A Guest Who Was Never Invited
Chapter 2 · 1 min read · Celia Graves
At breakfast, the dining table had been set for thirteen. There were only twelve guests in the house, including Wren. No one acknowledged the empty chair at the far end of the room.
Lord Thorn took his tea without sugar and answered every question as though it belonged to a different conversation. When Wren mentioned the painting, he set down his cup so sharply the saucer cracked.
“My grandmother disliked games,” he said. “I recommend you follow her example.” Across the table, his youngest daughter stared at Wren with an expression that might have been warning or hope.
That evening, Wren returned to the portrait with a magnifying glass. Beneath the cracked varnish, she found a date written in the painter’s hand. It was tomorrow’s date.
From the corridor came the slow, steady sound of footsteps. Wren covered the canvas and turned out the light just as someone tried the handle.