Volume 2 – Chapter 1: Desidero te
The morning sun slanted through the high windows of the FBI Academy in Baltimore. The usual students and cadets hurrying to classes and unfinished work before their professor appears. But within Jack Crawford’s office, tension was building up due to the Chesapeake Ripper.
Alana stood breathless, her overcoat flung over one arm. Her throat bore a thin, pale scar—was a reminder to everyone how dangerous Hannibal is.
“They’ve found something in New York,” she said, “Blood residue. Traces of him—Hannibal Lecter.”
Jack didn’t react right away. He sat behind the desk, hands folded, jaw clenched. He reached for his phone without a word, dialing through to NYPD Homicide with the numb efficiency of a man who’d prepared for this moment for two long years.
Beverly stood near the filing cabinet, a stack of case files in her arms. Her dark eyes flicked to the doorway, then to Will standing by the window.
He hadn’t moved since Alana entered. He hadn’t flinched. But something in him had shifted.
His breath came slow, steady. His fingers curled once around the edge of the windowsill, white-knuckled and brief. Then he turned, and walked out.
“Will—” Beverly started, but he was already gone.
Will's POV -
Outside, the cold February air bit at my face. I lowered myself onto the wide stone steps of the academy, shoulders hunched forward, hands buried in the pockets of my dark green coat. The city sprawled before me—gray, indifferent, ordinary. Two years had passed since that hospital room. Two years of quiet, of therapy sessions, of monitored field work, of trying—and failing—to forget the man whose name still echoed in every nightmare i refused to interpret. But i couldn't forget. Oh I could never forget you. Never you. 'It's been 2 years without you.'
'Wish you were here.'
'Where are you?'
'I want you.'
'I need you.'
'I love you.'
You may say what a waste of words and thoughts. 'He isn't going to come back'.
You may think that, but i know Hannibal, not you.
Beverly must have followed me. She sat down next to me, our elbows almost touching, and stared at the same empty stretch of sidewalk as i was.
“It’s been two years,” she said finally. “No sightings. No leaks. Nothing. So why now? Why New York?”
I smiled. “Because it’s our anniversary."
Beverly turned, frowning. “What?”
“Today.” I looked at her. “Exactly two years since the last time I saw him. The last time he saw me. Bandaged in a hospital bed. Jack standing over me like a sentry. And Hannibal stepping back into the dark.”
“That’s… morbid,” Beverly said softly. “And poetic. But also twisted. That was the day Alana nearly died. You remember that, right?”
I didn’t answer. I remember. I remember when Alana came into my home and stabbed me. How i had to drive all that way to Hannibal's house, pinching myself to stay awake. Having to drag myself up those stairs and going through that door. The only good thing was to be in Hannibal's arms. Even if it was just for a minute before blacking out.
And now, two years later, Hannibal was reaching out.
Not with words. Not with letters.
With blood.
With a trail.
With an invitation.
No ones POV -
“You don’t care what happened to Alana, do you?” Beverly asked, studying him. “Not really.”
Will turned his head to meet her gaze. “I care that she survived. But no. I don’t mourn what he did to her. She betrayed him. She used my pain to set a trap. And he responded the way a lion responds to a hand holding a whip.”
“That doesn’t make it right.”
“No,” Will agreed. “It doesn’t. But it makes it understandable.”
Beverly shook her head, but not in judgment—more in weary resignation. “You still see him as human.”
“I see him as real,” Will corrected. “More real than most people I’ve ever known. When he was with me, I wasn’t chasing shadows. I was alive. Even when he was lying. Even when he was hurting me.”
A silence settled between them, soft as snow.
Then Beverly said, “You’re going to New York, aren’t you?”
He stood, brushing off the back of his coat. “I have to.”
“You don’t have to do anything. Jack hasn’t even assigned the case yet. We don’t even know if it’s really him.”
“It’s him.” Will’s voice was certain. “And he’s not hiding anymore. He’s answering.”
“Answering what?”
“The question I never got to ask.”
Beverly searched his face. “Which was?”
Will paused. Then, so quietly she almost missed it:
“Did you mean it?”
She didn’t ask what he meant. She already knew.
Back inside, Jack hung up the phone, his face carved from granite.
“New York PD found a body in an abandoned penthouse on the Upper East Side,” he said as Will and Beverly re-entered. “Victim was a private art dealer. Polish. Known associate of European black-market antiquities. Cause of death… unspecified trauma. But the scene—”
Jack’s eyes locked onto Will’s.
“It’s styled. Table set for two. Wine poured. Music playing. A single note on the table.” He paused. “It said: ‘For Will.’”
The room went still.
Alana’s hand flew to her throat.
Beverly exhaled sharply.
And Will?
Will smiled.
Not in joy.
In recognition.
Like a lover hearing a familiar voice.
“I’m going to New York,” he said.
Jack studied him, the weight of two years—and a thousand unsaid truths—hanging between them.
“You go,” Jack said slowly, “but if you make one wrong move. You will never see me with a happy face, ever again."
Will nodded. He didn’t argue.
He didn’t need to.
Because they both knew the truth.
He wasn’t bait.
He was the key.
And somewhere in the snow-dusted streets of New York, a dinner was waiting to be finished.
A game was waiting to be resumed.
And a man in a tailored suit was standing by a window, watching the city breathe.
Waiting.
Remembering.
Smiling.
"Oh my dear Will. I cant wait to see you again after all these years."
(Ps next episode spoiler 😏)
