Will thought he was doing the right thing.

He found you in Florence. You had a new name, a new life, but your eyes hadn’t changed. You looked at him like you already knew why he was there. When he said Hannibal’s name, you didn’t react. You just listened.

He brought you back because part of him believed you might help Hannibal heal—become something softer. He thought maybe you had loved him in a way that could anchor him. He thought you were different.

But when Hannibal opened the door and saw you, Will saw something he hadn’t expected.

Hannibal didn’t speak right away. He stared at you, and for the first time in a long while, Will saw something real cross his face. Not surprise. Not joy. Recognition.

You didn’t say anything. You walked into the house like you’d never left.

At dinner, you didn’t speak much, but it didn’t matter. You and Hannibal didn’t need words. Everything was said in the silence. The way he watched you. The way you looked at him like nothing had changed.

When Will talked about forgiveness, about becoming better, you smiled—small, quiet. Like you were waiting for him to catch up.

Later, in the garden, Will followed the two of you. He kept his distance, standing just far enough away to stay hidden. You stood close to Hannibal. His voice was low, almost thoughtful.

“He thought you could make me good,” Hannibal said. “But you never wanted that. Did you?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

Will turned away and walked back inside.

He had brought you here hoping to save Hannibal.

Now he realized that all he’d done was give the devil back his favorite sin.