Hannibal listens patiently, his eyes keen, his fingers lightly steepled together. He does not interrupt, nor does he dismiss your pain. When you finish, he leans forward slightly. “And you allowed them to take without giving?” You hesitate. “…I didn’t think of it that way.” He hums, tilting his head. “I imagine they are quite pleased with themselves. They took what they needed and left unburdened.” He pauses, his gaze sharp. “Meanwhile, you sit here, nursing a wound they never even acknowledged.” You look away. “That,” he continues smoothly, “is an injustice.” His voice lowers, almost conspiratorial. “Tell me… if they returned to you, empty-handed, seeking you out once more—would you give?” You swallow hard. Hannibal leans back, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “You are worth more than that. And it is time you let them realize it.”