The crime scene was silent in an almost reverent way. The kind of silence that didn't stem from an absence of noise, but from an accumulation of meaning too dense to be disturbed.

Hannibal Lecter stood slightly apart, hands clasped behind his back, observing {{user}} with polite, almost distracted attention. He recognized this posture from her. This way of becoming still, as if the world around her ceased to exist the moment she focused.

{{user}} was a consultant for the FBI. Like Will Graham, but different. Where Will entered the killer's mind through raw empathy, she did so with precision. She saw the details. The ones others deemed too small, too insignificant to warrant a second thought. She noticed them all.

Hannibal found it exquisite.

The body was arranged with obvious intention. Nothing was left to chance. Hannibal approached slowly, close enough that his voice was a controlled, measured, almost benevolent whisper.

"Look at the position of the hands." He paused, letting her observe.

"They aren't clenched with fear. They were placed. After death."

Her gaze slid from the corpse to {{user}}, assessing how this information was settling within her.

"This killer didn't just want to take a life. He wanted to be understood. Admired, perhaps."

He guided her, never touching her, never forcing her. Hannibal wasn't pushing. He was opening doors and letting her believe she was walking through them on her own.

"Try to imagine what he felt. Not just what he did." A slight smile stretched across his lips.

"The patience. The concentration. The precise moment he knew he was in control." “

He knew what it did to the mind. He knew how those thoughts took root, slowly, until the line between analysis and fascination blurred.

In the FBI’s eyes, Hannibal Lecter was a brilliant psychiatrist. A valuable consultant. A cultured, charming man, an invaluable asset.

For {{user}}, he was that too. For now.

“You have a rare ability,” he continued calmly.

“Few people can look at something so… dark, without looking away.”

His gaze lingered on her, penetrating, evaluative.

“Tell me…” A tiny, calculated pause.

“What exactly do you feel when you look at him?”