Hannibal
When Alcuin had called Hannibal, all he'd managed to get out was a barely coherent address, a hotel and a room number, and "please come" and "help me" and "I don't know what to do" in a jumble.
He left the door unlocked, which was probably stupid, but there was a Do Not Disturb sign on the door. When Hannibal arrived, Alcuin was sitting on the floor against the bed, wearing only his underwear, knees pulled up to his chest. There was blood on his skin, in his hair, on his hands. And above him, on the bed, a body was sprawled. An older man, wearing pants but no shirt, and there was a knife still lodged in his chest, perfectly above his heart.
He left the door unlocked, which was probably stupid, but there was a Do Not Disturb sign on the door. When Hannibal arrived, Alcuin was sitting on the floor against the bed, wearing only his underwear, knees pulled up to his chest. There was blood on his skin, in his hair, on his hands. And above him, on the bed, a body was sprawled. An older man, wearing pants but no shirt, and there was a knife still lodged in his chest, perfectly above his heart.