Run: 2026-09-23-01M37HNRWE3TJYNW3SQ2P6FGRA

Rory reached the edge of the grove with mud up the backs of her boots and the restaurant receipt folded against her palm. The park behind her had given her a bus on the road, tyres hissing over wet tarmac, and a fox crashing through bracken. Here, beyond the ring of oak standing stones, she heard neither. Even the wind stopped at the boundary. It moved the grass against her calves, then left the wildflowers ahead of her untouched. She checked the receipt again. A crease ran through the words someone had written on the blank side. If you want to know who gave you the Heartstone, hold it against the third oak. Come after dark. Yu-Fei’s till had printed the receipt that afternoon. Rory had watched it curl from the machine after she took a delivery order, and she had been the one to tear it free. She had found the writing when she got back to her bike. The ink had marked the back without leaving a dent in the paper. She folded it and put it in her jacket pocket. “Third oak.” Her voice reached the nearest pillar and seemed to stop there. She looked back through the gap she had used to enter. Beyond it, Richmond Park lay in strips of dark grass and darker trees. Her bike waited against a fence somewhere past the slope. She had left it with the front wheel turned towards the road so she could find it by touch. The pendant rested against her sternum beneath her shirt. She pulled it out by its silver chain. Its crimson stone carried a dim light inside it, enough to stain the whorls of her fingertips. She had worn it for eleven days without learning who had sent it. In her flat above Silas’ bar, it had felt no warmer than the rest of her jewellery. She stepped between two pillars. Heat touched her palm. Rory stopped. The stone pulsed once, a small press of warmth through her fingers. She knew what that could mean. Someone had told her the Heartstone reacted near a portal to Hel, though they had given her no useful way to recognise one. She looked at the ground ahead. Wildflowers crowded the clearing, blue and yellow blooms showing between fallen leaves. At the centre stood another oak pillar. Its top disappeared into the branches overhead, and its bark had the pale, worn edges of stone. She counted from the gap. One at her left shoulder. Two beside a thorn bush. Three across the clearing. No path led to it. Rory crossed through the flowers, lifting her feet over their stems. Something clicked behind her: a hard little sound, like a fingernail against glass. She turned. The ring of oaks held its shape. Nothing stood in the gap. The click came again. This time she saw her own thumbnail strike the pendant’s gem. She loosened her grip on it. A second click sounded from the far side of the clearing. “Who’s there?” The flowers stirred near the third oak. Their heads dipped in a narrow line, then rose. Rory searched the dark beneath them for a fox. She saw bare earth and a fallen twig. The twig rolled half a turn and settled. She took out her phone. The screen read 00:18. One bar of signal appeared, vanished, and came back while she watched. She opened Eva’s messages and typed, At the grove. If I’m not back by— She stared at the unfinished line. Eva would see it at work in the morning and call her a menace. Rory deleted the words and sent her location instead. The message hung beneath a thin grey clock. From the trees came three short bursts of sound. Paper rattling through a printer. Rory looked towards the gap. Yu-Fei’s receipt printer made that noise when a fresh order reached the kitchen. She had heard it all day, between the clash of pans and the delivery riders arguing over whose bag was whose. Nothing in the grove could have mistaken itself for it. The sound came again, followed by the sharp rip of paper against metal teeth. “Fine. I’m looking.” She put the phone away and went to the third oak. Close up, its bark held ridges wide enough to fit her fingers. A seam ran down its face, black inside. She lifted the pendant against the wood. The stone went hot. Rory jerked her hand back, but the chain caught on a spur of bark and pulled taut around her neck. She slipped a finger beneath it, freed the link, and held the pendant away from her skin. A hollow knock came from inside the oak. She stood still. Another knock followed, lower down. She set her palm against the trunk and felt no movement, only the chill of its surface and the burn of the gem between her fingers. Something rustled behind her. Rory turned in time to see the flowers part. A narrow track ran from the centre of the clearing to the oak where she stood. It had not been there when she crossed. At its far end, the blooms bent under weight she could not see. The bend travelled towards her. One patch sank, then the next, close enough now for her to hear stems brush together. Rory backed around the oak, keeping its trunk between herself and the moving flowers. The track stopped. She waited. Her hand cramped around the pendant. The flowers rose, patch by patch, in reverse order. Rory drew a breath through her nose and tasted damp soil. Her first impulse was to run for the gap. Her second was to check that she could still find it. She leaned past the trunk. The two oaks she had entered between stood opposite her. She recognised the thorn bush beside the second. Between them lay a strip of pale grass, a slope, and the trees of the park. On the grass stood a woman in a dark jacket. Rory gripped the bark. The woman stood too far away for Rory to see her face, but her hair fell to her shoulders. One hand hung at her side. The other held something near her chest. Rory lowered her own hand. Across the clearing, the woman’s hand remained where it was. “Eva?” The woman lowered her arm. Rory held her breath. The figure stepped behind the left oak and did not come out the other side. Rory kept her eyes on the gap. The pale slope beyond it had gone. Bracken pressed against the outer edge of the stones, close and thick. Her phone buzzed. Eva’s name filled the screen above Rory’s unsent location pin. Don’t use this to wake me up for a lift, the message read. I’m in bed. The time at the top of the screen read 00:16. Rory swiped down, then up. The minute stayed put. Her location message still showed the grey clock. She tried to call. The screen gave her Eva’s photograph and the words Calling, but no ringing reached her ear. After four seconds, the call ended. The pendant warmed again. Its pulses came closer together, each one pressing into the scar on her left wrist where the chain crossed it. Rory tucked the stone inside her fist and looked around the clearing. The oaks had not moved. She counted them to be sure. One at the gap, two by the thorn bush, three at her back. On the far side, flowers stood shoulder-high where the ground dipped. There was room for a person to crouch among them. A scrape came from the bark beside her ear. She moved away. A pale shaving of wood fell from the seam and landed on her boot. Beneath it, a thin black opening ran along the trunk. As Rory watched, the edges pressed together. The seam closed with a small, dry crack. The receipt printer chattered again, just beyond the oak. Rory pulled the paper from her pocket. Its creases had softened in her hand. The writing faced her. Beneath the instruction, in a patch she knew had been blank, sat a fresh line of ink. You missed the door. Rory rubbed the line with her thumb. Black came away on her skin. A knock sounded from the other side of the oak. Three taps, spaced like knuckles on a flat. She looked down at the pendant. Its glow washed over the fresh ink, and heat drove through her fist until she opened it. The knocks came again, this time from the gap between the first two oaks. Rory turned towards them. Someone breathed among the bracken, close enough for her to hear the catch at the end of each breath. She held the pendant by its chain and took one step towards the gap. The breathing stopped. So did she. Behind her, against the third oak, a knuckle struck wood three times.