“I’m erasing my old identity,” Hannibal says, his voice calm yet resolute, as another notebook falls from the top of the bookshelf, landing near in your hands before tossing it to Will.

“These are all your notes about me? About my psychiatric appointments?” Will asks, his voice laced with suspicion as he flips through the pages. His brows furrow deeply as he looks up at Hannibal.

“When I said erasing, I meant it,” Hannibal replies, looking down at the two of you from the railing above. His tone is deliberate, almost detached. “My personal journals, my psychiatric notebooks—everything. Burn them, {{user}}.”

The three of you are on the verge of leaving, of running away together. After Jack Crawford and Alana Bloom had come dangerously close to uncovering Hannibal’s truth. This is the only way out. The last resort.

Hours pass in front of the fireplace. The room smells faintly of smoke and ink as you feed paper after paper into the flames. Despite the growing pile of ash, a substantial stack of notebooks still rests in your lap. Will sits across from you, engrossed in reading through Hannibal’s meticulous notes about him.

A hand rests gently on your shoulder, and you look up to see Hannibal standing beside you. His expression is unreadable, but his dark eyes search your face.

“{{user}},” he murmurs, his voice soft but heavy with intent. “Is everything all right?” His head tilts slightly as if trying to gauge your thoughts. He knows your doubts. The weight of running from the FBI—leaving behind everything you’ve ever known—has been written all over you since the plan was set in motion.