Run: 2026-09-23-01M36NQ3RJGNHB2R478RD71769

The pendant warmed before Aurora saw the stones. She stopped on the path and closed her hand around it. The silver chain bit into her palm; the small crimson stone pressed against her skin, pulsing with a heat that had no business being there. Richmond Park spread dark on either side, its hills and trees reduced to a single uneven mass beneath the clouded sky. A plane crossed somewhere overhead, its lights smudged by mist. She had come because the pendant had done this once before, in the middle of London, while she stood at a crossing with a delivery bag cutting into her shoulder. The warmth had vanished before she could work out which direction it came from. Tonight, it had started again as she walked the park’s northern paths. She had followed it past the last bench, then beyond the path’s worn edge, until the trees thinned around a clearing. Now the stones stood ahead of her, dark trunks of oak set in a rough circle. They looked less like markers than trees that had grown wrong—too straight, too bare of branches, their bark folded into deep ridges. Wildflowers crowded their roots. White petals caught the faint light from the sky. Aurora checked her phone. No signal. The time read 11:47. “Fine,” she murmured. “I’ll have a look, then I’m going home.” Her voice sounded too loud. It travelled across the clearing and returned from the stones with its edges rubbed off. She slipped the pendant beneath her collar and crossed the boundary. Nothing changed. No flash, no gust of wind, no sudden shift in the ground. The grass gave under her trainers. Her black hair brushed her jaw as she turned, searching between the trees for the path she had left. A bell rang behind her. Aurora faced the park. The sound had come from somewhere beyond the clearing—bright and small, like the brass bell over the door at the Golden Empress. She listened for footsteps, a dog, a bicycle chain, anything that belonged to the ordinary park. Another bell rang. One note. She took out her phone again. The screen still showed the same time. “Someone’s out there?” The question came back to her without an answer. She moved along the inner edge of the stones, keeping them to her left. The grove’s flowers brushed the hems of her trousers. Their scent was stronger than it should have been, sweet and green, with something mineral underneath. She had passed a patch of them on the way in. She remembered because there had been no flowers anywhere else in the park. At the third stone, she noticed a strip of pale bark hanging loose from its trunk. It curled towards the ground like a ribbon. She touched it with one finger. The bark felt damp. A faint click sounded behind her. Aurora turned. The place where she had entered lay open between two stones. Beyond them, the park’s trees formed a black wall. Nothing moved there. She rubbed her thumb over the crescent scar on her wrist, a habit she had picked up before she knew she was doing it. Her other hand stayed around the pendant. “Wind,” she told herself. The leaves above her did not stir. She continued around the circle, slower now. She had not come to prove anything. She had come because the pendant had pulled warm against her skin, because ignoring it had seemed more foolish than walking through a park at night. If this was a portal, or a place where one might open, she wanted to know what it looked like before it decided to appear in the middle of a busy street. At the far side of the clearing, something shifted between the trunks. Aurora stopped. A dark shape had crossed the narrow gap and disappeared. She could not have said whether it stood upright. She could not have said it was there at all. She watched the gap until her eyes began to water. “Hello?” The trees kept their shape. The flowers did not move. Her phone vibrated in her hand. She jerked at the sound, then looked down. The screen had lit, though it showed no message or missed call. A small circle turned where the signal bars should have been. The time read 11:47. A second vibration rattled against her palm. The screen went black. Aurora shoved the phone into her pocket. The pendant pulsed once beneath her shirt, hard enough to make her flinch. Warmth spread along the silver chain, up the hollow of her throat. A scrape came from behind one of the stones. Not a footstep. Something slow dragging over bark. She backed away from it, eyes fixed on the trunk. The pale strip of bark had vanished. She looked down. A curled piece lay among the flowers near her shoe. It was dry now, brittle at the edges. She had not heard it fall. The scrape came again, farther around the circle. Aurora turned with it, keeping the stones between herself and the sound. It moved in small increments: scrape, pause, scrape. Each time, the sound came from the next stone. The trunks hid one another’s bases. Between them, the clearing looked empty. She reached the entrance and glanced out. The park remained visible, but the path had shifted. She could see the low rise where she had left it, and the pale run of gravel beyond. Between the stones, though, the gap seemed narrower than before. Aurora tested the space with her eyes. It was wide enough to pass through. She knew that. She had just walked in. The dragging sound stopped. A rustle stirred at her right shoulder. She spun. The grass behind her lay flat and shining with dew. No figure. No animal. No branch had bent. Then, from the far side of the grove, someone laughed. It was a short, breathless sound. A woman’s laugh, cut off before it became a proper one. Aurora stepped into the middle of the clearing. “I know you’re there.” The words struck the stones and broke into fragments. There. There. There. The flowers around her ankles trembled. A breeze moved through them, though the trees stayed still. It flowed in a narrow line towards the ring’s centre, bending each white bloom as it passed. Aurora watched it cross the ground. The flowers lifted behind it, one after another, until the movement reached her feet. The pendant burned against her skin. She pulled it free of her collar. The crimson stone gave off a faint inner light, dim as a coal seen through ash. She held it away from herself. Its heat eased. When she turned towards the entrance, it flared warmer. The path beyond the stones looked farther off than it had a moment ago. A voice spoke from the trees. “Aurora.” She lowered the pendant. It had been quiet. Not a shout, not even a call. Whoever had spoken had been close enough not to raise their voice. Her throat tightened. “Who are you?” A bird clicked its beak somewhere overhead. Another answered from ground level. She looked up. The branches were bare against the clouds. No birds perched there. The second click came from behind her. Aurora turned too fast and struck her shoulder against a stone. Pain ran down her arm. She gripped the trunk to steady herself, then snatched her hand away. The bark had a shallow groove in it, running from shoulder height down to the roots. The fresh wood beneath looked white and wet. Something tapped from inside the trunk. Once. She took three steps back. The tap came again, lower down. Then a third, near the roots. She raised the pendant. Its red glow barely touched her fingers. “Stop.” The tapping stopped. In the hush that followed, she heard a soft chime from the direction of the entrance. The little brass bell again. This time it rang twice, as though someone had opened and shut a door. She looked through the gap between the stones. A delivery bag sat on the path outside. The square black bag from the Golden Empress, with its yellow lettering and cracked strap. She had left hers at home. She knew she had. She had checked the kitchen before leaving because she had thought of taking it as a shield, then decided she was being ridiculous. The bag stood upright, facing the grove. Aurora stared at it. A thin ribbon of steam escaped from its open flap. The smell reached her a moment later: ginger, hot oil, scallions. Her stomach tightened. A small metal clasp clicked inside the bag. She stepped towards the entrance. The pendant’s heat climbed until the chain burned her fingers. She stopped. The bag remained on the path, steaming into the night. Behind her, the flowers whispered together. Not with the wind. They spoke in the same low, leaf-dry murmur as the voice that had said her name. Aurora kept her eyes on the bag. The flap lifted. A pale hand emerged from inside. Its fingers curled over the edge of the fabric, knuckles folding beneath the black sleeve. The hand gripped the bag and drew it a few inches deeper into the grove. The strap scraped across the gravel. Aurora’s heel caught against a flower root. She held her balance and did not look behind her. From the darkness between the stones, a voice spoke beside her ear. “Your order’s ready.”