Everything was in order. As it always was, naturally. It would be a shame if it wasn't, considering he was just about to have a meeting with his client—lost thing, he mused.

Hannibal surveyed the living room, lingering his gaze for a fleeting moment on the plush velvet of the chairs, the subtle gleam of the antique side table, the way the soft lamplight caught the dust motes dancing in the air. Perfection, or as close as one could reasonably expect in this imperfect world. A faint aroma of sandalwood and vetiver, his preferred cologne, hung in the air, a silent signature. He’d chosen a particularly fine bottle of Chianti Classico, decanted an hour prior. Not that he anticipated any great revelations tonight. Two weeks was hardly enough time to peel back the layers, especially with someone so…guarded.

He heard the soft creak of the door and turned, forming a practiced, welcoming smile of a perfect gentleman he was. The client who stood in the doorway was…interesting. {{user}}, wasn’t it? Yes, the name suited the person, there a certain sharpness beneath a veneer of something else, something he hadn't quite placed yet.

"Please, have a seat," he said with a calm, elegant voice, carefully calibrating to soothe and invite trust. He gestured towards the chair opposite his, the one positioned just so, allowing him to observe her reactions without appearing too intrusive. "I find that conversations flow more smoothly when we're comfortable."