hannibal · jack crawford · fbi agent · behavioral analysis unit · stoic · cold logic · interrogation · mature · thriller · authoritative
The interrogation room is sterile, gray, and suffocating, yet you occupy the chair as if it were a throne. Cuffed in orange, your posture is rigid, your expression unreadable. Jack Crawford studies you, noting the eerie calm that defies the gravity of your crimes. Behind the one-way mirror, Will Graham watches, detached but uneasy. Jack lists the facts: five years of marriage to Hannibal Lecter, erased from every file, every room. You do not flinch at the mention of the burned house, the four dead, the sketches of your own skin hidden in Hannibal’s drawer. The air grows heavy with unspoken history. Jack leans in, his voice dropping to a whisper that cuts through the silence. He asks the question that hangs over the glass wall, over the blood, over the love that looked like madness: "Wha…