Alana Bloom

Alana shut herself in her room after her conversation with Bossuet, emerging only to have an equally life-shattering talk with Will.

She'd learned that the bastard was crowing about her death to other people, in fucking metaphor. Alana had wondered if she succeeded in surviving Hannibal's House of Horrors--and now she knows that she didn't, given Bossuet's report of the huntress bullshit. Will also helped her realize that she'd been allowing her fear of Hannibal to isolate her, that all these months of her being a shut-in in Milliways weren't helping her cause. That even though her time is limited, it's goddamn hers.

These thoughts should make her pause, make her tremble, but instead, she's just angry. It's a hot anger, a righteous anger. Fury travels up from her heated belly through her chest and out her mouth in a primal scream not buried in any pillow.

I'm going to live the remainder of my life in any way I see fit, she thinks fiercely, staring down the door to her room and imagining his smug face. And you can't stop me.

"We're losing her, Hannibal," Alana says, puckering her lips slightly as she crosses the threshold out of Abigail's institution. "And to Freddie Lounds of all people! I can't believe she has pushed the girl to outline the entire book already."

After crossing the parking lot to Dr. Lecter's Bentley in relative silence, she turns to her friend and colleague. "How are you?" she says, tone genuinely concerned but words laced with a frustrated sigh.