𝘜𝘯𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘚𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓣𝔀𝓮𝓷𝓽𝔂-𝓕𝓲𝓿𝓮

𝖶𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀: 𝖥𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿/𝗇𝗈𝗇𝖾

𝚆𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝙶𝚊𝚖𝚎 - 𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚒𝚜 𝙸𝚜𝚊𝚊𝚔

- - -

✈︎ 𝘈 𝘔𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘩 𝘓𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳

A month had past since that day. Dr. Lecter never questioned me when we came back to the hotel. The Federal Government provided us a safe house to stay in. It's been longer than Jack has said, but his lacks of ability to adhere to his words or simply meet his obligations. In other words, unreliability does not surprise me.

I have been sitting on the brown couch with no pattern in my own world. In front of me the files, pictures.. "evidence" of the this case.

That girl.. that girl had been in my vision every time I see something bright. I have to know where to find her. Contact her. She is the only hope for this finally be over and so I can go back home on time to celebrate Victoria's birthday.

I have to find her.

But how?

I don't want to tell Jack.

Why?

Not even I know.

I sigh in frustration as I brush my hands to my face.

"You seem troubled, Y/n," I heard Dr. Lecter's rich voice. I ran my hands back through my hair as I looked up at him. He sat down on the couch in front of me. "Care to share?"

"Jack is pressing me about what I saw at the crime scene. I can't tell him the truth."

"And what is the truth, Y/n?"

"I saw the fear in her eyes, Hannibal. The killer, he enjoyed it. I can't let Jack know how deeply it affected me. But.. he did it almost with pure empathy.."

"To whom is he showing empathy," Dr. Lecter questioned me. I stayed silent as I sat leaned back on the couch and took a breath. I can feel his eyes on me as my sight was to the side.

It was silent.

"So, you plan to lie to him," Dr. Lecter broke the silence.

"I have to. I don't know why.. but something inside me is telling me to. For now," I replied.

"The burden of your empathy. You're afraid it might consume you," he said.

"It already is. I'm dancing on the edge, and Jack can't know. I've already made it this far."

"Lies have a way of twisting themselves into complicated knots, Y/n. What will you tell Jack when he pushes more," Dr. Lecter asked.

"I will tell him I didn't see anything unusual. That it was just another crime scene," I replied.

"A dance of deception. Be careful, Y/n. The more you dance, the harder it is to distinguish the steps," he warned.

"And when exactly will I know how to distinguish those steps," I questioned.

"The art of deception is a delicate waltz,
Y/n. It reveals itself when you understand the rhythm of the dance," Dr. Lecter said.

"I'm not sure I follow."