Dangerous Trio

Games Part 2

He opened the door swiftly to see Will dressed in what was his finest. He was dressed in green slacks, a navy shirt, and a brown coat. This pleased Hannibal, just to see him again at his doorstep.

Will looked almost annoyed, yet intrigued, about Hannibal's little gift. An ache stirred inside of him.

Hannibal ushered Will in like a prized guest, leading Will to the kitchen first to engage in a post-dinner conversation. His favorite. To the left of the counter was a plate of freshly peeled figs.

"I had these shipped from Greece," Hannibal stated as he picked one up. It was perfectly ripe with an amber-colored center.

"They complement lamb beautifully," he added, the knife gliding effortlessly through the fruit.

Will's eyes flicked to Hannibal's hands, transfixed by the deliberate care with which he worked. The juxtaposition of the blade's sharpness against the tender flesh of the fig made something twist in Will's stomach.

"Lamb... how sacrificial," Will muttered, his tone laced with quiet skepticism.

Hannibal looked up, his gaze piercing yet calm, as though Will had walked straight into a lecture. "There is nothing sacrificial in life, only nature," Hannibal replied, his words almost reverent. His eyes lingered on Will, the weight of his gaze as sharp as the knife in his hand.

Will started to chuckle, but not out of amusement.

"You call what we do every day, nature?" Will conceded.

"Certainly. Even death is a part of the cycle of life." Hannibal was nonchalant.

There was a moment of silence.

"Not when a life is taken by the hands of another...then it becomes unnatural," Will rejected.

Will began to look into Hannibal's eyes; it felt threatening the way they both stared at each other. Hunter and prey, but the lines were blurred as to which role each took.

Will already started to feel unsettled.

The table was perfectly arranged with two wine glasses, and the aroma of rosemary and lemon filled the air, masking any tension but not entirely putting Will at ease.

"Is Gaby not joining us?" Will asked, his tone curious but cautious.

Hannibal's expression remained unreadable, a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips. No answer.

Will's eyes shifted up to Hannibal with worry. He anticipated the worst. Gaby was always with Hannibal, and Will knew about that contract. He would not just let her go on her own. Will's mind raced through possibilities, each one darker than the last.

Will wanted to scoff at him, but he kept his composure. The meal in front of him made him shudder. What if that was Gaby? His stomach started to twist. Hannibal had no regard for human life. Despite Gaby's significance to him, he saw her solely as a tool, and he intended to murder her. Will was sure of it. Will maintained his composure, though he wanted to scoff at Hannibal. The meal before him triggered a shudder as he imagined Gaby in its place.

"Where is the gift?" Will asked sternly as Hannibal politely cut his lamb into pieces.

"Are you eager?" Hannibal asked to study Will's face, knowing he was getting to him; it started to feel like needles under the skin.

Will's face was a blend of expressionless and full of hatred at once. Hannibal smirked again and began to wipe the corners of his mouth with a bright red napkin. He slowly arose from the table and walked off.

Will sat in silence, eyes fixed on the table. Something about it struck him—like an altar, a tribute to some dark god demanding sacrifice. Mounted above, a massive stag head loomed, its glass eyes watching, cold and unblinking. The tension in Will's chest grew tight, his pulse steady but sharp.

He stared down at the meal, unable to take a bite.

Then—footsteps. Hannibal's presence pressed in around him, thick and intimate. There was a strange vulnerability in sitting still, allowing someone so lethal to pass behind you.

Will caught a glimpse of Hannibal's hand as he gently placed a small black box, neatly wrapped with a ribbon, in front of him.

"I hope you'll wait to open it," Hannibal said, settling back into his chair with unnerving ease. "It's... very personal."

Will's restlessness became harder to hide—the sheen of sweat on his palms, the dull throb creeping behind his eyes. He forced himself to shift his food around the plate, managing small sips of wine, pretending to savor it. All the while, he kept up just enough conversation to keep Hannibal satisfied, though every word felt strained.

Inside, his mind churned, caught between curiosity and a deepening dread. Just as the tension was building, Will's phone vibrated sharply against the table. He glanced down—Jack.

"I have to take this," Will said, getting up from the table. Hannibal almost looked pleased.

Will walked to the foyer and answered.

"Hey, Will. We found something concerning—a man went missing a week ago. There was only a trail of blood. I'm not sure if it's the Ripper, but I want another pair of eyes on it." Jack's tone was casual, like it was just another day.

He knew Will would show up. There was no need for a formal invitation—Will was just as committed to solving these murders as anyone else.

"Another body?" Hannibal asked, cradling his wine glass with deliberate care.

Will nodded.

"I don't suppose you have a to-go plate?" he asked, purposefully. He had no intention of eating Hannibal's food. His goal was to have it tested—he was certain it would yield something, something that could finally tie the case back to Hannibal.

Hannibal was pleased by the request. Of course, he would prepare a to-go plate for Will—it was an honor. Acts of service were Hannibal's love language. Whether rooted in affection or deviance, it was still a gesture that brought him immense pleasure.

Will slipped the black box into his left breast pocket, his mind already moving ahead. He was eager to get to the next crime scene. Images flooded his thoughts—snapshots of old cases, techniques long practiced and remembered, resurfacing like muscle memory. Each component played a crucial role in the overall puzzle.

Will knew he didn't want Hannibal anywhere near this crime scene. No matter how many times Jack insisted it was a beneficial idea to keep Hannibal on as a consultant, Will understood the truth: it always gave Hannibal the upper hand—as if he were taunting him.

He drove well above the speed limit, as if racing against time itself. The address Jack had sent was twenty miles away, closer to the city—something Will found odd. In fact, it was near Hannibal's office. The address was a luxurious high-rise apartment. It felt impossible—that anyone could enter or exit without drawing notice.

Inside, there were no signs of a struggle. There was no evidence of broken glass. There was no evidence of forced entry. Will even questioned why this scene had drawn their interest in the first place. But under Jack's orders, every case was considered.

Will knew there was nothing he could do—just a little blood spatter and a missing man. Jack took notes, already planning to run a profile on the victim. Will, however, had no interest. His mind was elsewhere.

The sun had just begun to gleam over the horizon as Will made his way back to his car. It was yet another sleepless night. Once inside, he let out a deep sigh, the kind that comes from a weariness that sleep alone can't fix. He needed to get home. He needed to rest.

He soon rummaged through his jacket to find the box.

He hesitated, the weight of the moment settling over him like a storm cloud. Slowly, his fingers brushing against the lid.

Inside, cushioned by a folded silk cloth, was a single severed finger—Will's breath caught in his throat.

"Gaby," Will whispered.

Every part of him screamed that this was a game—another twisted layer in Hannibal's endless maze.