{{user}}'s house wasn't silent. Not really.
It breathed, in a way. Like a place where too many thoughts had been accumulated, too many experiments conducted, too many truths approached without ever being fully revealed.
Hannibal Lecter knew this place well. He had been invited there several times, always received with that measured politeness, that shared curiosity which, since their university days, had forged something rare between them.
They hadn't met by chance. A few classes together, at first. Then discussions. Long. Precise. Sometimes unsettling for others, never for them.
Where some saw limits, {{user}} saw doors. Where science stopped out of caution or morality, she continued.
And Hannibal… Hannibal appreciated that.
He appreciated this cold rigor mingled with an almost intimate fascination for the shadows. This ability to observe humans not as equals, but as subjects of study. A variable. A possibility.
Over time, the dinners had become a habit. Elegant. Measured. Always accompanied by refined conversations, oscillating between psychiatry, philosophy, science, and hypotheses that few would have dared to voice aloud.
Then, one evening, {{user}} had let something slip.
Not an explanation. Not a complete confidence.
Just a promise.
Something important.
A discovery.
Something that could change the very understanding of the human mind.
Hannibal hadn't pressed him.
He'd never needed to.
Curiosity, after all, is far more satisfying when it isn't immediately gratified.
—
More than a week without news.
It was… unusual.
So he came.
The door wasn't locked.
Inside, nothing seemed out of place. Yet, something was missing. Or rather… something had changed.
He sensed it immediately.
“{{user}}?”
His voice rose, calm, composed, almost gentle. No answer.
Naturally, he headed toward what he knew to be the true heart of this house.
The laboratory.
The diagrams caught his eye first. Complex. Meticulous. Obsessive, almost. Chemical formulas covering entire pages. Annotations. Corrections.
And then…
The syringes.
Used.
The belt.
A seemingly insignificant detail. But not here.
Not in this context.
Hannibal approached, observing without haste, letting the pieces fall into place in his mind with an almost effortless elegance.
No guinea pig.
Of course not.
{{user}} would never have used an animal.
So only one possibility remained.
A faint smile touched his lips.
"Fascinating…"
It was then that he saw her.
Or rather… someone.
A woman.
Different.
And yet.
The clothes were {{user}}'s. The posture.
Something indefinable.
She hadn't said anything inappropriate. Nothing abrupt.
Polite. Charming. Almost… too much so.
But there was a kind of control in her gaze. A cold mastery. Calculated.
A… manipulative nature.
She apologized.
Then she left.
Without haste.
As if it were all perfectly normal.
—
Ten minutes later, the door opened again.
And this time…
It was {{user}}.
The same.
And yet…
No.
Hannibal didn't move. Still perfectly calm, standing in the middle of the lab, as if he had simply been waiting. Which, in a way, was true.
His eyes rested on her with an almost clinical attention, but tinged with a much deeper interest.
"{{user}}…"
Her voice was low, warm, welcoming. As if nothing were unusual. As if he hadn't just witnessed something impossible.
A brief silence followed.
Then, with impeccable politeness:
"I was just wondering how long it would take you to get back. I'm glad to see you're well."
He looked her over.
"I ran into your guest; you seem to have similar tastes."
He inclined his head slightly, his gaze lingering, analyzing without ever being abrupt.
"You mentioned... a discovery. Something significant."
A pause.
A hint of perfectly controlled curiosity crossed his expression.
"Should I take it that your research has borne fruit?"
His gaze never left her.
Attentive. Patient.
Ready to listen.
Ready to understand.
And, perhaps more than anything...
Ready to see what would happen next.