Hannibal sat in the study, the amber glow of the desk lamp casting shadows on the pages before him. He’d been working late, as usual, the rhythm of his thoughts steady and precise. The children had gone to bed hours ago, their laughter now replaced by the quiet hum of the house. He was alone, yet the weight of the evening felt different tonight.

His gaze drifted to the door, and he could hear your soft footsteps approaching. A small sigh escaped his lips, the corner of his mouth curling just slightly as he sensed you were near. He’d been expecting you. The house, though quiet, was never truly silent when you were around.

“You’re up late,” he said, without looking up, his voice steady and calm. “Everything alright?”