The children in room 7

Thirteen Days The first thing Avery Collins noticed was the envelope. It was lying on the kitchen table when she came downstairs at 6:17 on a Tuesday morning. No stamp. No address. No name. Just a small silver envelope placed perfectly in the middle of the table. Avery stopped halfway down the stairs. For several seconds, she simply stared at it. The house was quiet. Her aunt had already left for work, and the old clock above the kitchen doorway was ticking loudly enough to make the silence feel unnatural. Avery walked toward the table. She didn't touch the envelope. She circled it once, as though looking at it from another angle might explain how it had gotten there. The back door was locked. The windows were locked. Nothing else in the kitchen had been disturbed. Then Avery noticed something else. There was a photograph underneath the envelope. She pulled it out. It was old. Not just old in the way photographs from the early 2000s looked old. This one had faded edges and tiny scratches across the surface. Seven children stood together in front of a large brick building. Avery's eyes moved from face to face. One boy was holding a red football. A girl with two braids stood beside him. Another child was smiling directly at the camera. There were four more. Seven children. Avery frowned. She had never seen any of them before. At least, she didn't think she had. She turned the photograph over. Nothing. She turned it back. Then her stomach tightened. The girl standing at the far left looked familiar. Not familiar like a celebrity. Familiar like a face she had seen every morning in the mirror. Avery leaned closer. The girl's eyes were the same shape as hers. The same small mark above the left eyebrow. Even the slight tilt of her head looked strangely familiar. "No." Avery whispered the word without realizing it. She picked up her phone and took a picture of the photograph. Then another. Her hands were beginning to shake. A sound came from upstairs. A floorboard creaked. Avery froze. "Aunt Claire?" No answer. She waited. Another creak. Slow. Careful. Someone was walking. Avery grabbed the photograph and stepped away from the table. "Aunt Claire?" Still nothing. She looked toward the staircase. The hallway was empty. Then her phone vibrated. A message. Unknown number. DON'T OPEN THE ENVELOPE. Avery stared at the screen. Another message appeared. YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO HAVE THAT PHOTO. Her heart began pounding. She typed: Who is this? The reply came almost immediately. Someone who knows what happened to the children. Avery looked at the photograph again. Seven children. Six faces she didn't recognize. One face that looked disturbingly like hers. She typed another message. What children? The typing bubble appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again. Then: Search the name Daniel Mercer. The messages stopped. Avery didn't move. She had no idea who Daniel Mercer was. But something about the name made the photograph feel heavier in her hand. She put it down and opened her laptop. The internet connection was painfully slow, but eventually a search page appeared. She typed: Daniel Mercer missing child Hundreds of results loaded. Most were irrelevant. Then she found an article dated twelve years earlier. LOCAL BOY, AGE 9, MISSING AFTER SCHOOL Avery clicked it. Daniel Mercer had disappeared on October 14. He had been walking home from school. No witnesses. No ransom. No body. No explanation. Avery scrolled. The article mentioned something strange. Daniel had disappeared exactly thirteen days after his ninth birthday. Avery's fingers stopped moving. She searched another name from the article. Sophie Bennett. Missing. Thirteen days after her birthday. Another. Lucas Reed. Missing. Thirteen days. Another. Maya Hart. Missing. Thirteen days. Avery leaned back. There were dozens. Children from different schools. Different neighborhoods. Different families. Different years. But always the same pattern. Thirteen days. Her breathing became shallow. She opened a news archive and searched for older cases. More names. More children. More disappearances. Then she found something that made her sit completely still. A headline from seventeen years ago. SEVEN CHILDREN MISSING FROM BRIGHTON HILLS SCHOOL Avery clicked. The article loaded slowly. She read the first paragraph. Then the second. Then she reached the list of names. Daniel Mercer. Sophie Bennett. Lucas Reed. Maya Hart. Her eyes widened. Those were four of the children in the photograph. She looked at the remaining three names. Her mouth went dry. One of them was crossed out in the digital archive. But Avery could still read it. Evelyn Collins. Her surname. Avery's hands went cold. She searched the name. Nothing. She searched again. Still nothing. Then she heard footsteps behind her. Avery spun around. Aunt Claire stood in the kitchen doorway. She was still wearing her work clothes from the previous evening. Her face had gone completely pale. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Claire's eyes dropped to the photograph. She didn't ask where Avery had found it. She didn't ask what Avery was doing. She simply whispered: "Where did you get that?" Avery swallowed. "It was on the table." Claire took one step forward. "Who put it there?" "I don't know." Claire looked toward the locked back door. Then toward the windows. Then at Avery. And for the first time in Avery's life, she saw genuine fear in her aunt's eyes. "Listen to me," Claire said quietly. "You need to forget you ever saw that photograph." Avery stared at her. "Why?" Claire didn't answer. "Aunt Claire, who is Evelyn Collins?" Claire's face changed. Not confusion. Recognition. Avery noticed it immediately. "You know her." Claire looked away. "Avery..." "You know her." The clock continued ticking. One second. Two. Three. Then Claire whispered: "Evelyn was your mother." Avery felt as if the floor had disappeared beneath her. "My mother died when I was four." "I know what I told you." "What does that mean?" Claire closed her eyes. Avery stepped closer. "What does that mean?" Claire opened her eyes again. Before she could answer, Avery's phone vibrated. Both of them looked at it. A new message appeared. THIRTEEN DAYS. Then another. IT STARTS AGAIN TODAY. Avery looked at the silver envelope. For the first time, she noticed that something had been written on it. A single word. Her name. AVERY. And beneath it, in smaller letters: OPEN ON DAY THIRTEEN.