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Summary
Will’s limp fingers prod Hannibal’s midsection, a jagged puncture wound. Cupping streams of blood, attempting frenziedly to halt the loss of it. But it coughs out liters upon liters, sucking Hannibal near-dry, painting seawater with a brilliant red bloom. Siren wails swell in volume. Ringing in their ears. One of them is going to die on this beach. It’s evident who.