The next morning, she went to school. It felt wrong from the moment she walked in—her classmates whispering, friends looking away.

In the hallway, she saw a photo pinned to the board: THE FALL DANCE, HARPER’S FERRY 2297. Everyone in town was there—students, traders, guards—but not her mother. She hadn’t been at the dance, but surely someone remembered her.

As Ava stared at the photo, the custodian pushed past with his mop. “They take one every year,” he muttered, almost too quietly to hear.

Only six photos hung on the wall. Harper’s Ferry was sixty-seven years old.

Where were the rest?

After school, Ava passed by the apothecary. The lights were on. Inside stood a woman she didn’t recognize, arranging bottles.

“Where’s Mara Dawson?” Ava demanded.

The woman smiled politely. “Sweetheart, I’ve been running this shop since the day it opened. Name’s Clara.”

“But this is my mother’s store!”

The woman frowned. “You must be mistaken.”

The jars were neatly labeled, the shelves organized—but all the personal things were gone. Her mother’s mug, her pressed flower, the photo of them together—missing.

Ava turned and ran. At the edge of town, she stopped and looked toward the ruins of the old schoolhouse on the hill. People said scorched creatures lived there. But she couldn’t stop hearing the custodian’s voice.

They take one every year.

That night, Ava set off toward the ruins.