From Erik's own secreted place, a garrote appeared. Hannibal slid the knife back into his jacket without it even being noticed by the other man. He was pleased that Erik would still carry such things around, he had thought that the weapon might be required and had brought it.
Calmly, Hannibal watched Jordan begin to die. The blade of the knife would have opened the man's throat and let his blood spill all over the floor. It could have potentially been more pleasing in some ways, but this was more satisfactory in others. He would not die slow, Jordan. He would struggle and think he might survive. The agony would not just be physical.
"Is that all?" Hannibal echoed. "I suppose in a certain sense, it is. When I brought him down here for you, I knew that something was wrong. I had no idea what it was, I was merely aware that you needed something to shake you out of your current state. Upon the visitation of your rant, I realized precisely what it was that drove you into solitude and ..."
He gestured at the ruined building around them. "this."
The words were spoken around the dying man as if he wasn't there at all, and Hannibal and Erik were simply sitting at a tea table, speaking of the weather. Hannibal cared not what he might overhear. What he might be thinking. Ordinarily he would be curious, not today. Today he was focused on his friend and his friend alone.
"When this man spent more than one session with the rest of us without exacting your punishment, I realized that something was horribly wrong. I concocted a plan." His shoulders barely moved in a shrug. A somewhat boyish move that held a statement within it akin to it seemed like a good idea at the time, just lacking the belief that it wasn't still a good idea.