Run: 2026-09-23-01M37HT05F7CZERMC6HCCJJ0KS

Aurora stopped at the last oak before the clearing and checked the time on her phone. 11:42. The path behind her curved through Richmond Park towards the road. She could still see a pale strip of gravel between the trunks, though the streetlights had vanished ten minutes ago. Ahead, wildflowers crowded the roots of the standing oaks. Their blossoms held open under a moon too thin to show their colours. The pendant had begun to warm on the bus. By the park gate, its crimson stone had pressed against her chest like a coin fresh from someone’s hand. Now it gave one small pulse through her coat. She took out the folded note. Beneath the oaks. Come after dark. No name. The paper had arrived under her flat door that morning, folded around a dried blue flower. The flower had crumbled when she opened it; blue dust still marked the crease. Whoever had left it knew about the pendant. Aurora wanted a face to attach to the gift, and an answer to why it had led her here. “Under the oaks. That narrows it down.” Her voice travelled across the clearing and stopped. No echo. No rustle from the low branches, though wind had followed her through the rest of the park. She stepped between two trunks whose roots rose from the ground like crooked knuckles. One carried an old cut near its base: three shallow lines, close enough to resemble a letter. Aurora touched it on her way past. Damp bark caught at the small crescent scar on her left wrist. Beyond the oaks, grass covered a round clearing. Flowers grew through it in thick patches—white, yellow, blue. A narrow path crossed to the far side, where more trees stood shoulder to shoulder. She searched the grass for a bag, a sign, anything that suggested someone had waited for her. Nothing. The pendant pulsed again. She lifted it out by its silver chain. The deep crimson stone held a faint light, though the moon had slipped behind cloud. When she faced the far side of the clearing, warmth spread into her palm. When she turned towards the path she had used, it faded. “Right. Something under there.” She kept the stone in her hand and followed its heat. Halfway across, she heard a bicycle bell. One sharp ring, from somewhere beyond the trees. She stopped. Richmond Park had paths and cyclists, even at odd hours. A bell belonged here. What followed did not: the sound of tyres crossing wet pavement, steady and close, while the grass at her feet stayed dry. It passed from left to right. The flowers beside her remained still. Aurora waited for the wheels to recede. They stopped instead, as though the rider had put a foot down just beyond the trunks. “Hello?” No answer came. She could see between the trees for several yards. Pale stems, dark bark, a fallen branch. No bicycle. A drip struck her sleeve. She looked up. The branches above her stood bare of rain. A second drop hit the same place. In the dark patch it left, she saw a fleck of blue. Aurora rubbed it between finger and thumb. Powder, not water. She looked across the clearing. Every blue flower faced the far trees, its petals turned away from her. The white and yellow ones faced the moon. The sound of tyres began again. She walked towards the oaks, keeping the noise to her right. Each time she turned her head, it shifted behind her. At the edge of the clearing she stopped, and the tyres stopped too. “Come out where I can see you.” She heard a click, small and metallic. A bicycle stand being kicked down, perhaps. Then silence. Her phone showed 11:42. She unlocked it. The date matched. The seconds beneath the clock moved: 08, 09, 10. When she looked back at the main display, it still read 11:42. She had been in the park longer than a minute. She had walked from the boundary, crossed the clearing, searched the trees. The grove kept its own time; she had known that before coming. Knowing it while she stood under the open sky did little to help. Aurora switched on the torch. Its beam caught three pale trunks, then a dense wall of leaves behind them. Something narrow moved through the light near the ground. She held the beam there. A blue flower nodded on its stem. The pendant grew hot enough to sting her fingers. She dropped it against her coat and stepped away from the trees. Heat returned when she faced the narrow gap between two trunks. It vanished when she looked left or right. No path ran through that gap. She could see a patch of grass beyond it, silver at the tips. She could also see the notch she had touched on her way in, cut into the trunk on the right. Aurora aimed her torch at the mark. Three shallow lines. Beneath them, fresh sap shone along a fourth. She drew the note from her pocket. Blue powder came away on her thumb. The message had changed. Beneath the oaks remained in the same cramped hand, but the second line now read: Come alone. She stared at the words until the letters lost their shape. She had read that note at breakfast. At the park gate. At the last oak. Each time, it had told her to come after dark. A dry crack sounded across the clearing. Aurora folded the note and put it away. The torch beam swept over grass and flowers. A white bloom rocked near the centre. Another moved beside it, then another, marking a line towards her. Their stems bent one after the next. She saw no feet between them. The line stopped a few yards away. Her throat tightened. She raised the phone higher. The flowers rested upright again, their pale heads filling the beam. Something brushed the back of her coat. Aurora turned. Her torch found only the trunk with the cut. She put a hand against the bark to steady herself, then snatched it back. The fourth line ran down from the old three, wet with sap. Its lower end sat level with her wrist. From across the clearing came her own voice. “Under the oaks. That narrows it down.” It sounded flat and distant, the way it had when she first spoke. She gripped the phone so hard that its case creaked. Nothing appeared among the flowers. Her words ended, and the grove held the silence she remembered. Then the bicycle bell rang once, far behind her. Aurora turned towards the path out. The standing oaks still marked its entrance, but the pale strip of gravel had gone. Grass stretched between them. On the other side stood more oaks, their roots sunk deep among the flowers. She looked at the notch again. The wet fourth line had reached the ground. A step pressed into the grass beside her. She heard the blades bend. Her torch lit the spot, close enough for her to touch, but no shoe stood there. The pendant gave one pulse against her chest. Another step sounded on her other side. Aurora held the beam on the empty grass. She could see each blade spring back after the weight lifted from it.