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“Did you find what you were looking for?” Bedelia asks, aware Chiyoh is standing behind her. The air feels different, heavier, like it did in Florence. She doesn’t need a mirror to sense Chiyoh’s presence. Bedelia feels like prey under her gaze, in a way she didn’t under Hannibal’s.
It’s not a sensation she likes.
“Did you?” Chiyoh counters.
“Not entirely.” Life is paler now, like a cheap crystal imitation. She’s obfuscated her way through more immunity, but without the challenge of Hannibal Lecter, there’s no amusement left for her. Bedelia has decided not to return to practice because doing so will be a disappointment. No one can match the danger and intrigue of him.
Chiyoh’s head tilts to the side, like a caged bird watching the outside world and not understanding what it sees. “I could say the same.” The similarity between her accent and Hannibal’s pings Bedelia’s heart.
Will mentioned Chiyoh once, when he mused on Hannibal and danger. Bedelia still doesn’t know much about her, but her original estimation stands: Chiyoh is Hannibal’s biggest mistake.
“What were you looking for?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know, Dr. Du Maurier?” An enigmatic smile, the weight of a thousand unasked questions and stories on her face.
“Yes.” It’s the first honest word Bedelia’s said in months. “I would.”