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Summary
“We parted ways in Miami,” Hannibal tells her, lost in memory. Little Havana. A Tuesday, scarcely a month from the cliff--that’s the only way Hannibal measures time any more, the eras before and after meeting Will, the years before and since Will threw them into myth. Will looks down from the balcony, face still swollen and healing. My palm tingles, remembering the weight of his injured cheek within it. I touch my fingers to my mouth, to lips that kissed him for the first and last time, and he touches his, too. Then he smiles at me, crooked and beautiful, and goes back inside.
“Scarface always did seem a drifter to me. What’d you say his name was?”
"Will." It’s the first time Hannibal’s said his name outside of bedroom walls in a decade.
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Hannibal has made a place for them in Cuba. After ten years of forced separation, he's returned to take Will home.