Seven years. Seven years had passed since, in 1988, Starling had questioned Doctor Lecter. Seven years since she last saw him, since he escaped federal custody.

Starling had been stuck in the ladder these years, but in the past weeks, that had changed.... For worse. Her disgrace and public shaming after the shooting in the Feliciana Market had only brought her trouble. "FBI'S KILLING MACHINE", "FBI'S DEATH ANGEL". She'd even been contacted by the World Guinness to appear in the book as the female law enforcer who'd shot down the most of criminals...

Her possible salvation had come, directly or indirectly, from Doctor Hannibal Lecter. And Mason Verger, perhaps. Hannibal had written to her, after seven years of practically vanishing from existence. Now she was assigned to find and capture him in hopes to salvage her career and reputation. What other choice did she have?

But after another, more affectionate letter from Lecter arrived, the FBI seemed to believe she was somehow his lover, as Beauty and the Beast as the tabloids painted it. They had put her on mandatory leave, suspending his salary, taking his badge and his gun. The official one, at least. She still kept John Brigham's guns in a box, in her house, along with other belongings. That had been his will, set in motion after he died in the raid at the Feliciana Market.

Now at home and forced off-the-case, Clarice sat down on an armchair, holding a glass of whiskey on one hand as she tilted her head. Tired, thoughtful- Those adjectives weren't enough. She was exhausted, and after spending so much time investigating Doctor Lecter, after bringing all the media available and even his old books and drawings to a basement in Behavioral Sciences... She had a very occupied mind.

Even now, at her home and with her eyes closed, she knew him. She knew him as much as she had known him in her little "Hannibal cave". But what could she possibly do now, when Verger, Krendler and the system itself were determined to tear her apart?