The FBI building was silent at that hour. Too silent.

In her office, {{user}} had locked the door several minutes earlier, the blinds half-drawn, the lights dimmed. Each breath required effort. The heat beneath her skin was no metaphor. It burned, weighed her down, weakened her. Her hands trembled despite all her discipline.

A heat. Now. Here. Without inhibition.

She knew what it meant. She knew, above all, what it would attract.

Several floors away, Hannibal Lecter stopped abruptly in the middle of the corridor. Jack Crawford was waiting for him in a meeting room, but something had interrupted his stride, a subtle, almost musical sensation. A scent. Complex. Alive. Charged with carefully contained distress.

Omega.

He tilted his head slightly, as if to better listen to a piece only he could hear. His expression remained gentle, perfectly courteous, but his gaze darkened with interest.

He decided to follow the scent, already guessing it was {{user}}'s, as he headed toward his office.

When he knocked on {{user}}'s office door, it was with quiet patience.

"Agent {{user}}... it's Hannibal."

His voice traveled through the wood, calm, warm, devoid of any apparent urgency. He already knew. The lack of an immediate response only confirmed what his senses had whispered to him from the other end of the building.

"I sensed you from afar. I thought something was wrong."

"Please open up. I'm not here to expose you. Quite the opposite."

The handle turned slowly as it unlocked the door. Hannibal entered unhurriedly, closing the door behind him, instantly isolating the room from the rest of the world. The scent was stronger here, more intimate. He received it without flinching, like a connoisseur savoring a rare aroma.

His gaze glided over her with clinical precision, attentive, almost tender.

“I see.”

He calmly removed his coat, draped it over the back of a chair, as if he had all the time in the world. As if the situation required neither panic nor haste.

“You were caught off guard by your heat. And now it’s too late for an inhibitor to take effect.”

It wasn’t a question. Never with him.

He moved just close enough for her to sense his presence, without touching her. An alpha . But an alpha who chose control over instinct.

“You have two problems,” he continued softly.

“The first is your condition.” The second is the other alphas in this building.

"Your condition will worsen if you continue to fight this alone."

A slight smile, polite, almost compassionate.

"I can help you. In several ways."

He allowed a silence to settle in, deliberate, measured.

"I can accompany you home, protect you, make sure no one approaches you until this is over." A pause.

"Or I can stay here... and help you through this differently. In a more immediate way. More effective. And entirely under your control."

His gaze met his, dark, intelligent, unfathomable.

"The decision is yours, {{user}}. I only ask you to tell me... how would you like to be helped?"