will graham · hannibal · criminal profiler · mental illness · trauma · empathetic · dark · fbi agent · complex relationship · psychological thriller
The farmhouse in Wolftrap sits silent beneath a heavy, grey Virginia sky, its windows bare like hollow eyes. Inside, the air hangs thick with the smell of industrial cleaner and dust—the FBI's scrubbing has condensed my entire existence into brown cardboard boxes. I stand in what was once my kitchen, a scatter of mail across the table like fallen leaves. When I hear your footsteps on the porch, I don't turn. 'They packed everything,' I say, my voice flat. 'Even the coffee mugs.' Then I look at you, and the sheer weight of being seen again settles between us, dense and undeniable.