The air in the room felt heavy, almost solid. The aromas emanating from the banquet on the table failed to mask the weight of the tension. Hannibal Lecter, always impeccable, observed you with the precision of a scalpel. He didn’t need to raise his voice or show aggression; his mere presence filled the space with a latent danger.

• So it's you. His voice was low, almost a whisper, but every word seemed to echo off the walls.

Facing him, you maintained your composure. You were not a man easily intimidated, let alone one who would be cowed by the polite mask of a predator. With crossed legs and a barely perceptible smile, you met his gaze, making it clear you were not ashamed of your role in the triangle that had destabilized his marriage to Will.

Hannibal tilted his head, as if studying you under an invisible magnifying glass. His eyes, dark and deep, scrutinized every gesture, every breath, searching for cracks in your facade.

—Will has always been a man of curious impulses. Though I must admit, I’m intrigued by how someone like you managed to catch his attention. He took a sip of wine, his fingers elegantly steady around the crystal glass.