twig cracked to her left. Sharp. Close. Rory spun. The torch beam juddered across oak trunks and empty air. Mist tore and re-knit. "Hello? I have food here. Yu-Fei sent me. If this is a prank—" Nothing answered. Her own breath rasped loud. She forced her shoulders down and walked on, torch low to pick out roots. The crescent scar on her left wrist shone pale each time the beam crossed it. The clearing opened without warning. A perfect round of short grass ringed by wildflowers. At the rim stood stones. Not boulders. Upright slabs of oak-dark rock, taller than her by a head, bark-like grain frozen in granite. Lichen glowed faint green in the cracks. The air inside the ring felt warmer by degrees, close as a held breath. Rory stepped up to the nearest stone and laid her palm on it. Grit bit her skin. A low vibration hummed up her arm, deep as a bass string. "Jesus." She pulled back. Her fingertips tingled. The pendant flared hot. Rory hissed and yanked the chain out. The crimson core blazed, lit her chin and hands from below, turned her bright blue eyes to black pools in the reflection of her mobile screen as she angled it. She cupped the stone. Light leaked between her fingers. A sound rolled out of the dark beyond the stones. A footstep in wet grass. Then another. Deliberate. Heavy. It circled the clearing, out of sight behind the slabs. Rory killed the torch. Darkness slammed down. Afterimages bloomed. She crouched. Her shoulder-length black hair caught on a bramble and she freed it strand by strand, fingers steady from years of splitting bills and defusing drunks at Silas' bar. The footsteps stopped. Directly behind the tallest stone. Rory stared at that slab until her eyes watered. Mist thinned. For half a second she caught movement at the edge of sight — a tall shape, too jointed, stepping between oaks with no rustle. When she turned her head it was gone. Only flowers nodded, though no wind touched her face. Her mobile buzzed once in her pocket. No ring. A text preview lit the screen. EVA: do not answer it Rory stared at the words until the light died. "Eva? What does that mean? Who is it?" Silence answered. Then a new sound rose under the silence. A low chorus, wordless, from throat shapes no human mouth held. It came from below the soil, from inside the stones, a hum that made her teeth ache. The wildflowers shivered. She stood. Knees cracked. She backed toward the centre of the ring, delivery bag banging her hip. Cold cartons sloshed. "Look, I came with an order. I leave the bag and I go. Fair trade. No trouble." Her voice shook on the last word. She hated the shake and bit her lip hard. The hum stopped. A branch snapped to her right, close enough to spit bark. Rory whirled. Nothing. Torch on. Beam lanced out and found only mist and flowers and the dark wall of oaks. Torch off again to save the battery. Her pulse hammered in her throat and in the stone against her chest, two beats out of sync then locking together. Movement flickered left. She caught it full on this time. Between two outer stones the night folded. A seam of deeper black split the air from ground to waist height. Cold poured off it, rank with iron and wet leaves, and the Heartstone pulsed hard enough to hurt, a hot coal on her sternum. Rory backed a pace. Dew soaked through her socks. "No. No way. Stones do not split. Air does not split." The seam widened by a finger width. Grass around its base blackened and curled. The wildflowers nearest it turned their heads toward it, all at once, stems creaking. She grabbed the delivery bag and hurled it at the ring edge. Cartons burst. Noodles steamed in the cold air. Sauce bled dark over white petals. The smell of ginger and pork fat flooded the clearing, homely and absurd. The footsteps started again. Slow around the outside. They paused at the spilled food. Something sniffed, wet and loud, from a height above her head. Rory tore her gaze from the seam and fixed on the tallest stone. Mist coiled around its base in ropes. "I see you. Come out from behind there. Show yourself." No reply came in words. The sniffing stopped. The hum rose again, now from all sides, up through the soles of her trainers into her shin bones. She reached behind her. Her fingers found cold bark, then空, then stone. The ring had shifted. The gaps between slabs had narrowed. The path back through the flowers lay further off than her throw. The oaks beyond stood closer, crowns knotted together to lid the sky. Rory pulled the silver chain over her head and wound it twice around her fist. The crimson stone blazed between her knuckles and threw red light across the grass. Her scar stood white against flushed skin. "Fine. Stay out there. I stay in here till morning." The seam pulsed. The cold deepened. The sniffing resumed, circling, lower now, at knee level, brushing stems aside one by one around the ring.