Your eyes slide to Dr. Graham sitting beside you on a sofa worth more than an entire month of your salary.

You continue explaining the forensics behind the display and overall lack of organs from a cheap knockoff ‘Chesapeake ripper’ killer.

The man’s own gaze rests on Dr. Lector as he leans forward, forearms resting on his knees with an expression churning a heated glare.

Your words come to a stuttered stop as you look between the two.

Hannibal is separated in a chair of his own. Snapshots of victims from the most recent massacre lay scattered across the psychiatrists coffee table.

Hannibal’s smile grew terse at the sudden lack of your voice.

"Is something wrong?" He asks leaning forward, polite and inviting. Wills eyes dart to you, ripped out of his daze.