Chapter 4 : The Grandfather''s Warning

Douglas Holloway lived in a cottage on the edge of the New Forest, a place of weathered stone and climbing ivy that seemed to have grown from the earth itself. Liam parked his car on the gravel drive, the crunch of stones loud in the quiet afternoon. He hadn''t seen Sebastian''s grandfather in years, not since university days when Sebastian would bring friends home for holidays.

The door opened before he could knock. Douglas Holloway stood framed in the doorway, a man in his late seventies who still carried himself like the detective he''d once been. His eyes were the same sharp blue as Sebastian''s, but where Sebastian''s had held curiosity, Douglas''s held something darker—a knowledge of things best left unseen.

"Liam Sterling," Douglas said, his voice gravelly with age and, Liam suspected, too many cigarettes in his youth. "I wondered when you''d come."

"You knew I would?"

Douglas stepped back, gesturing for Liam to enter. "Sebastian spoke of you often. Said you were the most stubborn man he knew, next to me. Come in. Tea''s brewing."

The cottage interior was exactly what Liam expected—bookshelves sagging under the weight of crime novels and police manuals, photographs of a younger Douglas in uniform, the smell of wood smoke and old paper. It was the home of a man who had spent his life chasing shadows, and now lived among their memories.

Douglas poured tea from a heavy pot, his hands steady despite their age. "You''re investigating Sebastian''s death."

"It wasn''t suicide," Liam said, accepting the cup.

"I know." Douglas sat opposite him, his gaze direct. "But you should stop."

The words hung in the air, stark and uncompromising. Liam set his cup down carefully. "Why?"

"Because some truths are better left buried." Douglas leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "Sebastian was digging into things he shouldn''t have. Old cases. Old wounds. He thought he was being clever, uncovering secrets. But secrets have a way of protecting themselves."

"The Lister case," Liam said.

Douglas''s expression didn''t change, but something shifted in his eyes—a flicker of recognition, and something like pain. "Walter Lister. Yes."

"What do you know about it?"

"Enough to know it should stay closed." Douglas stood, moving to the window. The afternoon light caught the silver in his hair. "I was on the force then. Saw the reports. It was... messy. Complications."

"What kind of complications?"

Douglas turned to look at him. "The kind that get young detectives like you killed if you''re not careful. The kind that ruin careers. Destroy lives."

"Victor Thorne is connected to it," Liam said, watching Douglas''s reaction. "He was Lister''s stepson."

For a moment, Douglas said nothing. Then he sighed, a sound of deep weariness. "Victor. Yes. I wondered when he''d come into it."

"You know him?"

"By reputation. Good detective. Too good, maybe. Sees patterns others miss." Douglas returned to his chair. "But he''s got his own ghosts. The Lister case is one of them."

"Tell me," Liam urged. "What happened? Why does Victor want it buried?"

Douglas shook his head. "That''s not my story to tell. And even if it were... some stories don''t have happy endings, Liam. Some truths don''t set you free. They just show you how deep the darkness goes."

They sat in silence for a long moment. Outside, a bird called, the sound lonely in the quiet.

"Sebastian was my friend," Liam said finally. "I need to know what happened to him."

"I know you do." Douglas''s voice softened. "And that''s what worries me. Because men like you—men who need the truth—they often find it. And it destroys them."

He stood, the conversation clearly over. "Be careful, Liam. And watch Victor Thorne. He''s not what he seems."

***

That night, Liam dreamed.

He was back in Sebastian''s apartment, but everything was wrong. The books were upside down on the shelves. The photographs showed faces he didn''t recognize. And Sebastian''s body wasn''t hanging from the beam—it was Victor.

No, not Victor. Victor was standing beside him, his hand on Liam''s shoulder. "You see?" Victor whispered, his voice echoing in the strange space. "This is what happens when you dig too deep."

Liam tried to speak, but no sound came out. He reached for Victor, but his hand passed through him like smoke.

Then the scene shifted. They were in Victor''s office, but the walls were transparent, showing the city spread out below them like a map of secrets. Victor stood close, too close, his body heat a tangible presence.

"You want to know the truth?" Victor asked, his lips brushing Liam''s ear. "The truth is dangerous. The truth is desire. The truth is this."

He kissed Liam, and it wasn''t gentle. It was possessive, demanding, a claiming. Liam''s body responded even as his mind screamed warning. This was wrong. This was dangerous.

But in the dream, he didn''t care. He kissed back, his hands tangling in Victor''s hair, pulling him closer. The taste of him was whisky and secrets, dark and intoxicating.

Then Victor pulled back, his eyes cold. "See? Even in your dreams, you want what you shouldn''t have."

He pushed Liam away, and Liam fell, tumbling through darkness until he woke with a gasp, his heart hammering, his body slick with sweat.

He lay in the dark, breathing hard. The dream lingered, vivid and unsettling. The kiss had felt real—the pressure of Victor''s mouth, the heat of his body, the dizzying rush of desire.

But it was the coldness in Victor''s eyes afterward that haunted him. The warning.

*Even in your dreams, you want what you shouldn''t have.*

He got up, padding to the kitchen for water. The flat was silent, empty. He thought of Douglas''s warning. Of Victor''s secrets. Of the kiss in his dream that had felt more real than any kiss he''d had in waking life.

And he knew, with a certainty that chilled him, that Douglas was right.

He was digging too deep. And what he might find could destroy him.

But as he stood at the window, watching the first light of dawn touch the rooftops, he knew something else too.

He wouldn''t stop.

Not for warnings. Not for dreams. Not even for the dangerous, thrilling possibility that the truth might be entangled with desires he couldn''t control.