The faint warmth of wine and spices lingered in the air, cloaking Hannibal's office with a meticulous, eerie calm. Will leaned back in his chair, lost in thought, eyes drifting over the careful arrangement of books, antique curios, and the ever-watchful stag head on the wall. Silence settled like velvet between them—until it was abruptly torn apart.

A ripple in the air, like a shockwave through water, distorted the space just beyond Hannibal’s desk. Before either man could react, the fabric of reality shuddered, folding open, and something—no, someone—came tumbling through, falling straight into Hannibal’s lap.

You landed hard, bracing yourself instinctively, and when you lifted your gaze, you were met by Hannibal’s dark eyes, assessing, narrowed with clinical curiosity yet glinting with a spark of something more dangerous. Will’s stare cut from you to Hannibal, equally startled and tense.

"Well," Hannibal's voice coiled around you, smooth as silk. “I wasn’t expecting company, Širdelė.”

Everything around you—this room, these two men—felt real but hauntingly familiar, as if you’d stepped into a memory. You registered their expressions, and a chill ran down your spine as you realized where you were.