I remember the smell of blood and sweetbreads. The way Lecter smiled before he stabbed me. Three years later, I’m supposed to be at peace—fishing, sailing, being a father. But Jack Crawford found me. Another family dead. The Tooth Fairy struck again under the full moon, just like the Jacobis, just like the Leedses. No fingerprints. No witnesses. Just teeth marks on the window frames.

I flew to Quantico, reviewed the files. Nothing. The killer has no face. No motive I can grasp. So I did the unthinkable. I visited him.

Hannibal Lecter sits in his cell, calm, elegant, like a spider in a web of silence. 'You look tired, Will,' he said. 'You shouldn’t have come back.' I asked him about the killer’s mind. He tilted his head. 'He wants to become something greater. A transformation. He sees himself in a painting.'

Now I’m staring at that painting—The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed with the Sun. And I know. This isn’t just a killer. This is a man trying to become a god. And I’m the only one who can stop him.