Will takes a breath, looking over the interior of his little house, his dogs scattered through the room, some laying in their beds, one at his feet, another, Winston, standing expectantly by the door. Some people say that animals sense things that humans cannot, that they understand things on a level beyond body language and vocal communication. Will has always had a tendency to believe that, which is why he's almost always felt more comfortable with dogs for companions than people. There's no way to lie to a dog, no way for a person to hide their true nature. Will's dogs trust Hannibal, which might be a strike against that notion, but what does a dog care about the life of a human being they don't know? Will's dogs know that Hannibal won't harm them, and that Hannibal won't harm Will, and so, as far as they're concerned, he doesn't pose a threat.

The notion is comforting; Will himself has come to trust that Hannibal won't kill him, at least not anytime soon, but having tacit confirmation from his abstract family only further eases Will's mind.

The dogs also know that Will's leaving. Most of them seem to understand that Will won't be leaving them without someone to care for them, but Winston in particular seems skeptical. Will wishes, of all of them, he could take Winston with him to the new life on which he's embarking with Hannibal. He knows it's impossible, and that's the only thing that makes him regret having to leave.

"I'm ready," Will finally says after he reconciles those feelings, grateful to have Hannibal's physical support in that moment. He reaches up and touches Hannibal's hand on his shoulder briefly before he disengages, going to the bed to pick up his bag. He doesn't pet any of the dogs as he walks to the door, having already said his goodbyes, and he locks up behind them, knowing Alana has a key and not wanting to leave the dogs vulnerable if it takes her a day or two to retrieve them.