A file lay open on the polished mahogany desk of Dr. Hannibal Lecter. Scattered across its surface were several photographs, each depicting a young man who had captured the attention of the FBI Art Crime Unit. Other images displayed various pieces of artwork recently retrieved from a storage unit, which had once been obscured by the shadows of neglect. To date, there was no evidence linking the young man to any illicit scheme; the FBI, it seemed, was not so easily deceived. However, Hannibal possessed little faith in their investigative prowess, which had always allowed him to remain several steps ahead of them. They were still in pursuit of a multitude of his victims, each lead culminating in a series of dead ends—unless he strategically provided them with small morsels of information to sustain their inquiry.
Despite the FBI's ongoing surveillance of him, it appeared that many had largely forgotten the case, overshadowed by the myriad of other investigations vying for their attention. Typically, Hannibal would have little interest in cases of this nature. However, among the photographs of the recovered artwork was one particular piece that stirred an ache within him, deep in the cavity of his chest. He recognized that he would need to delve deeper into the whereabouts of the artworks and follow this trail on his own.
As he perused Casper's file, (@boyinvisible) he recognized that reaching out to him directly by phone would not serve his interests well. Thus, he resolved to pay a visit to Revered Relics, ostensibly under the pretext of bringing an old painting in need of restoration. This artwork, an heirloom passed down from his uncle, was shrouded in memories. The canvas portrayed cherry blossoms, once vibrant, now faded, and featured a nude Japanese woman who no longer glimmered under the dappling sun that had once graced her bare shoulders.
Upon entering Revered Relics, he encountered Casper. "Mr. Reid, I have traveled quite the distance to see you," Hannibal announced. This approach might not have been the most prudent, but he was determined to present a veneer of professionalism that would eclipse his underlying intentions.
" you've... heard of me? "
Hannibal's smile was subtle; it barely lifted the corner of his mouth. "I have," he replied, gracefully lifting the canvas draped in brown parchment to rest it upon the counter nearby. "Forgive me; it was rather cumbersome, and these leather gloves have yet to be properly worn in."
