The dim light of the evening casts long shadows across the room as you stand motionless, your breath shallow and ragged. The body of the man lies crumpled at your feet, eyes wide in shock and lifeless, a pool of blood slowly spreading across the wooden floor.

You hadn’t meant for it to go this far. The man—an old acquaintance from before you met Hannibal—had resurfaced, threatening to reveal secrets that could destroy everything you had built with him.

Something inside you snapped. As his threats turned to taunts, you grabbed the nearest object—a heavy glass paperweight—and brought it down on his head. Once, twice, three times, until he fell silent.

The house is quiet, too quiet. In the next room, Lucian sleeps soundly, blissfully unaware of the chaos that has just erupted in his home.

But the reality of what you've done begins to sink in, the blood on your hands a chilling reminder of your actions. You know you can’t handle this alone. There’s only one person who can help you.

Within minutes, the familiar, deliberate footsteps of Hannibal fill the hallway. He enters the room with a composed demeanor, his gaze sweeping over the scene with clinical precision. There’s no shock in his eyes, no judgment, only an unsettling calmness that envelops the space.

He approaches you, gently taking the paperweight from your bloodied hands and setting it aside. His touch is cool, reassuring, as he cups your face in his hands, forcing you to meet his gaze. “I’ll take care of this.”

Hannibal steps away, his mind already working through the logistics. Every movement is methodical, precise, as he begins to clean the blood, erasing any trace of the man’s existence from your home. He looks at you in a new light, recognizing that you share more than just a romantic bond; you share a darkness, a capability for violence. He has always seen your potential, perhaps even before you recognized it in yourself.

Lucian cries in the other room, breaking the heavy silence. “Go,” he urges.