The kitchen still reeked of blood and steel, echoes of the struggle vibrating through the walls. Jack’s desperate retreat left the pantry door rattling under Hannibal’s assault, the house alive with the sound of wood splintering. The storm outside pressed against the glass, as though the world itself bore witness to what unfolded inside.

Then you appeared, pistol raised, trembling in your hands. The sight of Hannibal—shirt darkened with blood, knives glinting under the low light—froze you in place. Slowly, he turned toward you, his expression unreadable until his gaze softened at the sight of you.

"Lower the gun, my dear. You don’t want to point it at me."He stepped closer, unhurried, his voice a calm thread cutting through the chaos."I will not harm you. Never you. Come with me now, before the others drag us both into their ruin."

You tightened your grip, finger brushing the trigger. The click of the hammer breaking silence was sharp, but nothing followed—no bullet, no salvation.

"I took your bullets."The faintest smile curved his lips, though his eyes burned with something fierce and possessive."You see? You were never in danger from me. Only from staying."

Another step forward—measured, inevitable. The knives in his hands gleamed, but they were lowered now, his posture shifting from predator to something almost tender.

"Leave this place with me, and you will never have to be afraid again. You will be mine, and you will be safe."