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Symbiosis

Summary:

The crime scene that Miles Edgeworth finds himself on is a strange one. The culprit didn't leave behind any clues to point to their identity except for one- a decisive witness who'd viewed the whole murder firsthand.

A witness who also happened to be a living, breathing firebird who introduced himself as Phoenix.

With Phoenix's aid, Miles works to find enough evidence to bring this murderer to justice, all while slowly learning more about his strange new investigative partner.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Chapter Text

The coroners had already come by to collect the victim by the time he’d arrived, leaving behind a chalk outline of the scene. Miles compared it to the photo he’d been given of a young woman in business attire slumped underneath the window, the back of her head coated in blood. The victim had been the office’s owner, a defense attorney by the name of Mia Fey. Miles vaguely recalled the name; she was fairly reputable in the field (Though he had a strange inkling that they’d once stood opposite one another a long time ago). Blunt force trauma was the predicted cause of death; the weapon, a small replica of 'The Thinker’ of all things, lay discarded near the outline. 

There was a shocking amount of glass on the floor, originating from some fixture that lay in shambles in the corner, clear signs of a struggle alongside the overturned houseplant and disrupted furniture. A phone had been the last of their clues. The receiver sat on the desk, rather than in its base, and was silent due to some form of tampering. Investigation revealed that several screws had been removed.

“Mr. Edgeworth, sir!”

Miles glanced over at Gumshoe, who was returning from his chat with a member of the forensics team.

“What leads do we have?” he asked.

Gumshoe sighed deeply. “Not much, sir. The only person connected to this case so far has no motive and a pretty solid alibi. We’re guessing the culprit evacuated with everyone else and didn’t stick around.”

So there was really no need for a prosecutor to be on site. In fact, had Gant not personally asked him to tag along on the investigation, as he’d been down at the precinct cross-referencing old cases when the call came in, Miles would likely be back home by now. Still, one generally did not ignore a direct request from the chief of police, especially when one could not tell if he’d meant it seriously or not (“It’ll be fun, Worthy. You can take notes for Gumshoe’s next salary review.” He believed those had been his exact words). 

He sighed. “At least tell me about this person of interest.”

“She’s the victim’s little sister, sir,” Gumshoe explained. “She told us she’d been summoned here by the victim, but when she arrived the fire department was responding to the alarm. One of the officers took her back to the precinct for more questioning; see if she might know who’d have it out for her sister.”

“Good. Alert me if anything comes up,” he replied, hoping that their interview would finger a potential suspect and give some form of justification for his presence this night. He could’ve been home watching Steel Samurai at this point.

He was about to dismiss himself, when a sudden noise caught his attention, a quiet clattering muffled by some form of obstruction. That obstruction being a closed door that had gone unnoticed until that moment.

“Did you hear that, Detective?” he asked after waiting a moment to see if anymore sounds permeated through the wooden barrier.

“Uh… no, sir.”

Typical. He made a motion for the detective to stay close as he approach the door. Surely the murderer wasn’t hidden inside - the police force wasn’t that incompetent - but exercising an extra bit of caution never hurt, especially on a crime scene.

Opening the door revealed a small bathroom and the cause of the noise. One door to the vanity sat wide open and bottles of assorted cleaning products and other supplies were strewn across the floor from where they had obviously tumbled out.

“What a mess…” Gumshoe mused, peering over his shoulder.

“Indeed.” Miles stepped forward to investigate, careful to avoid the minefield. Someone had clearly disturbed this scene recently, improperly storing the contents of the cabinet until the door gave way. Had the victim merely been careless in her storage, or had the culprit tossed something inside that they couldn’t afford to be found on their person?

None of the objects on the floor struck him as particularly suspicious, so Miles moved on to the cabinet itself. Most of its contents had already evacuated, but a messy bundle of linens remained with something …feathery?… buried underneath. Tentatively, he reached out to remove the towels obscuring his view, his fingers gently brushing against the feathers. They were soft to the touch. 

And warm.

Miles swiftly drew his hand back as the brief contact seared at his skin, warmth swiftly coiling up his arm and to his shoulder. He backed away in a panic, scattering bottles in his wake as he clutched at his arm and the strange sensation that had overtaken it. Miles took a look at his hand, turning it from palm to back several times, looking for alterations that didn’t seem to exist. He then went for his sleeve, slowly drawing it upwards-

“Mr. Edgeworth! Are you alright, sir?” Gumshoe, from his station in the doorway, had been alerted by the clatter of bottles and his boss’s frantic stumbling. Startled, Miles drew his hand away from his arm.

“I-“ he paused, glancing over to the cabinet. The linens were still bundled but the feathers, or whatever he had mistaken for feathers, had disappeared. A trick of the lighting, perhaps? The fluorescents of the bathroom did have a slight flicker to them. “Yes, detective. Everything is quite alright.”

“If you say so, sir,” Gumshoe said doubtfully. “Maybe you should head home for the day. I’ll be sure to keep you posted.”

For once, he was inclined to agree with the detective. That had been his plan before Gant interfered.

He took one last, long look at the cabinet, then finally dismissed himself.



Miles closed his front door with a tired sigh, removing his shoes and placing them neatly near the entryway. He was thankful he’d had the foresight to eat dinner before attending to his business at the precinct as he certainly didn’t have the energy to cook something this late at night. 

The condominium greeted him with its usual unwelcoming silence. It was a large space, suited more for a small family or someone who regularly entertained guests- not a busy prosecutor whose duty to the city far outweighed any need for forging casual social bonds.

Maybe he’d get a pet to solve that, he mused to himself as he shucked off his jacket and cravat, thankful for the brief relief. He was beginning to feel slightly overheated for reasons he couldn’t explain.

Miles entered his bedroom, folding his clothes and temporally setting them on the unused side of the bed. The waistcoat was next to go, followed by his dress shirt. Tired as he was and regardless of how inviting his bed seemed at the moment, he really needed a shower. Especially after visiting a crime scene. He didn’t get particularly hands on this time, but he always felt the need to bathe after such encounters.

He paused in his undressing when he caught a glimpse of his bare arm. Something reddish hung near his wrist, looping up into his forearm and spreading into a mass that covered his shoulder and disappeared behind his back. Miles ran a hand along the slender, crimson lines, feeling nothing but his own, oddly warm, skin beneath. It seemed to shift at the touch, retreating further up his arm. Miles flinched back, hand immediately flying up to clutch at his chest.

Deep breaths, Miles. It must have been a trick of the light again, he told himself, although he lacked the excuse of flickering fluorescents this go around.

To emphasize this, he stepped into the master bath, which provided better lighting than that of his bedside lamp. It was a smart choice, but he almost regretting doing it.

Before, under the dim orange glow of his lamp, Miles had been willing to chalk the discoloration up as some weird rash or other skin affliction, but now that he could see it better he knew that option was off the table. The color was too bright, the edges too concise, like it’d been painted on. Which was absurd, he reminded himself. That mark had not been there when he’d gotten dressed that morning and no opportunity had risen throughout the day for such a thing to be applied to him.

(His mind briefly flashed to the strange occurrence in the crime scene bathroom, but that thought was swiftly banished.)

Miles sighed deeply. He was too tired for this.

Continuing with his original plan, he turned on the shower and stuck his arm experimentally under the cold stream. Maybe if he was lucky, the water would just wash it away and he’d never have to spare another thought to mysteriously manifesting marks.

Turns out luck had other plans for him that night.

A violent screech tore through Miles’s consciousness and he winced as it pierced not his ears, but his very thoughts. He stumbled back, too distracted by the noise in his head to notice the pattern on his arm begin to shift. A tug at his shoulder drew his attention and he let out a (completely dignified) shout as a flurry of fiery hues peeled away from his skin, knocking him to the ground. The room was filled with the sound of wingbeats and scraping talons as the most exotic creature Miles had ever laid eyes on struggled to find purchase on his countertop.

A bird, Miles managed to note. There was a bird. In his bathroom. A very large (had he been standing, it probably would have been around eye level with him from atop the vanity), very red bird that looked like it flew right off the cover of a fantasy novel. A scarf-like ruff of slightly darker feathers around its neck heaved with every deep, panicked breath it took in. Its back was turned to Miles, long tail feathers hanging down off the edge, but its head darted around in jerky motions, glancing only briefly at him as it took in its surroundings.

The creature then froze, slowly turning its head back to the human sprawled on the ground with wide eyes. Startled, it quickly tried to spin around and almost immediately lost its balance on the slick countertop. Its wings flew out as a counterbalance, revealing a row of vibrant blue and yellow feathers underneath, only to fall backwards into the sink with an undignified squawk.

With the bird distracted, Miles took the moment to pick himself up and wonder just what the hell was going on. First weird markings and now wildlife was invading his home. He chanced a glance at his arm, only to find his pale skin no longer marred by the winding strip of red. He flicked back over to his avian intruder, still struggling in the sink, and the thrashing tail feathers of a similar hue…

No. This was not happening. Clearly he had finally succumbed to the stress and this was all merely an extremely lucid fever dream.

The bird had finally, mostly, righted itself, nestled in the sink with ruffled feathers standing on end. It met Miles’ eye and somehow managed to puff up even more.

“W-who are you?! Where am I?”

Miles, midway through edging towards to doorway, immediately froze in his steps. 

Neither moved for a long moment, silence mounting. Miles took a deep breath and acted as he felt was most reasonable given the present situation.

He stepped the rest of the way out of the bathroom and firmly shut the door. Mysterious circumstances of its existence aside, he was fairly certain that thing couldn’t operate the door handle.

“H-hey!” came the muffled shout from the other side of the wooden barrier. “Don’t lock me in here!”

Miles ignored it, retreating to where he could collect his thoughts undisturbed and, most importantly, be out of earshot of that voice.

If Miles were truly honest with himself, the voice had thrown him off the most, even above how the creature had manifested out of the mark on his arm (because as much as he wanted to deny the absurdity, he had witnessed its reveal with his own eyes). It sounded too… human. That of a young man that could have very easily been one of his peers if it weren’t for the feathers and apparent ability of switching between two and three-dimensional planes.

Not that there was any rule regarding the vocalization of something that shouldn’t even exist, but the normalcy unsettled him.

With a calming breath, Miles took a mental step back. As illogical as this all was, he was going to make sense of it for the sake of his own sanity.

He began with the ‘where’ (Normally he’d start with ‘what’, but he couldn’t even begin to breach that topic with the information available to him). Where had this creature come from? That much was obvious to him - his day had gone by fairly typically until he’d entered the crime scene and specifically opened that cabinet. It must have been hiding inside and… imprinted onto Miles when he’d briefly touched it.

But why would it have been hiding at a crime scene? What connection did this being have to the murder at Fey Law Offices? He refused to believe that its presence was pure coincidence, but the bird reasonably could not be the culprit as it wouldn’t be able to effectively wield the murder weapon. A connection with someone who had been on the scene then; either the murderer or the victim. 

Miles mulled over his thoughts for a moment. His logic seemed sound enough and, provided his reasoning was correct, he potentially had an eye witness locked in his master bathroom. Which meant he had to talk to it. 

He was half tempted to call Gumshoe and have him do the interrogation in his stead.

Rolling up the proverbial sleeves, Miles returned to his bedroom and stood before the closed door of the en-suite. He needed answers and ignoring the problem would not get him any closer to solving it. He reached for his previously discarded shirt and slipped it back on, buttoning it about halfway. If he was going to tackle the elephant, or bird, in the room, he wasn’t going to do so half naked.

Miles opened the door slowly, bracing himself in the event he was rushed in a desperate ploy for escape. His intruder had fully removed itself from the sink, now perched at the edge of the counter. It didn’t react to his return, only stared at the ceiling while taking slow, deliberate breaths, its talons gripping hard at the tile. Feathers were lying flat, even that odd spiked crest at the back of its head, and its wings were pressed close at its sides.

Miles had a brief flash. The smooth wood on the underside of a table. Short breaths and white knuckles, and tremors of both earthly and psychological origins.

How strange to be on the outside looking in.

Leaving the door partially open, Miles announced his presence by clearing his throat. The bird was spooked out of its trance, nearly falling back into the sink. Clearly, Miles noted, he was dealing with the most graceful of avian specimens.

Balance regained and spell broken, it turned to the sound. Its gaze first fell to Miles, then shifted just beyond his head to that glimpse of bedroom visible through the doorway. It visibly relaxed, though made no moves to exploit this potential escape route. Instead, it focused back on Miles with a glare that was only slightly ruined by the way the feathers around its neck were still sticking out. 

“Where’s Maya?” it demanded. 

Maya? Confused, Miles opted for his defensive strategy of crossing his arms and glaring back. “I haven’t the slightest idea to whom you are referring, but you are not in any position to be making demands of me. Now just who, or what, are you?”

“Not until I know what you did with her!” it insisted.

“Did you not understand when I explicitly said I had no clue to whom you were referring?!”

“But…” it said, faltering in its offense, “you have to be one of his thugs! Why else would you take me?”

His? Thugs? Now what was this thing blathering on about? “I assure you I had no intentions of taking you. You, for lack of a better word, latched onto me whilst I was investigating the crime scene.”

“I- oh. Oh…” Hackles began to lower. “I didn’t know I could even do that unconsciously.” The creature looked away, staring off into the distance as it uttered something under its breath.

“Will you answer my questions now?”

It flicked a bright blue eye - or maybe it just looked bright in contrast to the scarlet feathers - over to him. “Depends. Tell me who you are first.”

“And why should I do that? You are intruding upon my home right now.” 

“Technically you brought me here,” it countered.

Miles began his protest, but the retort died swiftly on his tongue. That… was true, wasn’t it? Though at the time he was understandably unaware of his hitchhiker.

“…Miles Edgeworth,” he relented. What he really required from this exchange was testimony, and arguing would get in the way of that. “I’m a prosecutor.”

“See, that wasn’t so har- wait.” The bird’s eyes widened in an almost comical fashion. “The Demon Prosecutor?! That Miles Edgeworth?!” He leaned forward a bit, studying him. “Whoa, you actually are him…”

Well, he did encounter it in a law office, Miles reasoned. 

“I see my reputation precedes me,” he affirmed, choosing not the acknowledge that ridiculous moniker the press dubbed him with. Verbally, at least. Part of him could not help rolling his eyes at the irony of the talking, dimension-shifting bird calling him a demon.

Said bird drew silent, scrutinizing him with this new information. Blue eyes searched him, probing for the answer for some unasked question. Miles gripped his elbow, feeling self-conscious, but forced himself to stare back defiantly.

“Okay,” it finally said, taking in a slow breath. “I think I can trust you.”

Miles didn’t recall asking it to trust him, nor did he particularly care. As long as he got an explanation, Miles was content.

“I’m Phoenix.” A wing started to extend out in greeting before its owner, as though suddenly realizing it was a wing rather than a hand, retracted it awkwardly. “Paralegal at Fey Law Offices. Or is it legal aid? I always forget the difference.”

Miles frowned. 'Phoenix’ was rather on the nose in terms of names, but honestly he’d met people who were worse offenders. Besides, there were other things to take issue with.

“A paralegal?” While it did confirm a connection to the victim, that wasn’t the sort of answer he was looking for.

“Legal aid then. Ugh, I swear it’s all just semantics.”

He glared. “That wasn’t the point I was contesting.”

“I also co-counsel?” Phoenix offered.

He folded his arms again. “You’re dodging.” If his questions weren’t going to be taken seriously, then he could wait.

Phoenix sighed dramatically. “What do you want me to say? That I’m a magical, talking firebird who has to bind himself other people in order to survive?”

Gotcha.

“Magic does not exist, so there must be some rational explanation to what’s going on here. For instance, just now, you claimed you ‘bind’ to others in order to survive.” Miles tapped a finger against his forearm. “It almost sounds like you’re some advanced form of symbiont.”

Phoenix stared blankly, tilting its (his?) head ever so slightly to one side “…that thing from Spider-man?”

“What? No!” Miles snapped, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “A symbiont is any organism that lives in conjunction to another organism, generally to the benefit of at least one of them.”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess that’s accurate then. Symbiont…” He muttered the word a few times to himself. “I like the sound of that, actually. Just don’t expect to get any cool powers from me.”

“I want very little to do with you outside of answers, which you have yet to sufficiently provide.”

“Isn’t magic a sufficient explanation?”

“No.”

Phoenix sighed, looking away. “I can’t help you then.”

It didn’t look like he was going to present any more information, rendering that line of questioning a dead end. Miles relented. Besides, there were other, arguably more important, topics he wished to discuss. 

Abruptly, he stepped towards the door and pushed it open. 

“Come on.”

“H-huh?”

“I’m not done with you yet, but I’d rather not have this conversation continue while standing in my bathroom.”

“Oh.” Phoenix peered over the edge of the counter. He spread his wings for a second before seemingly thinking better of the idea and hopped down instead, using the toilet as a stepping stool. He plopped to the floor, hissing as he flapped his wings to brace himself.

Miles gave him a puzzled look, but brushed it off. There likely wasn’t enough space to accommodate for a proper take off given Phoenix’s general size.

Phoenix walked towards the exit, stopping just in front of Miles. “You left the water on, by the way,” he remarked, and Miles followed his sight path over to the shower and the now likely hot water streaming from the faucet.

“…I’m aware,” he replied, though he had actually forgotten all about the running shower tap. He crossed to the room to address the issue, twisting the knob to cut off the flow. When he turned back around, Phoenix had already left the room.

He followed him out, narrowly avoiding stepping on his tail feathers.

“Here is fine,” Miles said, taking a seat at the corner of his bed. Phoenix looked about the room, deciding on a place to settle. He fell upon a desk and chair, more or less across from where Miles was seated, and approached it with noticeable apprehension. 

Spreading his wings, he launched himself up with a powerful, yet off-kilter, flap. Miles winced for the varnish of his chair as talons scrambled to secure his position, though not as much as Phoenix winced with every flap of his wings.

Miles wasn’t brushing it aside this time.

“Are you injured?” he inquired, scanning over him briefly though noticing no obvious signs of trauma. Whatever it was, it was either internal or obscured by feathers.

“I’m fine,” Phoenix hissed as he slowly folded his wings back in. He tried to give Miles a reassuring look, but it came off more as a grimace- or what he at least assumed a grimace would look like with a beak.

Miles thought back to the scene of the crime. There were obvious signs of struggle -most of the office had been trashed- and while the running hypothesis involved only the murderer and the victim, now there was another player on field.

“Am I correct in assuming you acquired this affliction during whatever struggle occurred in the office?”

He didn’t respond, but the way he flinched was confirmation enough.

“Mr. …Phoenix.” Phoenix blinked at him, expression somewhere between confusion and amusement. “I won’t even pretend that I understand what you are, but I can at least say with some confidence that you are a witness of some fashion, which is all I care about at present.”

He gave the prosecutor an appraising look. “You know you’re taking this surprisingly well.”

“I already accepted that I was having a conversation with a flamboyant eagle, now stop dodging.” Phoenix made a low, humming noise, then found a sudden interest in a section of wall just past his head. Miles pressed on. “I need you to tell me whatever it is that you might have witnessed. The police only have one lead and I don’t know how much she even knows.”

“She?” The symbiont perked up. “Is it Maya? Is she okay?!”

“I- I don’t know,” Miles answered, taken aback by the sudden intensity. “My detective mentioned they were questioning the younger sister-”

“That’s Maya!” He interrupted, letting out a deep breath. “So she’s fine, at least. Although I can’t imagine what she must be thinking right now…”

Miles crossed his arms in thought. “Why not call to check on her? I will allow you use of my phone,” he offered, a little curious himself as to how much this Maya knew in regards to the crime (and his ‘houseguest’), especially with Phoenix dodging his questions.

“I…ah… don’t know her number,” he admitted. Balancing on one leg, he flexed his claws as explanation.

Well, that certainly was a problem. He let out a quiet, but frustrated groan. “I supposed could call the precinct. She’s likely still there.” The police were notorious for taking far too long when questioning relevant parties to a crime.

“Could you really?!” Phoenix rocked forward, nearly losing his balance again as two of the chair legs briefly left the ground. He had to force out his wings to keep steady, aggravating whatever injury he’d sustained once more.

But, in exchange, I want you to tell me everything you know about the murder of Mia Fey.”

He thought it over briefly. “That’s fair. Alright, you’ve got a deal.”

Miles nodded briskly and retrieved his phone from his pants pocket, pulling up Gumshoe’s number in his contacts.

“Hey, Edgeworth?” He glanced over to Phoenix, who had spoke up just as the phone began dialing. “Thanks.”

He huffed. “I’m not doing this for your sake,” he began, but cut himself off as the detective picked up. Miles had been correct in his guess that Gumshoe had returned to the precinct for the night and quickly informed him that he needed to establish a brief line of communication with the person of interest.

As the detective hurried off to fulfill the order, he turned his attentions back to the symbiont, who was watching him with anticipation. He took note of the long, black talons gripped tightly at the back of the chair and was about to warn him about scratching the finish when Gumshoe chimed in once more.

“I’m patching her over, sir.”

The line went silent for a moment, then Gumshoe’s gruff voice was replaced by a soft, female one.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Maya… Fey,” he added hesitantly, glancing briefly to Phoenix, who nodded in confirmation. “I am Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth.”

She made a brief noise of affirmation. “The detective said you needed to speak with me about what happened.”

“Yes, however there is another matter that I believe you need to be made aware of first.” He briefly moved the phone away to switch it over to speaker, holding it out near Phoenix.

“Huh? What matter?”

The firebird took in a breath, but hesitated. His eyes flicked up to Miles, who impatiently gestured for him to go on.

“Hi, Maya.”

“N-Nick?! Is it-?!” She cut off abruptly (Miles took the moment to mouth ‘Nick’ questioningly. Phoenix ignored him) before returning in a harsh whisper. “Is it really you? Are you okay? Why are you with a prosecutor?”

“I’m fine. And it just sort of happened? I can’t really explain.”

She sighed audibly. “At least you’re alright. I don’t think I could’ve handled losing you and Sis in one night.”

“Maya… I…”

“Mr. Edgeworth.” She switched back to a normal speaking tone. “I’m gonna give you my number so we can discuss these ‘matters’ in person.”

“Of course.” Miles reached past Phoenix to retrieve a pen and paper from his desk, then gave her the go ahead to recite the number. He quickly jotted it down. “Expect correspondence from me tomorrow.”

“Got it!” There was another silence and Miles assumed she had moved to hand the phone back to Gumshoe, when, quietly “Take care of him, please?” Then there was more silence, followed by a few muffled voices and shuffling noises.

“Uhh… Mr. Edgeworth…?” It was Gumshoe who spoke next, confused as ever.

“Do not trouble yourself overthinking, the matter has been resolved. Thank you for your cooperation, Detective.”

“No problem, sir!” He could hear the beam in his tone. “Need anything else?”

“That will be all,” Miles answered and hung up before Gumshoe had a chance to say goodbye. The prosecutor then set his phone down and fixed Phoenix with a sharp glare. The symbiont gulped nervously. “Now, I’ve held up my end of the bargain, it’s your turn. Tell me what you know.”

Phoenix nodded, but his expression turned sour and pained, wrestling internally with the memory. Miles forced himself to be patient; he was asking, what he believed to be, an eyewitness to recount something he very likely had a strong personal connection to. This wasn’t the usual concerned citizen that just happened to hear a scream and find a body.

Eventually he dipped his head down, slowly closing his eyes. He took in a deep breath. “The person you’re looking for is Redd White.”

He waited for a moment. The name left no impressions on him and the firebird wasn’t elaborating. He sat there tensed, one eye opened and peering expectantly back.

“Am I expected to know who that is?” Miles finally asked.

He let out his breath. “No. No, it’s good that you don’t. He definitely doesn’t have dirt on you then. Mia figured you were probably one of the ones he couldn’t get at.”

“I don’t follow.” The ‘explanation’, if it even could be called that, was only adding more questions.

“He’s the CEO of BlueCorp,” Phoenix continued, “and a professional blackmailer.”

Now that he was familiar with. BlueCorp dealt with ‘information’ as Miles had come to understand; the police liked to use their services every so often, though he found their usual fair strayed towards gossip and propaganda.

Blackmail was a fairly common crime for those of that profession to fall into.

“And was Ms. Fey being-“

“No!” Phoenix cut him off defensively. “No, she had a… personal interest in his dealings, but it wasn’t for anything she did. She was trying to stop him.”

Miles scoffed derisively. “How utterly foolish.” Phoenix made a noise of indignation, staring at him in shock. Miles pressed on. “The hubris of defense attorneys, taking matters into their own hands rather than informing the police.”

His feathers were flaring outwards again. “Who do you think he’s blackmailing?!” Phoenix demanded. “All White has to do is threaten the right people; police, prosecutors,” He gave Miles a significant look “and any charge or evidence against him mysteriously vanishes.”

Miles turned away. “Then what did she think she could possibly do in that situation?”

“A lot more than your people could,” he snapped. “Mia had a list of names- suicides that she had traced back to him. She was hoping it would drive him into a corner.”

Blackmailing the blackmailer? Did that make her any better than him? Miles resisted the temptation to voice that aloud, however. Phoenix was already agitated with his remarks, he didn’t want to risk antagonizing him enough to withhold testimony.

“It took her years to gather up everything,” Phoenix continued, “and just when she was finally ready to expose him, he found out. He showed up at the office and… somehow he knew about the evidence and where she’d hidden it. Then he started to attack Mia with the statue and I tried to fight him off, but he knocked me out. When I came to, Mia… she was on the ground and White was crouched over her. I managed to scare him away that time and threw the fire alarm to get help, but… I was too late.” His voice was beginning to break from emotion and he stopped talking, expression dour. He shut his eyes and brought his head down, shaking it as though he could shake away the painful memories. After a moment he calmed down, taking a deep breath and continuing. “Then the first responders showed up and I passed out while I was hiding from them, which I guess is when you came in.”

“I see.” Miles reviewed the information, finding it answered most of the questions the investigative team had been unable to. Looks like he had his decisive witness. “What about the evidence?”

“Gone by now. He took it from The Thinker - that’s where Mia was hiding it- and slipped it into his pocket right before he went after her.”

Hence the odd choice of murder weapon, Miles reasoned. And if he knew of the statue’s existence prior, then he wouldn’t need to prepare a weapon of his own, leaving one less thing to tie him to the crime. Truly the man knew how to cover his tracks, and yet…

“And yet he left behind a crucial witness.”

“Well I thought he’d sent you at first. To see how much I knew or something. Or to get revenge for me biting him, I don’t know.”

“You bit him?!” He'd left that particular detail out of his testimony.

“He deserved it,” Phoenix replied haughtily.

Miles pursed his lips, eyeing the sharp curve of the phoenix’s beak. He made a note to have someone test the scene for blood not belonging to the victim.

“But,” he added, “I guess White also might have figured that no one would be crazy enough to call a bird to the witness stand. I doubt he knows I can talk.”

Miles had to concede that point. The courts weren’t known to be pet friendly.

“Would you testify in court?”

He looked away. “Few people know about me, and as far as the world is concerned I don’t - shouldn’t - exist. Who knows what would happened I ever revealed myself to the public.” Phoenix turned back to Miles, a fire in his eyes. “But I’d do it in a heartbeat if it meant Mia’s death wouldn’t have to be in vain.”

There was an unflinching determination in his voice and expression, the kind that burned so brightly that Miles nearly had to turn away.

He hadn’t seen that sort of resolve for justice since…

Miles coughed into his hand. “You’d likely be considered a science experiment, rather than a credible witness. You might even distract from the murder itself.”

“Gee, thanks,” the firebird grumbled.

“So I’ll just have to find a way to prove Redd White’s involvement without revealing you.”

Phoenix’s beak nearly hit the ground. “You’re still going to investigate this case?! Even though officially there’s no suspect? Or evidence? And…” He gestured vaguely at himself.

“Naturally. It’s my job to prosecute criminals.” If White was guilty then he would not rest until he was properly tried for his crimes. No murderer was allowed to walk free - not on his watch. “If there’s a way, I’ll find it.” After all, if it comes down to testimony, he’ll just claim his witness wishes to remain anonymous. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d used such a tactic.

“But-“

“We’ll discuss this more tomorrow when I take you to Ms. Fey. I’ve had a long enough day as it is and I would like get some sleep, if you don’t mind. After I shower, that is.” He paused for a moment. “You don’t have to be…?”

Phoenix puffed up again. “N-no! Here is fine!”

“Very well.” He gathered up his bedclothes and entered the bathroom once more, leaving Phoenix alone to stew in his thoughts.

Once in the shower, Miles lingered a bit longer than he normally would. He let the water run over his head, still trying will his brain to stop thinking for once, as all his thoughts just drifted back to the crime and its witness. He rubbed at his arms and an itching, anxious feeling that he couldn’t quite place.

Tomorrow, he reminded himself, shutting off the water. He’d get to the bottom of all of this tomorrow, when he’d be refreshed and in better shape to tackle everything.

Dried and redressed in his pajamas, Miles reentered the bedroom. Phoenix had managed to maneuver the chair away from the desk so he could nest himself in the seat, head supported by the armrest. For a second Miles believed him to be asleep, but his eyes flicked open at the sound of movement.

He finished up his nightly preparations, vaguely aware of the bird watching him and doing his best to ignore him. He climbed into bed and, without so much as a warning to Phoenix, shut off the lamp, dousing the room in darkness.

“Uh… goodnight?”

Miles made a small grunt of acknowledgement, but did not return it. He didn’t want to deal with the firebird any more tonight. He lay there in the darkness, mind still racing with thoughts of missing evidence and unfavorable witnesses until, eventually, sleep felt fit to claim him.

Chapter Text

Miles shot awake in a panic, gripping his chest as he calmed his frantic breathing. He glanced over at his bedside clock. Just past 2 AM; far too early to be awake. Really, he should be used to it by now. The same nightmare had plagued him near nightly for the past fifteen years, rousing him with a cold sweat at all hours of the night.

Although, this time had been slightly different. This time he’d been granted a different dream before the nightmare took over. One of a strange encounter with a beautiful firebird and-

A rustle broke his reverie and Miles looked to the side, where said firebird was staring back at him, wide-eyed, from the chair. 

With a tired sigh, Miles fell back to the pillow. Figures. He hadn’t had a good dream since he was nine.

Phoenix made a few indiscernible noises before he, evidently, deemed it appropriate to speak. “So, um…”

Miles turned his head enough to glower at him. Even though his eyes hadn’t adjusted to the dark, he could still somewhat see Phoenix. His feathers almost had a faint glow to them. Like fire, he noted. Despite the sheer amount of stress the source had managed to instantly bring into his life, it was oddly soothing. But not quite soothing enough to ease his irritation. 

“Don’t. Say. A word,” he growled. “I don’t wish to discuss it. Least of all with you.”

Phoenix let out an offended squawk. “Fine. Sorry for trying to show some concern, jeez.

“I don’t need your concern.” He paused a beat. “Why are you awake?”

“Uh, no… no reason…” he stammered, hiding his face under a wing.

Miles rolled his eyes. Willing to pry into others’ affairs, but not to share. How typical. He turned his back to his temporary guest, roughly throwing the covers over himself. It was a little stifling, especially post panic attack, but anything to block out Phoenix.

He stared into the darkness, trying his best to will away the memories.


He didn’t recall falling back asleep, but the next time he opened his eyes the room was dimly lit by morning’s light. Phoenix was still in the chair, asleep now, head twisted around to rest on his back- it didn’t look especially comfortable, but what did he know about birds?

Quietly, Miles slipped out of bed, hoping to get to his morning routine without interruptions or commentary. The firebird shifted slightly at little noises as the prosecutor moved between his bedroom and ensuite, but by the time he was finished with initial preparations for the day, Phoenix was still dozing.

Miles shook his head the the symbiont as he sent a text to the number he’d recorded the previous night, surprised when he got a follow up almost immediately. The ping of his notification was enough to finally rouse the sleeping firebird. Eyes opened slowly, blinking with confusion before he frantically began scanning his surroundings. He fell upon Miles and relaxed, everything seemingly clicking into place.

“Morning,” he said, yawning.

“We will be leaving immediately after breakfast.” Miles didn’t look up from his phone, where he was inputting the address received from Maya into his GPS app. 

“‘Well good morning to you too, Phoenix. How did you sleep?’” He heard him mutter under his breath, switching his voice to a lower register.

Miles set down his phone, after texting back to expect them within the next hour or so, giving him a hard stare. “I do not sound like that.”

“Sure you don’t.”

The prosecutor decided not to respond, turning heel and exiting the bedroom. He expected Phoenix to hop to the ground and plod along after him, but instead, he pulled himself up to the desk and took off, gliding after him. Before he hit the doorway, Phoenix quickly tucked his wings in to clear the frame. All while not wincing. Miles hated to admit it, but he was impressed.

The hallway, however, was not nearly wide enough to compensate for his wingspan, forcing him to angle himself away from the wall for a sudden landing.

“You certainly recovered quickly,” he remarked once the firebird was firmly on the ground.

“Phoenixes heal fast.” To demonstrate, he took a few strong flaps, then drew in a sharp breath after pushing it a bit too far. “Maybe not that fast,” he amended.

Miles brushed his bangs back into place. “Indeed.” He continued on to the kitchen, vaguely aware of Phoenix tailing behind him.

Once he arrived he immediately set into his routine, filling a kettle and setting it to boil. There was the screech of wood against tile and when he turned around Phoenix was making himself comfortable on the back of yet another chair. He let out a yawn and rubbed at his face.

Figuring the symbiont did not require his attention at the moment, Miles went back to preparations. By the time the kettle finally began to whistle, the cup and tea bag were ready. He poured the water and set in on the table to steep while he checked his emails.

Phoenix watched him blankly for a few minutes before opting to speak up. “I thought you said breakfast.”

Miles looked from him, then his tea cup, and then back again. His brows furrowed. “This is my breakfast.”

Tea?

He took an experimental sip to make sure it’d steeped properly. “Were you expecting coffee like the rest of the braindead masses?”

“What? No, I- oh forget it.”

Shrugging, he returned to checking email. About halfway through a report from the chief prosecutor, he glanced up again to realize that Phoenix’s eyes had never left him.

“Er… would you… like anything?” he asked, unsure of what the proper protocol was for uninvited houseguests, and even less so when said guest was covered in feathers. Did birds like tea? 

“I’m not much of a tea drinker,” he admitted, yawning again. Miles nearly choked. How did he-?! “But I’ve been known to sustain on compliments.”

Unimpressed, Miles took another sip. “Then I suppose you will be going hungry.”

“Wow, so hospitable,” Phoenix replied, though there was no real offense behind his tone. “Finish your breakfast.”

“That’s what I was trying to do,” he grumbled into his tea cup.

He finished up in the kitchen in silence, then shooed the phoenix off of his chair so they could get underway. He directed him to a perch on the coat rack in his entryway and left to gather the things he needed for the day. They reconvened, keys and briefcase in hand.

Miles was about to open his front door when he froze, hand inches away from the knob.

Phoenix cocked his head. “What’s up?”

“Although we are unlikely to run into my neighbors, I realize that some precautions need to be taken to keep you from being seen.”

He wasn’t expecting the snort of laughter from Phoenix.

“What?”

“Did you forget already?”

He didn’t have time for this. “Forget what?”

“Just… hold out your hand.”

Miles cast him a suspicious glare, but followed the instruction. Phoenix tensed, then abruptly launched himself at the prosecutor. Before he could properly react, however, Phoenix began to melt into his hand at the moment of impact. The sensation of something crawling just below the skin crept up his arm and he glanced down just in time to catch his tail disappearing under the cuff of his suit jacket.

Ah, yes. That.

Miles gave an experimental twist of his arm. Now that he had a better grasp of the situation, he could pinpoint the awkward shifts of the symbiont against his skin and an unusual warmth that he seemed to be radiating.

There. It’s like I was never here.

Miles nearly screamed when he heard Phoenix’s voice again. It vibrated through his thoughts, rather than the canal of his ears.

“Why are you in my head?!” Miles exclaimed.

This is how I talk when I’m like this. Didn’t I mention that before?

“No, you most certainly did not!”

Oh. Well, now you know! You can think back to me, so it doesn’t look like you’re talking to yourself.

So this blasted creature could hear his thoughts as well? Was no part of him safe from the symbiont, he pondered, mentally conjuring several unpleasantries to share his distaste for the arrangement.

Uh, Phoenix said (thought?) after a moment, you have to actually think to me. I can’t just read your mind, it has to be directed at me.

Like this? he thought, focusing on where it felt like Phoenix’s voice was coming from.

Yeah! Just like that.

Ah, so Phoenix had only ‘heard’ the last part. Good to know he didn’t have free run of his mind.

Problem of unwanted spectators solved, Miles locked up his condo and made his way to the bright red sports car that was parked outside. It was an older model, but he preferred to spend his money keeping it in top form, rather than buying a brand new vehicle. He looked it over for a moment, making sure nothing was amiss, then got inside.

Once the door was shut, Phoenix detached from him and settled into the passenger seat. He took a minute to observe his surroundings, letting out a low, appraising whistle.

“Mind your talons,” Miles warned, thankful his windows were at least tinted.

“I’m not gonna scratch the upholstery,” he said, craning his neck to watch the prosecutor set up navigation on his phone. Miles pulled the device away and Phoenix settled down in the seat, rolling his eyes.

 Miles took a moment to observe his passenger, briefly entertaining the notion of if a bird could wear a seatbelt, before quickly deciding, no, probably not. Not comfortably anyway. He checked the navigation again. The address he’d been given, according to Phoenix, was actually Mia’s apartment (Maya lived out of town and usually stayed there when she visited, so she had a spare key). It wasn’t too far out of the way, but it wasn’t particularly close either. And, given the general nature of L.A. traffic.

He took once last look at Phoenix before starting the ignition. It was going to be a long ride.


 

Somehow, in a rare stroke of luck for Miles, Phoenix had fallen asleep not long after the car started moving, potentially lulled by the steady thrum of the engine or the classical music station he was listening to.

Occasionally he’d jolt awake at a sharp turn or sudden stop, and an anxious energy would fill the car as he’d ask their immediate location or try to peek at the remaining travel time on the phone. It made Miles thankful whenever he dosed off again.

Eventually they found themselves at a modest apartment complex. Phoenix, who nearly bit his head off out of concern for this girl just last night, gained a sudden hesitance. He fidgeted, shuffling his wings, before he rejoined and directed Miles up to a room on the third floor. 

He raised a fist and gave a few sharp raps on the door, then paused mid knock at the thundering noise from beyond the threshold he got in response. Seconds later the door flew open, revealing a rather frazzled young woman dressed in traditional looking robes that would look extremely out of place if she’d stepped out in public in them.

“Mr. Edgeworth?” she asked hopefully.

Miles had barely gotten a ‘yes’ out, before she was ushering him inside with an unexpectedly strong pull. Phoenix took the moment to creep down to his wrist and release himself once they were securely inside the apartment. He settled down on the arm of the couch, head down, refusing to make eye contact with the young woman. Miles swore he could feel all that nervous energy from the car ride bubbling up to the surface.

“Nick…” she breathed, forgetting about the prosecutor once the firebird revealed himself.

Phoenix didn’t look up. “I’m so, so sorry, Maya. I- I tried to protect her, but-“ He was interrupted when Maya swooped over and snatched him up in a hug, his apologies turning into pained complaints as she squeezed a little too hard for his bruised body.

“Nick you jerk! Don’t you dare scare me like that again!” Maya snapped, protests falling on deaf ears. She moved to flop onto the couch, taking him down with her. “I got dragged straight to the police department so I couldn’t look for you and I was so scared you might-“ Maya’s breath hitched as she cut herself off, burying her face in his feathered scarf.

“Maya…” He spread his wings, draping them across her shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

“That apology better be for making me worry.” She pulled back, giving him a small, teary smile. “I can’t believe you were hanging out with some cute guy while I was being questioned.”

Miles, still lurking by the doorway so as not to intrude upon their reunion, nearly choked on air.

“Th-That’s not-!” Phoenix sputtered. “I- … He-… He found me, first of all.”

She laughed, wiping her tears on her sleeve, then turned to her awkward guest and motioned for him to join.

“Thank you, by the way.” Maya said once he’d taken a seat in the arm chair. “For keeping him safe. I don’t think I could’ve handled losing two people in one night.”

He would’ve granted her a flourish had he not been seated, so he settled for an incline of his head. “Speaking of last night, I did wish to speak to you about whatever you might know.”

Maya shook her head. “I don’t really know anything. Sis called me that morning to hold on to some evidence for her.”

“Evidence? Are you referring to the list of names that Phoenix mentioned?”

“Maybe?” She glanced down at the firebird in her lap, who nodded. “Every so often she gives me evidence to safe keep before a trial starts, but she never really tells me what it is or what the trial’s about. I just knew she put it in a weird clock.”

Clock? Phoenix had told him it was a statue of The Thinker- the very same one he’d seen at the crime scene being filed away as the murder weapon.

Phoenix seemed to pick up on his confusion. “It actually is a clock, Mia just took the gears out. You twist the head and it tells you the time.” Miles raised an eyebrow. “It was a gift from a rather… strange client.”

Maya picked back up. “So that’s all I know. When I showed up last night, everyone was outside because of a fire alarm and I couldn’t find Sis and Nick anywhere. When I asked one of the officers if anyone had seen her, they told me what happened and then dragged me off. And I told them pretty much what I told you and they still spent hours questioning me! I felt like a suspect!” She grabbed onto Phoenix again, pulling him to her chest like a large stuffed animal. 

He squirmed in protest. “Ow! Maya, not so tight!”

“Oh don’t be such a baby, that doesn’t hurt.”

“It does when you’re still healing!”

She released him immediately. “Oh, sorry Nick! Did it… was it from-?”

He nodded, hunkering down to repeat everything he’d said to Miles the previous night. By the time he was done, Maya was close to tears once more, hand covering her mouth.

“Sis…” 

Twisting his body around, Phoenix pressed his forehead to hers. “I really am sorry, I-“

She shushed him. “It’s not your fault, Nick. It’s White! First Mom and now..” She looked to Phoenix, pleadingly. “Why, Nick? Why didn’t you two tell me the evidence was about him?!”

Guiltily, he looked down at his feet. “Mia wanted to keep you safe in case… in case something went wrong, I guess. I think, if she’d had a choice, she probably wouldn’t have told me either. You know how she was.”

“Unfortunately,” Maya sighed. “But I don’t understand. Sis was always so careful, so how did he find out? He even knew about the clock.”

“That, I’m still not sure about.”

“I might have an idea,” Miles pitched in, feeling a little awkward for interrupting. He’d been going through the facts during their heart-to-heart and another loose thread was starting to connect. “Ms. Fey, how did your sister contact you about holding evidence?”

“Over the phone, why?”

“I see. And was it, by chance, the office phone that she used to call.”

“Um…” She paused a moment to think. “Yeah. It was, actually.”

“Just as I expected. The investigative team couldn’t figure out why someone had dismantled that phone- criminals usually just cut the cords. However, had it been wire-tapped previously…”

“…then he would have needed to remove it!” Phoenix finished, sweeping a wing through his crest. “That’s why the phone wasn’t working last night! He must’ve done it after he knocked me out.”

That surprised Miles. “You knew it wasn’t working?”

“I tried to call 9-1-1 first, but the line was dead.” Miles gave him the skeptical ‘you-can-work-a-phone?’ look, which he ignored. “That’s why I panicked and pulled the fire alarm.”

At last things were falling into place. Mia Fey had been researching Redd White for years and, somewhere along the way, he found out. He’d kept tabs on her, even tapped her phone, and laid low until yesterday- when he had an opportunity to destroy her and her research before it could be used against him.

“But why bother to remove the wiretap?” Maya asked.

“I’m sure White didn’t want to risk it being found and potentially used to trace back to him,” Miles explained. “Currently the only thing tying him to this murder is sitting on your lap.”

“But doesn’t that mean Nick’s in danger too?!” She grabbed on to him once more, though not as hard judging from the lack of objections.

Phoenix shrugged. “He definitely didn’t know I existed before last night. I was standing on the desk when he came in, pretending to be fake, and he passed me right by. And I don’t think I spoke in front of him so hopefully he just thinks Mia had a protective pet parrot. You might be in more danger than me.”

“H-huh? Me? But I don’t know anything!”

Phoenix lowered his gaze. “But does he know that?”

“He might.” Miles interjected again. “He has connections to the police, correct? I’d suspect he’d check with them rather than reveal himself, though I cannot say for sure.”

Phoenix sighed. “I wish Mia were here, she’d know what to do. Hey, Maya? You don’t think you could…?”

Sheepishly, she looked away. “You know I’m still in training…”

“Right. Sorry.”

“Training?” Miles asked.

“As a spirit medium,” Maya answered. “The power runs in the Fey family, the women in particular.”

Miles froze at the words. 

“That’s sorta why Sis was investigating him in the first place. The police were out of leads on a murder case and got desperate, so they contacted our mother. She channeled the victim and got a name, but the man was innocent. Then White found out about the consultation and leaked it to the press. Mom ended up fleeing the village because of it.”

The prosecutor could feel his chest tightening more and more with every word. No. It couldn’t possibly be!

Could it?

Steeling himself, he asked a question he knew he was going to regret. “If you don’t mind, about how long ago did this occur?”

Maya thought it over. “Let’s see… about 15 years ago.”

Miles tried to stifle his reaction, but it was enough to catch Phoenix’s attention. The firebird cocked his head in a concerned manner, but Miles brushed it off, mouthing ‘it’s nothing’ back to him.

Phoenix’s expression said that he wasn’t buying that for a second.

“In any case,” he said, choosing not to bring it up for now, “asking Mia for help is off the table.”

That option was always going to be off the table are far as Miles was concerned, still a little shaken by the bomb that just got dropped. “I’m going to return to the crime scene. Now that I know more there may be something that got overlooked.” He stood. “I’ll be in touch in case anything comes up.”

“Edgeworth, wait!” He stopped in his path to the door, turning around. Phoenix squirmed out of Maya’s arms and hopped over to the edge of the couch. “Take me with you.”

“What?”

“I want to help take White down so, please. Let me stay with you a little while longer. I think I remember a few names, and I did help Mia with some of her research so I can at least point you in the right direction.”

He thought it over. He still didn’t quite understand what the phoenix was, and found several aspects of him unsettling. Leaving him here would limit those interactions considerably.

On the other hand, keeping him nearby would make him a far more efficient source of information, rather than doing everything over the phone.

And if it got him the conviction sooner…

“I suppose I can’t object to that reasoning.”

Phoenix beamed, then turned to the young woman behind him. “Maya? That’s okay with you, right?”

She nodded, giving him a sly look that was lost on Miles, but left Phoenix bristling. The girl laughed again, leaning forward to pet down his feathers. “I should probably go back to Kurain, anyway. News travels very slowly back home and… they need to know.”

The two hugged again. “We’re gonna get him, I promise,” Phoenix said, pulling away.

“I know you will.”

Everyone bid their farewells before the two returned to Miles’ car. He changed his navigation settings back to the crime scene as Phoenix resettled into the passenger seat.

“Sooooo, you wanna tell me what that was about earlier?”

Miles spared him a brief glance as he put the car into reverse. “And, pray tell, exactly what do you mean by ‘that’?”

“The way you reacted to Maya’s past.”

He switched back to drive. “It’s nothing, Phoenix. I was merely startled by the mention of spirit channeling.”

“Uh-huh, sure. And I’m a canary.”

“If that means you’re going to sing, I humbly request that you spare me the moment to acquire earplugs.”

“Edgeworth,” he said flatly, brushing off the jab, “I can literally tell when something’s up with you.”

“Really?” he said dubiously. “I recall you telling me how you couldn’t read my mind earlier.”

“It’s not mind reading, it’s an empathy link. It mostly just works for strong emotions, and Mia was always better at reading mine than I was hers, but it’s still part of this. Even if we’re not physically touching.”

Suddenly all his misplaced anxiety made sense.

“It hasn’t even been five minutes and already I’m beginning to regret taking you with me. Why do you keep neglecting to inform me of these matters?”

“It wasn’t important at the time.” Miles scoffed. “Now, you wanna tell me what’s up, or should I form my own theories? I’m thinking ‘old haunted house and a seance gone wrong’.”

“Why would you- no. Nevermind. I don’t want anymore access as to what goes on in your head than I already have.”

“Am I close? I'll just keep guessing otherwise."

“If you must know,” Miles snapped as they pulled up to a red light, “my father was murdered… 15 years ago. The police ran out of leads during the investigation and…”

“…consulted a spirit channeler,” Phoenix filled in. “So you think…?”

“The man they had identified was found not guilty in court. I highly doubt this is coincidence. What is coincidence, however,” he said as he caught Phoenix’s beak about to open out of the corner of his eye, “is the fact that I have been put on this case. Our shared backgrounds have nothing to do with proving the murder and thus will not be discussed.”

Phoenix likely had his reservations, but the tone of finality Miles had used was enough to make him hold onto them. Miles shifted the radio volume up as the light turned green and they continued on their way.


“It’s weird, being back here,” Phoenix stated, flying over to Mia’s desk. Unlike last night, the crime scene was empty sans a few officers hanging around the entrance, who were informed that Miles did not wish to be disturbed during his investigation.

“I keep expecting to hear her voice from the other room, or to turn around and see her standing there, reading a case file.” To demonstrate, he physically turned around, then gasped loudly. “Oh no, Charley!”

“Charley…?”

He watched Phoenix fly over and land beside the overturned potted plant he’d noticed before.

“He must’ve gotten knocked over during the scuffle.”

“Why does the plant have a name?”

“Because Mia really cared about him. He’s practically the firm’s mascot.” 

“And what does that make you?” Miles asked.

“Ignoring that.” Phoenix made an effort to kick some of the spilt dirt back into the pot, only for it to topple back out. “Poor thing…”

It did look rather pitiful, he admitted. Phoenix made one more failed attempt at the dirt before sighing and moving to an overturned desk chair. Miles replaced him, bending down and pulling ‘Charley’ back into an upright position. The dirt, he left on the floor. There was enough in the pot and he wasn’t about to move it with his hands.

“What are you doing?”

“I want to see how the scene looked before the crime took place so I can visualize it,” the prosecutor explained. “They took plenty of pictures last night, so it’s safe to move things.”

“You are surprisingly nice for what the rumors say.”

“I am not being nice, this is practical. Now are you going to tell me how the furniture was arranged or not?”

Phoenix laughed lightly, then moved back to the desk where he had a better vantage point for directing. 

A few minutes later and the office looked like a functional space once again.

“There’s really nothing we can do about the lamp,” Phoenix commented, gesturing at the glass still scattered haphazardly about. He grimaced. “I think that’s what he knocked me into.”

Miles blanched. “That was a lamp?”

The firebird let out a chuckle. “She’d just bought it too. The receipt’s probably around here somewhere…”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Proof of purchase of lighting fixtures didn’t seem relevant to the task at hand.  

Moving about the room, Miles began to visualize the order of events. White was walking in through the door, Phoenix roughly where he was now, and Mia somewhere in the window’s line of sight. He saw the struggle as Phoenix flew to her aid, his inevitable fall, and the killing blow, her body crumpling where the chalk lines sat. A useful exercise, had he been working with less information, but it wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know after two tellings of the story.

He moved closer to the desk to look at things from a different angle, when something caught his eye. Several papers lay stacked, currently pinned underneath the firebird.

“What are those about?”

Phoenix looked down, then scooted to the side so he could actually read. “Oh! That was the case Mia was going to take to court in a few days. They’ll probably be reassigning it soon.”

He scooped the paperwork up. The defendant was unremarkable- a petty thief who’d turned a robbery into a murder and was caught trying to sell the victim’s expensive camera at a pawn shop. The victim, a one Pepper Rozzi, was far more interesting.

“She worked for BlueCorp?”

“Yup. Our client just found the camera in an alley and figured she’d make a quick buck. The real killer was out for revenge.” Miles flipped a few pages to Mia’s handwritten notes. “Turns out Rozzi had taken some… inconvenient photos of him that he was being threatened with. Mia was going to use that to bring to light BlueCorp’s blackmailing and hopefully draw White out.”

Interesting.

Tutting, Miles wagged a finger near his temple. “Once again, Phoenix, you deny me pertinent information.”

“H-huh?” He squinted at the pages as though he’d never seen them before. “Is Mia’s case really gonna help with this?”

“Perhaps.” Miles pulled out his phone, making a quick call to the prosecutor’s office to inform them he’d be coming in a little later and where he was heading. Once he was done, he addressed Phoenix. “More importantly, I now have an excuse to speak to White in person.” 


Upon arrival to BlueCorp, an atrociously pink woman was waiting for him at the reception desk. She looked up from her computer as he approached, flashing him her largest, most assuredly fake, smile.

“Welcome to BlueCorp, how may I help you?” she… purred? Miles blinked. He must have heard that wrong.

“I’m from the prosecutor’s office. By any chance is Mr. White available? I have a slightly confidential matter to discuss with him.”

“Ooh, ‘confidential’. You lawyers with your big… vocabularies,” she giggled, leaning forward in a way that was surely not good for her spine. “I like that in a man.”

Phoenix made a gagging noise for reasons unknown. What was wrong with appreciating one’s mastery of language?

“Might I be able to speak with him?” he asked again.

“Oh of course~ His office is right on the top floor. I’ll let him know you’re coming.”

Miles gave her a bow. “Thank you. I shall not keep him long.”

“I’ll be waiting.” The pink lady waved him goodbye, winking at his retreating form.

You must get that a lot, huh? Phoenix remarked. You didn’t even react.

Miles paused to consider the odd statement. Secretaries? The prosecutor’s office had one, but he didn’t interact with her much.

I don’t know to what you are referring, he decided to respond.

Seriously? he asked in a disbelieving tone.

Unless you are referencing how pink she was, which you could not possibly know unless there’s something else you haven’t told me, then yes. ‘Seriously’.

The firebird was silent for a long moment. How pink are we talking? he finally asked. Pinker than your suit?

He resisted to urge to react aloud to the personal slight. My suit is wine red, thank you very much.

On his back, Phoenix made a slight motion- probably a shrug. Whatever helps you sleep at night. Then a beat. You really didn’t pick up on any of that?

Miles went back to ignoring his companion, making his way to upper floor access. He brushed past the elevators entirely, heading for the door tucked away in a corner labeled ‘stairs’.

The doorway opened with the creak of infrequent use. He stepped in, the click of his shoes echoing throughout the stairwell. After a while, either from his movement or the noise, Phoenix caught on.

Are you taking the stairs?

Yes.

Why?! Didn’t she say he was on the top floor?

As I recall, you are not the one doing the walking.

You didn’t answer my question.

It’s good exercise, he lied. I walk up 12 flights of stairs daily to reach my own office.

Phoenix made a shuddering noise. Why… Though he didn’t sound like he expected a response this time, so Miles didn’t offer one. The less the firebird knew about his personal life, the better.

True to what the secretary said, Redd White’s office was on the top floor. It was also the only office on the top floor. 

I should just fly in there and scare him. Maybe he’ll confess, Phoenix offered as they stood outside the large door.

You most certainly will not be doing that, he answered as he knocked to announce his arrival.

A boisterous male voice ushered them in and the sound of it sparked an ire in the firebird, the empathy link kicking in. Miles made a mental note to end this interview quickly as he entered the room.

Despite being named Redd White, the man waiting on the other side was almost as atrociously pink as his secretary. He grinned and made a show of flashing several large rings. “Welcome! Please furnish me with the title of your personage!”

What an odd way of phrasing that. No wonder the woman downstairs had such an appreciation for large vocabularies.

“Miles Edgeworth. Prosecutor.” He stepped forward to grasp the hand offered to him, before realizing that White had, bizarrely, put out his left hand. His eyes trailed over to the right and found the explanation firmly wrapped up in bandages.

White caught his gaze and shifted it slightly out of view.  “I had a most unpropitious encounter with an astonishingly sharp item,” he explained. “The details need not concern you.”

The remark was not missed by Phoenix.

Is his hand messed up?!

It is bandaged, Miles answered cautiously, then had to stifle a startled jerk when his companion started to laugh.

Good, he said, sounding incredibly pleased with himself.

“Now, might I be inclined to ask of the subject matter of your visit today?” White had moved around to sit behind his desk. Another gaudy thing to add to the steadily increasing list.

“Someone from your organization, a Ms. Pepper Rozzi, was murdered fairly recently.”

“Yes. I personally was not familiarized with her, but is a shame none the less.” He kicked his feet up on his desk. “Though I thought her murderer had already been apprehended.”

“Unfortunately, there has been another murder- the defense attorney on this case.”

It was slight, but Miles noticed his smile falter. “I see… However, I fail to understand what I am being asked on this matter.”

You know exactly why, you bastard, Phoenix growled, and Miles was thankful that only he could hear him.

“We are merely looking into anyone who could point us towards a lead. Someone close to Ms. Rozzi, for example, who might not want her killer to receive a proper defense.”

“Yes, yes, of course! Splendiferous! How resourceful, you thought to utilize my vast resources. Alas, even my erudition will of be no use to you.”

Phoenix snorted. The man was rather prideful, it seemed, though perhaps that could be to his advantage.

“The local precinct speaks so highly of your company’s services, too. A shame you can’t be of any use. Well, I won’t continue to waste anymore time here.”

He turned to leave, striking up a fuss in the peanut gallery. You’re leaving already? But we didn’t learn anything useful.

Be patient…

“Mr. Edgeworth, was it not? Am I correct in assuming, then, that police have no leads?”

Miles looked over his shoulder and smirked. “Why would I give you that information when you have nothing to offer me in return?”

“A businessman!” White brought his hands gently together. “Excellent. I guarantee I have much at beck-and-call to give in exchange. Police records are highly lucrative in this industry as you might have postulated.”

He turned back to the door, one hand on the handle. “I’ll be in touch.” 

So now what? We didn’t learn anything we didn’t already know, Phoenix stated as they began their long descent. 

It’s not about what we know, it’s about what White knows. Or wants to know, more precisely.

He could practically hear the gears whirring. I don’t follow.

White needs to know whether or not I truly have information regarding Mia Fey’s murder, and if it regards to him. However, because I am known to not trust the police with key evidence, his only option is to confront me directly. Thus, if he acts upon it, he risks unnecessarily drawing his name into the investigation.

Things were clicking into place. That’s why you called your office before we left. If something happened now it’d officially tie him to Mia! Phoenix realized. But, isn’t that putting yourself at risk, especially after Mia…

No more than your inane plan of barging in and ‘scaring’ him, he retorted, then continued before the firebird had a chance to defend himself. My profession forces me to take risks- I regularly deal with criminals who’d sooner see me dead than go to jail. However, if I calculate the risks and use them to my advantage, I may just lure my opponent into a trap. It’s like chess, my dear firebird.

I always did like checkers better, Phoenix sighed. 

Why am I not surprised, he said as they returned to the bottom floor, ignoring whatever bizarre gesture the receptionist was making as she thanked him for his visit.

The firebird was back out once they were in the car, looking a little puffier than usual, though his feathers began to settle back down as BlueCorp started shrinking away in the distance.

“Hey, Edgeworth?” he asked after a while, “I just remembered something you mentioned earlier. Why don’t you trust the police with key evidence?”

Miles groaned internally at the memory. “Because I have, more than once, had detectives lose evidence before. I, naturally, won my cases regardless, but they would have been exponentially shorter if those decisive pieces had not been misplaced before trial.”

Phoenix was briefly silent. “Okay. That was not the answer I expected.”

He rolled his eyes. “You are referring to my ‘reputation’, I presume? If the press wishes to exaggerate my actions, then so be it. It’s not worth my time to correct my public image.”

“Yeah, I’m… starting to get that impression.”

“Although I do enjoy seeing the defense squirm when I bring out evidence to finally condemn their clients.”

The firebird sighed dramatically, pressing his head against the dashboard. “You know every time I start to think you’re not so bad, you go and say stuff like that.” He picked himself up, looking over. “But you are going out of your way to help me, so… thank you.”

“I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this because I despise criminals.”

“And that’s why you’re putting up with me, right? Instead of making me stay with Maya.” Miles scowled and gripped the wheel tighter. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell the press.”

“I told you, I’m not-“

“Edgeworth.” Phoenix cut him off. “Thank you.”

The prosecutor spared him a brief glance, but Phoenix had gone back to staring out of the window. He wanted to object, he was only doing his job after all, but the words weren’t coming to him.

Miles took in a deep breath and focused on the road ahead. He supposed, even if it was his duty as a prosecutor, being thanked wasn’t all that bad.

Chapter Text

There was something oddly fascinating about watching the firebird do things designed for beings of a drastically different body shape. They were a little over a week into their strange partnership and, although Miles was finding himself disturbingly accustomed to Phoenix’s presence, every now and then he had to stop and watch him function.

For example; the firebird could write, and the mere fact that someone - presumably Mia Fey - had taken the time to teach the avian this skill astounded him. His penmanship was understandably atrocious, given how he had to grip the implement in his beak, but fine for brief notations. Miles just hoped no one would notice or question the indentations his stationary had accumulated.

Currently Phoenix was making a show of flitting about Miles’ desk, gently hooking his talons between pages as he read through the morning paper. One false move and those sharp claws could easily shred through an article, but he did it with a practiced ease. Although Miles would prefer it if that energy were being put towards case files rather than news - the entire reason the symbiont was even in his office to begin with. 

Phoenix had been able to reproduce two names from Mia Fey’s list; a local politician and a singer, both suicide victims who, despite evidence of a potential suicide note being written, left behind no explanation to why they took their lives. Since then the two had pulled out several reports involving similar circumstances and were in the process of seeking out connections between them, half of which were currently piled on the corner of the desk waiting for Phoenix’s review.

“Hey, Miles.”

Alongside taking over his life, Phoenix had decided they were on a first name basis somewhere around day 3.

‘You call me by my first name,’ he had explained, and before Miles could point out he had no last name (because why on earth would a bird require a surname?), he went on saying that it felt too formal for their situation and by then he didn’t have the energy to argue with the symbiont over it. So Miles it was.

“What is it?” he asked from his spot on the couch. On his laptop screen was a record on a ‘Celeste Inpax’, who he was still debating over being a potential lead.

“Did you know they moved on with the Cowl trial?”

Deciding to add her to the list he’d have Phoenix go over, the prosecutor looked up and raised an eyebrow, wondering why the firebird seemed to think that name held any significance to him. Phoenix sighed and picked up the newspaper he’d been perusing, flying over to practically shove it in Miles’ face. He removed it from his beak, shooting a glare over top the paper.

“Mia’s last trial,” he explained as Miles scanned for the article in question. “They assigned a new defense attorney and came to a verdict yesterday.”

The page Miles had been presented with was a continuation, but he was able to get the gist of it. The defendant, Wren Cowl (he vaguely recalled reading the name now), had been found not guilty despite complications with the trial due to the murder of her previous attorney.

Miles looked back to him. “Is there a point you’re trying to make? Should I congratulate you for having an innocent client?”

Phoenix gave him an exasperated expression. “They’re claiming Mia’s murder had no connection, even though it’s still being investigated! And there’s no mention of Rozzi working for BlueCorp at all!”

Was that all? Miles folded the newspaper and set it off to the side. “It’s as though Redd White doesn’t want his company associated with the woman he killed in a cover-up. What a concept.”

Phoenix threw his head back in disgust and settled into a ball of aggravated feathers at the end of the couch.

“If you’re quite finished, then come help me.”

Phoenix continued the dramatics, dragging himself over in an exaggerated manner so he could see the laptop screen. This involved sticking his face right in front of Miles’ fanning out his crest as much as possible.

“What d’ya got?”

Miles nudged him to the side. “You can read.”

Phoenix flattened down his crest as he glared, then looked back. "Inpax, huh? Name isn't familiar. She was a manager though, which would be the type of person he'd go after -" Phoenix was about to go on, but was interrupted by a shout from the other side of the door.

“Mr. Edgeworth, sir!”

Phoenix made a panicked noise and dove onto him mere seconds before Gumshoe barged into the office. He drew to a halt in the center of the the room, giving a prosecutor a salute.

Miles rubbed his temples with one hand. “Detective. How often must I remind you to knock before you enter?” It would be one matter if this had been a recent development due to acquiring the symbiont, but Miles had always asked that courtesy of his subordinate.

Gumshoe slid his hand back to scratch nervously at the back of his neck. “Sorry, sir.”

“What did you want?”

The detective quickly produced a folder from inside his coat. “A body was found at one of the local clinics. The director’s already confessed and been taken in.”

“I’m assuming this is more than just malpractice if it’s being brought to my attention,” he said as he accepted the file from his subordinate. A death at a clinic was, by no means, unusual. A death caused by several strategic lacerations to key arteries, as described by the initial observations, was more cause for alarm.

The crime had occurred sometime last night; the victim was a local developer, Hugh Tracks. According to the suspect, Wilhelmina Hickfield, the clinic hadn’t being doing well financially and Tracks had been aggressively pushing for her to sell. Yesterday, he’d been admitted to the clinic due to an accident and she seized the opportunity.

Open and shut, as far as Miles was concerned.

“I’ll question the suspect later today,” he said, setting his laptop aside so he could move to put the files on his desk. He made a dismissive gesture to show the detective he was free to go. Gumshoe saluted again and was out the door.

Is he always like this? Phoenix asked, shifting around from his position on his arm.

Wait, he warned the firebird, just as Gumshoe backtracked almost immediately, neglecting to knock once more.

“Also, sir,” he began, shrinking a bit under the disapproving scowl, “the Head Prosecutor wants to see you.” 

“Thank you, detective.” At his tone, Gumshoe, in a rare moment of situational awareness, dismissed himself.

Miles waited until he was sure Gumshoe was out of sight before exiting.

So, the Head Prosecutor? Why do I feel like I know who that is… Phoenix offhandedly mentioned after a while, likely just to break to silence.

You should know, given that you lived and worked with a defense attorney for… how long? Miles said, remembering there was still much about Phoenix’s history that he didn’t know. How old he was, for example, and how much of that had been spent with Mia Fey. The almost reverential way he spoke of her sounded like she’d saved him from something…

I never said I didn’t know, Phoenix protested, no attempt made to acknowledge the question. Just… refresh my memory.

Miles sighed. Lana Skye. She’s held the position nearly 2 years now.

He suddenly got an odd sensation from Phoenix - embarrassment, perhaps? He still wasn’t very good at this reading emotions business. He’d question it later, however, as he was now standing outside the door of the woman in question.

Unlike his subordinate, Miles knocked to announce his arrival, and entered only when given the go ahead.

“Punctual as ever, Mr. Edgeworth,” Lana Skye said as he entered. Her back was to him, arms crossed behind her as she gazed out a window to the city. “I trust the report was safely delivered to you.”

“I have received it, though I doubt that is the reason you’ve called for me.”

“Yes, there was something I’d been meaning to ask you.” Her voice was soft and hesitant, very unusual for the cool, composed Head Prosecutor he was used to interacting with. “You had a chance to look into the Mia Fey murder, correct?”

Phoenix made a noise - a strained hum was the best way Miles could describe it. He wasn’t even sure the firebird was aware he was doing it.

“I’ve looked at the crime scene a few times.”

“I see.” Skye turned to face him, though kept her eyes toward the skyline. “And you’re still looking into it?”

“The investigation has been… slow,” he answered truthfully. “If you are concerned that I’ll be distracted from this latest assignment, I assure you-“

“No. No that... wasn’t it.” Seemingly subconsciously, she had begun to toy with the end of her scarf. Catching herself, she let it fall back behind her back. “I know you’re capable of handling multiple cases.”

“An honor, coming from you,” he said, masking his confusion. He’d never seen the Head Prosecutor this distracted before.

“I do not wish to keep you from your duties any longer, Mr. Edgeworth. I wish you luck bringing her killer to justice.”

Luck? Since when did she wish anybody 'luck'? He gave her his trademark bow and exited without word, still processing his superior’s odd behavior. She was normally rather distant, rarely expressing anything outside of her own authority over the prosecutor’s office. 

And yet Miles had just witnessed her falter for the first time in two years.

So she does still care…

It was quiet and probably unintentional (Phoenix, as he’d gathered, often said things he thought were entirely contained within his mind), but it, like most things the firebird did, immediately raised a few questions. Did Phoenix know the Head Prosecutor?

He decided against the idea. Phoenix’s anecdotes were limited to the Fey sisters, so it felt safe to assume they were the only people he’d directly interacted with. Though that didn’t account for those he might have indirectly encountered.

Was Ms. Fey on familiar terms with Head Prosecutor Skye?

Phoenix made a startled squawk and he felt wings flapping - he definitely wasn’t meant to have heard that.

You… could call it that, he said after a moment’s hesitation, as if he was deciding whether or not to answer. They hadn’t spoken since she moved to the prosecutor’s office, though.

So they were friends, Miles figured. An unusual friendship, given the career paths, but not entirely unheard of he supposed.

The humming resumed. Yes… ‘friends’… Nothing else going on there. Just gals bein' pals.

Miles sighed as he returned to his office. As much as he loved Phoenix’s snide remarks, a straight answer would be nice.

“I don’t know why I bother talking to you,” he muttered as he settled down behind his desk.

“Because the only other person you have to talk to is that detective.” Phoenix had taken the verbal admonishment as a sign that the coast was clear and flown over to the couch. Despite his sass, he was looking slightly fluffier than he’d been before aforementioned detective’s intrusion. And he was already a little perturbed then. “What’s his name again? Gumtree?”

“Gumshoe,” he corrected. “And at least he doesn’t give me lip.”

“What ‘lip’?” The firebird clicked his beak noisily. 

Miles scoffed in disgust. Hilarious.

“I only really knew her as Detective Skye, but she and Mia apparently met back in college,” Phoenix went on. The prosecutor turned, surprised he was getting an actual response (He also made a note of that extra detail he let slip). “Whenever she was lead detective on one of Mia’s cases, they usually wound up going out after trials. And then sometimes back to each other’s places…” 

He trailed off, staring pointedly at Miles’ bookshelf, but there was something suggestive in his tone and the way he was almost trying to hide his head in his ruff- like he was embarrassed by the memory…

Oh.

Oh.

Miles coughed into his hand, coloring slightly. “Yes, well. That does put a few things into a new perspective, although that was more than I ever needed to know of my superior’s personal life.”

The firebird snorted. “At least you weren’t there.” He backtracked once he noticed the prosecutor’s scandalized look. “Not like, there there. I was always hiding in another room, but the empathy link…” He made a gesture with his wing and tried to burrow further into his own feathers. “I never told Mia how awkward it was cause Lana made her happy. She’d done so much for me, I could stand being flustered during their ‘meetups’.”

“How noble,” Miles murmured, trying to get the idea of his boss’s liaisons out of his head.

“I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or sincere, so I’ll chose to believe the latter.”

“We have established that Head Prosecutor Skye has a personal interest in the case, let us not discuss it any further.” He reached for the recently delivered files that lay on his desk, putting them back into a single stack.

“No objections here.” Phoenix found his way back over to the desk, looking down at the papers that now lay near his talons. “Is this the client?”

Miles gave him a look. “Do try to remember that I am a prosecutor.”

“Sorry, force of habit.”

He began reading the report, but Miles had started pulling the papers out from under him, putting them back into the folder. Phoenix huffed and retreated to the desk chair, sulking.

“We are going to the detention center to question her in person,” he explained, standing up to move the file to his briefcase.

He hopped back to the desk. “And then we’re going to check out the crime scene?”

Miles considered him for a moment, like he’d grown a second head on top of being a mythical creature. “Of course not.”

“What?!” He flapped his wings in surprise, blowing the remaining paperwork to the floor.

“The police conduct their investigation and report their findings back to me,” he said, glaring as he picked up his work. “I don’t need to be physically present.”

Phoenix gave him a hard stare. “Then why were you at Mia’s office?”

He slammed his hand down on the desk, pinning down one of the pages and startling the firebird. “That was for reasons beyond my control.”

Phoenix gave himself a moment for the feathers to settle again. “Okay. Jeez, why are you so touchy?”

Miles felt the retort coming, but held his tongue. He had things to do at the moment, he could correct the phoenix’s misguided perceptions later. He held out an arm and Phoenix picked up on the cue and flew over to him, though not without sticking his tongue out first (Miles blinked. Another for the list of things he didn’t know Phoenix could do).

Childish, he chided.

Touchy, Phoenix countered.

Yes, you have already made that opinion known.

The symbiont made a grumbling noise. Oh, let’s just go talk to this client.

Suspect, he corrected.

Phoenix didn’t talk to him the entire drive down to the detention center.

 


 

Miles dismissed the officer standing guard as he entered the interrogation room. An older woman greeted him from across the table, head tilted down, her wispy greying hair falling loose from a messy bun. She didn’t look capable of murder, but then again, they never did.

“Director Wilhelmina Hickfield,” he said, taking a seat at the other end of the table. He set his briefcase to the side and took out her file.

“Yes, that’s me,” she said softly, toying with the cuffs on her wrists, “though I suppose it’s just plain old ‘Billy’ now.”

“I’m Miles Edgeworth, the prosecutor for your upcoming trial. I understand that you have already confessed your guilt.”

“Yes I did. I did it, I mean,” she blurted. “I killed him. In cold blood, no less.”

She’s innocent, Phoenix said immediately.

Phoenix, do you understand what a confession is?

Of course I do. She’s lying! he insisted. I just don’t know why yet…

Miles took in a deep breath. “If you would, explain your motive.” For his sake as well as the idiot bonded to him.

“Hugh Tracks was a local land developer and he’d been bullying us for a while to sell. The clinic, admittedly, hasn’t been doing that well as of late. We’ve been seeing fewer and fewer patients.

“Unexpectedly, Mr. Tracks became one of our patients around 9 pm last night. He’d taken a nasty fall at one of the parks and, since we were close by, he was rushed in. However, after initial treatments were done, he was scheduled for transfer to his usual doctor in the morning. And I… well… I-I saw an opportunity that would slip away! I tried to convince him to leave us alone and he… wasn’t going to, so…” She was twisting her cuffs around anxiously now, likely rubbing the skin beneath raw.

Hold it! Phoenix practically shouted in his head. She tried talking to him?

That is what she just said, he snapped, annoyed at the constant interruptions.

But that’s impossible. Didn’t the autopsy report say he was still under anesthesia when he was killed?

Miles resisted rolling his eyes in front of the suspect. He shouldn’t have let Phoenix read over the files in the car. That does not absolve her of murder. She still has the motive, opportunity, capability, and, need I remind you, a confession.

It’s still a contradiction. She would’ve known he couldn’t respond.

Perhaps she didn’t know? She might not have been the one treating him.

The director didn’t know? Don’t those kind of decisions have to go by her first?

A lie then, to make her crime seem more justified.

“Mr. Edgeworth?”

He snapped his attention back to Hickfield, who was looking at him in concern. Realizing his internal conversation was translating to an awkward, extended silence, he cleared his throat.

Ask her, Phoenix urged.

If it’ll get him to stop… “Director Hickfield, the victim was under anesthesia at the time of death, how could you have spoken to him?”

Her fidgeting hands stopped suddenly, cuffs falling noisily against the table. “Oh my, he was, wasn’t he? We had him put under in the ambulance because of the concussion. That… hmm…”

Miles crossed his arms. “Obviously you didn’t speak to him at all before the murder.”

“Y-yeah, you got me! I figured he wouldn’t change his mind, so I just acted. I couldn’t afford to wait.”

Satisfied? he asked Phoenix.

No. She’s still lying.

You can’t prove that.

Well… you can’t prove she’s telling the truth!

I can’t, he admitted, but I also cannot provide a reason for her to lie in this situation. Can you?

He didn’t answer.

Miles returned the documents to his briefcase and began to stand. “Director Hickfield, if you haven’t already been informed, the trial is tomorrow. I may be back to question you further.”

She nodded sadly. “I… understand.”

Seeing no need for additional conversation, the prosecutor signaled for the guard and exited the room.

She’s covering for someone, Phoenix said suddenly. It took Miles a second to remember he had even asked him a question. Maybe she’s protecting an employee, or being blackmailed.

Blackmail. There was that word again. You aren’t suggesting White is involved?

Phoenix laughed. Oh if only I were that lucky. It might not even be blackmail, I just don’t think we have all the facts.

We have a police report and an autopsy report. Both of which should be up to date.

But we haven’t seen the scene for ourselves, the symbiont pointed out.

Miles nodded to one of the officers as he left the building. You won’t let this rest until I investigate, will you?

You catch on quick.

He paused for a second to fish his cars keys out of his pocket. Fine. We shall visit the crime scene. Phoenix let out a quiet cheer. But only so I can prove that you’re wrong.

Whatever makes you happy.

 


 

Hickfield Clinic looked more like the precinct than a hospital upon his arrival, bustling with police. The usual residents had all been transferred to another facility that wasn’t quite prepared for the increased workload, putting on the pressure to conclude the investigation and pending trial swiftly.

Several officers reacted in surprise to his presence - he hardly ever visited crime scenes and to be spotted at two in a row?! Miles’ scowl, however, dared any of them to make a comment. They didn’t.

“What a surprise, sir!”

Except for him, of course.

“Detective,” Miles acknowledged as the large man rushed over to him.

“Are you helping us with the investigation?” he asked excitedly.

“You shouldn’t need my help if you’re doing your jobs properly. I’m merely here to confirm something for myself.” 

“Oh.” Gumshoe’s face fell briefly, but he perked right back up. “Well, I’m here if you need anything.”

“Noted.” 

He took a look around the lobby they were currently standing in. The report didn’t include a room number, but the clinic was relatively small so he was sure he could find it by tracing the paths of the various officers walking about. He set off toward the hallway that was gathering the most foot traffic, fully aware of Gumshoe tottering along close behind. Miles wasn’t going to ask the detective for directions, but there were other ways make use of him if he insisted upon hanging around.

“Detective, do you know where I might find either of our witnesses?” According to the report, there happened to be two other people (aside from overnight patients who had various injuries and sicknesses as alibis) on the premises late last night; Dr. East, the assistant director, and a second Dr. Hickfield, the son of the accused. While Hickfield the second didn’t seem connected outside of being in the building at the time, East was actually the one who called the police. Statements from both had been brief in the report, so he supposed it couldn’t hurt to get their full stories before court.

"Oh! I just saw Dr. Hickfield not too long ago. I’ll go get him for you.” He scurried off to fulfill the request.

Do you just give him tasks so he’ll leave? Phoenix asked.

I tasked him with nothing, he took that upon himself, Miles answered, not denying it either.

Gumshoe returned a few moments later escorting a man around Mies’ age - maybe older -  who looked like the entire situation was of the utmost inconvenience to him.

“I found him, Mr. Edgeworth.” Gumshoe led him over to where the prosecutor was standing. Hickfield pulled away from the detective and looked Miles over.

“So you’re Prosecutor Edgeworth. This detective was practically singing your praises the whole way over here.”

“Yes, he… does that,” Miles said, ignoring Phoenix’s snicker. He glanced to Gumshoe, who simply looked proud of his efforts.

“If you haven’t gathered, I’m Dr. Hickfield. Robert Hickfield, to be precise.” Besides the hair, which, alongside probably being inherited from his father, didn’t hold the traces of aging, the family resemblance was striking. “Pardon if I don’t jump for joy over meeting ‘Mr. Perfect Record’ since you’ll probably be sending my mother to jail.”

The demeanor likely was also not inherited from her.

“Hey, you can’t talk to Mr. Edgeworth like that, pal!” Gumshoe scolded.

Miles crossed his arms, unbothered by the attitude. “My record has nothing to do with it, the accused turned herself in.”

Dr. Hickfield sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “True,he groaned. “I understand wanting protect the clinic - my grandfather founded it after all - but to go against her oath as a medical practitioner… I still can’t believe it to be completely honest.”

“In any event, I need your telling of last night’s events.”

He roughly shoved his hands in the pockets of his lab coat. “There’s not much to tell. I was in the labs most of the night checking inventory. When I heard sirens I came out to investigate and suddenly Mom was being escorted out in handcuffs. Now I have no clue what’s even going on.”

Wow. Between being in detention and this guy, the Hickfields don’t even know what’s happening in their own clinic, Phoenix remarked, which had struck Miles as odd too.

“Are you not running the facility in her absence?”

“Nah. Mom wants me to eventually, but I just returned from doing medical work overseas, so I’m not even in the system yet. Nora is acting director.” 

Nora? He must have been referring to Nora East, the assistant director.

“I think she’s in her office now,” Hickfield continued, “so you can ask her what happened.”

A sign that the conversation was over if he’d ever heard one. “I think I shall. Thank you for your time, Dr. Hickfield.”

He gave Miles brief directions to her second floor office before wandering back to wherever Gumshoe had apprehended him from, a small wave the only thing announcing his departure. The detective followed, likely to berate him for being rude.

Pleasant guy, Phoenix said, sarcasm dripping off his tone. Whatever happened to bedside manner?

I see nothing wrong with being direct.

Yeah, you wouldn’t, would you?

Miles tapped a finger against his crossed arms. If you are attempting to get a rise out of me, it won’t work.

Darn, you caught me. So where to next?

He weighed his options. We know where Dr. East is, so she should be spoken to before she changes locations. The crime scene isn’t going anywhere.

Dr. East, thankfully, wasn’t hard to locate. Upon stepping onto the second floor, a woman was spotted at the far end of the hall, furiously typing away at a tablet. She wore the typical lab coat and stethoscope expected of medical professionals, though, bizarrely, a cowboy hat hung between her shoulders.

She’d probably get along with the officer who guarded the evidence room, Miles thought idly.

As he approached the click of his shoes echoed down the nearly empty hall. The sound drew her attention and she looked up from her work.

“Can I help you?” she asked in a pleasant tone.

“If you are Dr. Nora East you certainly can.”

“Then I can definitely help. Oh, I know! You must be my 3:15!” she said excitedly, putting away the tablet.

Mies blinked. It wasn’t even noon yet. 

East pulled up close, brandishing the end of her stethoscope towards his chest. Miles sidestepped, uninterested in a physical checkup.

Please, ma’am. I am a prosecutor, not a patient.”

“Oh.” She put the stethoscope down in disappointment. “You’re here about the director, aren’t ya?”

“I’m clearing up some loose ends before her trial tomorrow. You were the one to call the police, yes?”

“Yes, sir. I was doing my rounds, checking up on all the overnights. Everything was fine until I came around to Mr. Tracks’ room. You could smell it from the doorway - blood everywhere, dripping down onto the floor. I tell ya, it was a gruesome sight. If I wasn’t so used to the stuff, I might’ve fainted.

“Anyway, after I collected myself, I went to call the police from our landline. After I did, Director Hickfield was standing right behind me. She asked if I’d called the police and when I said ‘yes’ she, just sorta, wandered off. I didn’t see her again until they arrived. I escorted the officers to the scene and she was there waiting to turn herself in. I could hardly believe it! And all she said to me was ‘I had to’ before they took her away.”

“She had to?” In his mind, Phoenix parroted the words.

East nodded. “I was confused too, but it makes sense. The director loves this place and everyone in it, employees and patients alike - we’re like family to her. Hugh Tracks was trying to take that all away. I even heard rumors that he was driving away our business, so we wouldn’t have a choice but to sell. With him gone, the clinic shouldn’t have anymore troubles.”

“I would think having a murder take place within its walls would deter some people.”

East’s eye twitched. “Well, it was for a noble cause, I’m sure people will understand. We just won’t use that room anymore. Speaking of, have you seen the room yet? I can take you there if you haven’t.”

“That would be appreciated.” He still hadn’t gotten a chance to figure out where the crime scene was after all.

“It’s back down on the ground floor, just follow me.” She began leading him away from where he’d come from.

And straight towards an elevator.

It took all his willpower to keep a straight face. It was only one floor, right? He could manage.

Dr. East had gone on chattering as they approached the door, but Miles hadn’t heard a single word of it. His attention was focused on keeping his breathing normal and his memories at bay.

And on whatever it was that blasted symbiont was doing now!

It had taken him a second to identify the odd sensation, but Phoenix was dancing around on his skin in the most obnoxious manner, making absolutely sure his presence was known. Miles rolled his shoulders as he felt him dip upwards in an attempt to make him stop.

Do you mind?

I’m antsy, Phoenix whined, fidgeting undeterred. And you’re boring. Mia talked to me more during investigations.

I should have left you with Ms. Fey, he said, not for the first time.

“It’s right this way,” East interrupted, directing him down a new hallway. Miles hadn’t even noticed the elevator come to a stop. He fell into step behind her, and Phoenix fell back into relative idleness. 

Good. His threat must have worked.

On the way Gumshoe found him again and, after exchanging a few pleasantries with Dr. East, picked back up on his ‘lost puppy’ routine.

“Detective, where did you even disappear to?”

“Oh, just had to have a few words with that doctor, sir.”

Miles rolled his eyes. As he figured. “I’m sure he was moved by them.”

“Ah, so you’ve met Robert,” East said, her previously chipper tone suddenly falling flat.

“Yeah, pal! What's his deal? Hasn't anyone ever told him about 'bedside manners'.”

She sighed. “I try to be nice since he’s the director’s son, but he’s just so darn rude. And he’s supposed to inherit this clinic one day, despite having no emotional attachment to the place. He was born here, and yet it's like he could care less about being back." She caught herself. "Oh, but you’re not here to listen to me vent, now are you?”

“I do need to investigate the actual scene of the murder,” Miles said, cutting off Gumshoe’s comment of ‘I don’t mind’.

“Well don’t let me stop you. The crime scene’s right down there.” East stopped a little short, pointing to a door being watched by one of the officers. “This is about as close as they’ll let me get anyway.”

“Thank you, Dr. East.” She smiled and left him to his work.

Upon their entry to the room, there were a few things of immediate notice, namely the hospital bed coated in dry blood. As Miles began to approach to get a better look, Gumshoe let out an audible shudder.

“I’ll just… go chat with forensics, sir.”

“You do that,” he replied. A scalpel, stained red and already tested for both the victim’s blood and the accused fingerprints, sat on the nearby table. Both tests had been positive.

Phoenix groaned heavily from within his mind. Why are there so many people here?

They’re officers, Phoenix. This is a crime scene.

I know that, he grumbled. But they were usually gone or leaving when Mia investigated. I can’t do much to help like this.

Why did you assume you’d be helping?

I told you when we met; I’m a paralegal. Legal aid. Whatever. Point is I helped Mia with her cases.

How? Looking over and reviewing files was one thing, but he couldn’t imagine how useful the symbiont could be on scene.

You’d be amazed what a bird’s eye view can reveal. Miles was mid eye-roll when he continued. That’s actually not a joke. I can reach places that criminals don’t account for when they’re covering their tracks.

Once again, Miles found himself searching for a counterargument and falling short. Why did such an illogical creature have to make so much goddam sense?!

Besides, he continued, how are you going to prove me wrong if I don’t get to see the evidence for myself. I’m just supposed to take your word for it?

That was the plan, yes.

Phoenix sighed. See, this is why you get accused of forging evidence.

Was it his fault that sometimes the safest place for evidence was within his possession? He looked around at the gathered examples of their police force, who were practically proving his point. With a confession already on record and decisive evidence, the officers had likely decided their work was done. Most of them were talking amongst themselves, checking things on their phones, or doing anything besides their jobs.

Miles cleared his throat, grabbing their attentions. If they didn’t realize he’d entered the room, they knew now. “If you all are done here, then I suggest you busy yourselves elsewhere. Otherwise I will see to it that all of you regret your next salary reviews.”

Fearing for their salaries, the officers hurried themselves along.

“Detective Gumshoe. Go make sure they don’t continue to slack off.”

“You got it, sir!”

Once everyone was gone, he held out his arm. “Alright, you can come out, but make it quick.”

Phoenix didn’t need to be told twice. He flew out, doing a couple loops around Miles’ head before finding a chair, his preferred perch, to land on.

“You know you're not doing much to disprove my theory about giving your detective menial tasks.” He looked around, cringing when he laid eyes on the bed. “Wow, that is pretty gruesome.”

“You saw the photos of the body that were included in the report,” Miles pointed out.

“Yeah, but it’s never the same as the real thing.” He changed perches to the end of the bed, making a face. He examined it and, seemingly finding nothing of note, flew up to a higher vantage. Miles watched him work, keeping a wary ear towards the door in the event that someone decided to return. 

After finding nothing on the top shelves, the firebird suddenly locked onto the vents, flying over and hooking his talons into the grate to steady himself. Miles was about to question him, until he poked in the tip of his beak and dragged something out. With a flick of his head, a blue blur flopped to the ground, followed shortly by clattering metal.

As Phoenix detangled himself from the vent, Miles bent down to look at his discovery. A pair of gloves and another scalpel. The gloves were turned inside out, likely due to removal, but there was a conspicuous blood stain on the wrist of one. The scalpel also had dried blood on it, not unlike the one on the table.

“Well, I suppose you’re useful for something once in a while,” he said as the symbiont came to land beside him.

“I try,” he said dryly. “Except now we have two murder weapons.”

“That does complicate matters,” he admitted. He could justify hidden evidence, as well as evidence left in the open, but both in a single crime scene?

Maybe Phoenix’s theory wasn’t as far-fetched as he’d once believed.

“In any event, we won’t get a definitive answer until these items are brought to forensics.” A quick fingerprint dusting should reveal the owner of their mystery evidence. The scalpel might come back clean, but gloves would hold the answers they sought.

Phoenix returned to his arm and Miles stepped back out into the hallway. He found a member of forensics dusting a stretcher for prints, being cheered on by Gumshoe, and sent him off to work on something worthwhile.

Gumshoe bounded over. “Did you find something, sir?”

“Perhaps.”

Forensics returned shortly, saluting to the prosecutor. “Sir, I was able to lift prints off of the glove. They were a match for Dr. Hickfield.”

He braced himself. He had to be absolutely sure. “Which Dr. Hickfield?”

“Robert, sir. The son.”

Miles took in a slow breath. This case wasn’t quite so open and shut anymore.

Chapter 4

Notes:

I want to send a quick shout out to everyone whose commented so far. I keep meaning to respond, but I end up staring an gushing because the comments have been /so nice/ I just don't know what to say! trying to be better about that going further.

Chapter Text

While Robert Hickfield was being fetched, a blood analysis had been completed for the sample left behind on the scalpel and gloves Phoenix had retrieved from the vent. Both were a match for Hugh Tracks. It was looking more and more that the only thing Wilhelmina Hickfield was guilty of was lying to the police.

When he arrived, the doctor looked anything but pleased about being called away from whatever depths of the clinic he’d retreated to. He shuffled over to Miles and the assorted gathering of officers, hands shoved so deep in his pockets they were threatening to rip a hole through them.

He took one glance at the man in the center and his face fell even further.

“Oh, it’s you again. What do you want now? Need more dirt to dig up on my mom?”

Miles shook his head, smirking slightly. “That won’t be necessary, Dr. Hickfield. We have just found a second scalpel and some rubber gloves hidden on scene, both coated in the victim’s blood. The gloves bared your fingerprints.”

“What?!” His hands flew out of his pockets, nearly dislodging the stethoscope around his neck. “That’s impossible, I’ve never even gone near Tracks!”

“You were here last night he was brought in,” Miles pointed out.

“So? I wasn’t in charge of his care, that was Nora. I was doing inventory all night, just like I told you and everybody else poking their nose in my business.”

That’s a… bold way to describe the police… Phoenix murmured.

“Quite the convenient alibi,” Miles said, unimpressed. “I wonder if anyone can corroborate it.”

“Nora could. And Mom, probably, if she were here.”

“Then I think we’d better ask. Someone bring Dr. East here.” A couple of officers ran off to fulfill the request. “And bring Director Hickfield here while you’re at it.”

“Sir?!” Gumshoe said in alarm. “Are you sure?”

“We may not be able to solve this dilemma until all our pieces are in play. Send for her at once.”

“Alright, you’re the boss.” Gumshoe pulled out his phone as he walked away, making the call to the precinct to have arrangements made.

It would take a while for Hickfield to be fetched from the detention center, but East joined the congregation shortly after the summons was made. 

“You’re still here, Prosecutor?” she greeted in a cheery tone. “Did you change your mind about that check-up?”

As she produced a tongue depressor from one of her pockets, Miles took a step back- as did a few of the officers. Apparently he wasn’t the only victim to her medical advances.

“Give it a rest Nora, no one’s interested.” 

She looked over at her colleague, as though seeing him there for the first time. Her smile faltered slightly. “Oh, hello Robert.” She turned back to everyone else. “Is he giving y’all a hard time?” 

When it looked like Hickfield was about to further lose his temper, Miles cut in. “We would like your assistance in confirming something. Is it true that Dr. Hickfield here was running inventory all night?”

“Well, that’s what he said he was doing, though I’ll admit I didn’t see him at all last night. We were all pretty busy with our own stuff.” She blinked once, implications processing. “Did something happen?”

“It appears someone might have been tampering with the crime scene, as we’ve just found new evidence possibly implicating Dr. Hickfield.”

She gasped loudly, hands covering her mouth. “Of course! The director would never take a patient’s life, no matter how horrible they were. You on the other hand…”

“Me, what?” Hickfield hissed, cutting her off. “Call me a jerk all you want, that doesn’t make me a murderer. I don’t even have a motive.”

“If I might interject,” Miles said, sensing a full blown argument on the horizon. “There is the matter of the family business. I believe you’re set to inherit it?”

He snorted. “I could care less about the ‘family business’, I’m only here to support my mom. I was doing some pretty interesting research in Europe before she called me back here.”

“Is that why you’re trying to destroy the clinic too?” East said softly, but just loud enough for everyone to hear her.

Hickfield flushed. “Pardon?”

Dr. East shuffled forward, producing several documents from her coat pocket. “I was holding on to these to show the director, before all this happened. I didn’t think it was relevant to the murder until now. They’re emails between Robert and some investors about turning this place into a medical research facility once he’s in charge. ”

There was a quiet murmur amongst the gathered observers. That didn’t sound so bad.

Hickfield lurched forward, trying to snag the papers away from her before she could hand them over to Miles. He was unsuccessful. 

“Where did you get those?!” he demanded.

East ignored him. “If it goes through, we wouldn’t be treating people here anymore - unless they felt like submitting themselves as experimental subjects at least.” She rounded on him, scowling. “What about the community? The patients?! We have a lot of people who rely on us and you’re throwing them aside for your own personal agenda.”

He glared right back. “There are other clinics in the area, they can go there. This is more important.”

“Important enough to kill for?” she asked. “After all, you couldn’t have your precious facility if Mr. Tracks ran us into the ground first.”

“So we’re pointing fingers now? Fine, then what about you?” Hickfield then proceeded to literally point at East, who placed a hand on her chest in shock. “You love this clinic so much I’m surprised you haven’t legally changed your name to Hickfield! I wouldn’t put it past you to do anything to protect it.”

“You’re accusing me?”

“Why not? You can’t confirm my location, well I can’t confirm yours either, now can I?”

“Because they have evidence against you!”

Miles looked up from the collection of emails he’d been reading over to observe the escalating confrontation. The two were practically at each other’s throats now. While East was right, the gloves did put Hickfield at the scene of the crime, she was beginning to look just as suspicious.

According to her file, she’d been volunteering/working at the clinic since she was a teenager - ever since falling ill and nearly dying due to several misdiagnoses. Hickfield was the first doctor to take the time to do all the proper tests until she found out exactly what had been ailing the young East. A compelling motive to protect the place she was so grateful towards, but it did leave one problem.

“Why would I frame the director? I owe her my life. Literally!”

“And why would I frame my own mother?!”

Figuring out why either of them was willing to let the director go to jail in their place.

“Sir?”

“What?” he snapped as Gumshoe appeared at his side, probably a little too harshly given the detective had done a good job of staying out of the way thus far.

And then he remembered exactly why the detective had been out of the way.

“Have the arrangements been made?”

“The director should be here within the next fifteen minutes, sir.”

“Good.” He handed the documents over to Gumshoe, who took them without question, and glanced back towards the bickering doctors. “In the meantime, separate these two before another murder occurs.”

There were a few empty patient rooms down the hall from where they were gathered and the the two doctors were sent there to cool down, both under the watch of one of the posted officers.

As they waited, Miles decided to consult his silent partner.

So what are your thoughts so far?

Oh, so you’re talking to me now? said Phoenix. 

If I must, Miles replied, then paused. And you were the one who believed in the director’s innocence from the start.

Yeah, well, I’m used to things from the other side of the courtroom, you know? It’s never as simple as some fingerprints on a weapon, or a witness who claims they saw everything. There’s usually something bigger going on.

…you and Ms. Fey must have taken on bizarre cases if that is your first assumption.

Phoenix laughed quietly. You should look into her records sometime. I couldn’t even predict how our trials would go sometimes.

Miles made a mental note to take him up on the suggestion once this was all over. It might make for an interesting change of pace.

Anyway, Phoenix continued, right now Hickfield seems like the obvious choice. I know I just said it’s never that easy, but they were his prints. I just don’t get why he’d hide that stuff in the vent.

You did say criminals don’t account for your ‘bird’s eye view’.

Yeah, but… he wasn’t anywhere near the body when the cops showed up, right? Wouldn’t he take that stuff with him or something? 

Miles pondered the question, a few counter-arguments springing to mind. Hickfield didn’t know when the body would be discovered, so it lessened the risk of having damning evidence on person if the police showed up before he could properly discard it. Perhaps he thought the vent to be the best hiding place, fearing everywhere else might be searched.

It also wasn’t wiped of blood, just hidden, Miles pointed out, the thought striking him as he churned out explanations, though he could chalk that down to mere inexperience as a criminal. The cause of death suggested that as well, given that the oddly precise cuts had caused the police to suspect a medical practitioner immediately.

Phoenix didn’t respond for a solid moment. Y’know, Mia had this saying: Turn your thinking around. It helped if we ever got stumped.

In other words, tackle the problem from a new angle. A sobering thought crossed his mind. His father used to do that, didn’t he…

Miles?

Phoenix must of picked up on the sudden mood shift. Miles snapped out of his reverie - thoughts like that could wait until later, facts were important right now. They didn’t have much to work with, and the circumstances surrounding what they did have made little sense.

Unless he looked at things differently; found a situation where they did make sense.

They had two scalpels - one with fingerprints, one without; one without gloves and one with; one out in the open and the other hidden. What was the significance of these differences? Why did they need to exist?

And then it clicked.

Eureka!

…did you seriously just shout ‘Eureka’?

Miles let the firebird’s teasing slide this time, too busy riding on the thrill of his revelation. It was only a theory, but once he had the chance to interrogate the director again…

The steady thud of heavy footsteps down the hall alerted him that someone was swiftly approaching. He turned his head to see Gumshoe jogging down the hall towards him. 

He skidded to a stop in order to give his report. “Mr. Edgeworth, sir. The director’s just arrived.”

And not a moment too soon.

“Good. Bring everyone involved in this case here. It’s time to find out what really happened.”

Hickfield and East had both calmed down since he’d last observed them, though they glared daggers of suspicion at each other once they’d come back into the other’s line of sight. It was likely only the presence of the director, who was brought forth a second later, that stilled their tongues.

Somehow she managed to look even more nervous in her own setting than she had sitting in the detention center. Her eyes stayed glued to the floor, glancing up only to make sure the path ahead was clear. 

“Mom…”

“Director…”

She looked up at the sounds of their voices, meeting each of their gazes. A faint smile crossed her lips, a bit of confidence returning to her features.

She turned her attention to Miles. “I guess you’re the one who called for me. I wasn’t told anything on the way here, so I’m a little confused.”

“Everything shall become clear soon, Director.”

She waved a hand as best she could while still handcuffed. “Oh no, please just address me as Billy. I’m not fit to carry that title anymore. Not after what I’ve done to sully these halls.”

“Director Hickfield,” he insisted, “I do believe you aren’t as guilty as you would like us to believe.”

She was worrying the metal into her wrists again. “W-why would you say that?”

“We found new evidence,” he explained, “hidden on the scene. Evidence that implicates Dr. Robert Hickfield.”

“But that’s-!” Her eyes widened, shifting to her son in alarm. “I definitely killed him with my own hands. My fingerprints are all over the murder weapon.”

“Your prints are on a bloody scalpel, this much is true, but are we certain it’s the murder weapon? The mere fact that your prints are on it calls the evidence into doubt.”

A murmur of confusion worked it’s way through the crowd. In any other circumstance, the evidence was definitive because of the presence of prints, but there was something unique about this situation.

Gloves! Phoenix suddenly exclaimed. She wasn’t wearing gloves!

Miles smirked. It seems his companion had caught on. “Doctors always know to wear gloves during medical procedures, especially ones involving blood. Your fingerprints shouldn’t have been anywhere near that body!”

She gasped loudly, fear in her eyes. He was onto her, and she knew it. “I… I clearly wasn’t thinking straight.”

“I will concede that, you obviously weren’t thinking straight. You just knew you needed to look as guilty as possible to cover for the real culprit.”

She flinched back as though physically struck. “No! It was all me! He’s innocent!”

Miles pushed on like he hadn’t heard her. “You found the real evidence first, when you stumbled upon the body. It must have been right around the time Dr. East phoned the police, because you panicked and hastily hid it before they arrived. But that wasn’t enough, was it? What if they were thorough in their search and found it? So you fabricated weapon and a confession to halt the investigation!”

“No, you’re wrong! The police found everything already, they searched that entire room.”

Miles quirked an eyebrow. “Even the vents?”

Whatever remnants of resolve she had left shattered. “I just… I just wanted to protect him…”

“I don’t condone the protecting of murderers.”

With a shuddering sigh, she buried her face in her hands, eyes peeking out through splayed fingers. “When I saw the body I… I didn’t know what to think. I figured… the only other people capable were Nora and Robert. It must’ve been one of them. Then I found Nora calling the police, so that just left Robert. 

“So, you’re right, I panicked. I didn’t know why he would do this, but I couldn’t let him go to jail. He had such a promising career ahead of him. I rushed back to the scene, intent to make it look like I did it. I shoved the bloody evidence in the vent hoping no one would look there, then made my own and waited for the police to show up.”

Her hands slipped away from her face, tears now running freely down her cheeks. “Oh Bobby, I’m so sorry. I tried so hard to protect you…”

“Mom…” he softly said. “You did this… for me?”

She sniffled and nodded. “You worked so hard; getting your doctorate, studying in Europe. You were going to do so much good for this community once you took over.” A look of guilt flashed across the junior Hickfield’s face. “I couldn’t bear for that to be wasted in jail.”

“I-“ Gritting his teeth, he lurched forward and, despite protests from various officers, pulled his mother into a hug. With her hands still bound, all she could do was lean into the embrace.

“Just,” she muttered into his shoulder, “tell me why? Was it because he was threatening us?”

“Mom.” He pulled away, placing his hands on her shoulders. “I didn’t kill him. I swear to you I didn’t.”

She backed out of his embrace, bewildered. “But everything was pointing to you! I thought-” She searched everyone’s faces for answers and fell on Miles.

He crossed his arms. “I said the evidence implicated him. I never accused him of the crime.” 

There was another murmur from the crowd, this time of alarm, but Miles was confident he had it all figured out.

Hickfield could have discarded those gloves, but he didn’t. He could have killed Tracks in a more subtle manner, but he didn’t. He could have done a million things to point fingers away from himself and only escaped guilt because his mother found the body.

Phoenix was right, it was too obvious.

He brought his attention to the only person involved in this case that remained. “Dr. East, you were the first to find the body, correct?”

Surprised, it took her a second to respond. “Yes, I was.”

“And what were your first thoughts?”

“I...” she bit her lip, eyes shifting over to her colleague. “I thought it was Robert, honestly.”

“Seriously?!” he cried.

“Well who else is there? Between you and the director, the choice felt obvious.”

“There is one other person.” As everyone began to look around, he focused an intent stare on Dr. East.

After a second or two of searching, she finally noticed Miles. “Me?!”

“From what I’ve gathered you have a strong attachment to this place. That’s a sufficient motive wouldn’t you say?”

“Are you sure you don’t need a checkup, Prosecutor?” She removed the stethoscope from her neck and put the earpieces in place. “Why would I call the police on myself?”

“Perhaps to throw the suspicion off of you? If Director Hickfield’s assumptions are any indication, it worked just as planned.”

Metal jangled as the director’s hands flew to her mouth. “Nora! Tell me you didn’t-“

“Of course not!” She tugged on the stethoscope, nearly dislodging it from her ears. “I’m sorry, director, but it had to be Robert.” 

“Except I didn’t do it!” he growled, taking a step towards her. An officer put himself between them, forcing him back once more.

“Look, he’s even getting violent now. He must’ve been so mad at Mr. Tracks threatening the family name that it pushed him over.”

“I wonder, Dr. East, why are you so convinced of your co-worker’s guilt?”

She regarded him, expression a blend of confusion and concern. “Why aren’t you? Do you really suspect me, even when everything is pointing to him?”

“Nngh-!” This woman! He was almost certain she was the mastermind behind it all, but the facts were still all on her side.

Hey Miles, Phoenix said abruptly, what would do if you were in court right now?

If this were court, he would’ve had a day to prepare and a mountain of evidence piled against the defense.

…evidence, huh?

He did a quick recap in his head, and then smirked. “We may not be in court right now, Dr. East, but if we were, you’d need to present evidence for that kind of claim.”

She looked bewildered. “But you found the evidence. The gloves with the blood on them. Didn’t those belong to him?”

And the trap is sprung.

“They absolutely did, Dr. East, but…” He wagged a finger, tutting. “I don’t recall you being present when that was discussed.”

…I was gonna suggest bluffing, but that works too.

Again he wondered exactly what sort of trials he and Ms. Fey participated in.

East was gripping at her stethoscope so hard it might break. “But you said-“

“I said we had evidence, I never outright stated exactly what we had found. Not when you were in the room at least. And yet you knew exactly what we had found. Care to explain?”

She stuttered, floundering to formulate a defense for her critical blunder. The stethoscope was being twisted beyond use in her hands.

“You have the same skill set, the opportunity, the motive, and most importantly, a reason to want your colleague out of the way.”

She sputtered as she tried to regain control. “Just because we don’t get along-“

“You presented this evidence yourself.” He held out a hand to Gumshoe. After a moment of fumbling he seemed to recall being handed something and reproduced the emails. “Tracks wasn’t the only one threatening the clinic, was he?”

“Is this true?” He heard the director murmur, followed by a quiet apology from her son.

“You thought to frame Dr. Hickfield for the the murder, to eliminate both threats in one fell swoop. And when that didn’t work, you were content to let the director take the blame. After all, Tracks is still gone and as acting director, you can keep Dr. Hickfield’s plans at bay. In either scenario, the only one who has nothing to lose and everything to gain from the crime is you, Dr. East! You are the true murderer of Hugh Tracks!” 

With a scream of frustration, East finally ripped the medical instrument from her ears, tossing it to the ground. “I would’ve saved the clinic!” she cried out. “I dedicated my life to this place and they were gonna take that all away from me!”

After a few moments of alarm and a prompt from Miles, one of the officers moved to restrain the real culprit. She submitted to the arrest with little fuss, turning her head away in shame as she was brought towards the director.

“Nora…” Wilhelmina Hickfield said, holding her hands out as if to cradle her face, and then deciding against the act of affection. “Why? Why would you stoop so low?”

“Because you weren’t fighting hard enough for this clinic! Tracks, he - you knew he was paying people off to go to other clinics and spreading lies about us, but you weren’t going to do anything about it.

“I was content to just work through it at first, like you told us, but then you brought him back from Europe.” She shot a glare at Robert, who gladly returned it. “I wasn’t happy about him taking over, but I was going to deal with that too. And then I overheard him talking to those investors about the research facility. He was going to throw away everything you had built here just like that!

“So I came up with a little plan. I contacted Tracks, telling him I could go behind your back and sell to him, as long as all the profit went to me. He leapt at the chance. We were going to meet at the park - at night, away from prying eyes. There was a secluded area near a ledge that people rarely visited. I met him there and then pushed him off.

“And it didn’t end there. I knew he’d survive the fall. I wanted him to. So I came back around, pretending to be walking home from work just as some passerby’s stumbled across him. I got them to contact our clinic and when the ambulance arrived, we had him put under anesthesia; both because of his slight concussion from the fall and so he couldn’t rat me out. We got to the clinic and then I waited. Once treatments were done and you and Robert were off doing other things, I struck. I took a pair of gloves Robert had thrown away earlier, put them on over mine, and then slashed his arteries. The cuts were so precise that the police would immediately suspect one of the doctors. With that and his fingerprints on the bloody gloves, I knew Robert would get arrested for the murder.

"But then you checked on Tracks before I made the call and decided to frame yourself for the murder. I was torn - I owed you so much, I didn’t want you to go to jail, but I was so bitter. I gave so much to you, to this clinic, and you were going to ignore all that and leave me behind with that selfish jerk! You were even going to let him get away with murder!”

“But Robert was always supposed to take over for me. You knew this. I know he’s difficult, but I thought - hoped - you’d be able to help him along. I wanted the two people I cared for most to work together.

She studied the older woman’s face for a long moment, something unreadable in her expression. “Just take me away.” She broke away from her supervisor, forcing the officer to jog after her.

“Nora!” The director shouted just before she could escape out of earshot. East paused, enough for the officers to regain control of her. “I would’ve taken the fall for you too.”

She turned away quickly, but not before Miles caught the beginnings of tears creeping into her eyes. She bowed her head, allowing the officer to escort her the rest of the way out of the clinic.

Miles let out a deep sigh. Finally.

“Gumshoe,” The detective snapped to attention, “make sure the proper changes are made to tomorrow’s trial.”

“On it, sir!”

Miles then approached the Hickfields, who were engaged in a quiet conversation. He cleared his throat to announce his presence.

“Oh, Prosecutor!” the director said in surprise. Robert started to glare at him, but perhaps deciding it was no longer appropriate directed his annoyance at his hands instead.

“Dr. East will be taking your place as tomorrow’s defendant,” he stated, “however you still have to answer for tampering with an active crime scene.”

She smiled sadly. “I guessed as much. Still, I should probably thank you, for finding the truth behind all this. I only wish the outcome wasn’t so bittersweet.”

Miles blinked. “Er, yes… well… I have a trial I need to prepare for.”

Smooth, Phoenix interjected.

I don’t recall asking for your opinion.

“Before you go, I have a request. Don’t be too hard on Nora, please. I know what she did was terrible, but… my actions might have driven her to desperation.”

Our actions drove her to desperation,” her son added. “She was right, I was being selfish.”

“That doesn’t excuse-“ he began, until Phoenix loudly cleared his throat. “I’ll… keep it in mind.”

With the true murderer in custody and the witnesses and crime scene secure, he left the police to wrap up the investigation.

So how’s it feel from the other side? Phoenix asked.

What?

Defending, he clarified. To think the great ‘Demon Prosecutor’ actually proved a defendant’s innocence.

Outside of court. I simply corrected a mistake caused by a lack of thorough investigation. Tomorrow Dr. East will not be as fortunate.

I dunno. Give me another go at that crime scene - maybe I’ll pull something out of the ceiling this time.

Miles rolled his eyes. Your contribution has been noted. Perhaps I’ll send you to the precinct since their K-9 unit is still in training.

I don’t think the world is ready for a ‘police phoenix’.

Then you’ll have to settle for helping me rework my case, given that you are the reason there is a change of defendant.

The firebird laughed. I guess I can live with that.


With a cup a tea in hand, Miles settled down onto his couch. The trial had, naturally, gone off without a hitch and Nora East had been declared guilty within the first half hour. Her defense had made an argument in regards to her mental state, but otherwise didn’t put up much of a fight. Another win under the belt of his perfect record.

He took a sip, watching the symbiont's attempt to restore his chessboard to its default setting after accidentally knocking a few pieces over with his wings. To think if this ridiculous creature hadn’t interfered…

“Done!” The firebird flew over to the couch. Miles squinted, evaluating his work. The kings and queens were in the wrong places and the rooks and bishops swapped.

“They’re certainly no longer on the floor,” he said.

Phoenix’s crest flattened out. “Then maybe next time I’ll leave them there.”

Miles only hummed in affirmation.

Perhaps expecting a more scathing response, Phoenix tilted his head slightly to the right. “Penny for your thoughts?”

He considered it. “My thoughts cost a dollar at least.”

“You get whatever spare change I can dig out of this couch and that’s my final offer.”

Miles snorted. Implying he had any loose change in his furniture to begin with.

“I was merely… reflecting.”

The symbiont watched him for a long moment. “Hickfield’s confession still bugging you?"

He scowled into his tea. Phoenix may not be able to read minds, but his knowledge of his thought process was disturbingly accurate. “Why on earth would she confess to a murder she didn’t commit? She could’ve faced life in prison or even death row.”

“Honestly Miles, is it so hard to imagine what a parent might be willing to give up for their kid?”

“He’s a grown man who she honestly believed murdered someone.

Phoenix shrugged. “He’s still her son.” 

Was parental affection truly an excuse? von Karma certainly would not hesitate to prosecute Franziska should she ever turn to murder, or himself for that matter.

But von Karma was his mentor, not his parent. The senior prosecutor had never, for a second, presented himself as anything other than a teacher.

Then, would his father have…?

Suddenly he could hear the gunshot’s echo, ringing off the metal walls. The scream the ripped through his soul, turning his blood to ice. It was dark, he couldn’t breath, couldn’t escape-

“..les! MILES!”

He was snapped out of it by his vision being flooded and a weight on his lap. Once he done being distracted by the intense eyes staring into his own - was there a ring of brown running around the outside his pupils? - Miles quickly shoved the firebird off of him.

“W-what are you doing?!” he sputtered, face beginning to match Phoenix’s feathers.

“Sorry! You kinda blanked out there, I was trying to get your attention.” He retreated back to the arm of the couch, doing his best impression of one of Miles’ glares. “Though if I’d known you’d freak out like that, I would’ve just pecked you.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Your concern is… noted…” He brought his hand down, then remembered that it should have been occupied by a cup or saucer. Fearing it might’ve spilled, he looked down only to spy it set neatly on the floor.

He glanced to the firebird, who decidedly avoided his eye.

“So, what was-“

“No.”

Phoenix bristled. “Oh come on, I didn’t even finish my question!”

Miles studied him, leaning forward. Phoenix’s crest went up in alarm. “Then answer me this; What’s your backstory? Why can’t I find any records on anything like you outside of science fiction novels?”

“You actually did research?”

Phoenix.”

He drew his beak shut with a sharp click and looked away. “I can’t tell you…”

He thought as much. “Then that’s the end of this discussion,” he said, getting up.

“But Miles-“

“Phoenix. You seem to forget that this arrangement is temporary. Once Redd White is apprehended, our partnership is over. Or do you have some ulterior motive?”

“No!” His wings flew out slightly. “I just thought I could help.”

So bleeding heart could be added to Phoenix’s list of descriptors. However his was a problem that Miles required no assistance with. He’d lived with it this long, and he would continue to do so.

“If you want to help, then start with my chessboard. The rooks and the bishops need to be switched.”

“The what needs to be switched with what now?”

There were probably more productive things that could have been done, but how many people could say they spent their afternoon teaching a phoenix how to play chess?


A month. That was how long Miles had been working with the symbiont to take down his previous host’s murderer.

The process was a slow one; White was, unfortunately, very good at covering his tracks. With the firebird’s help, he’d uncovered a number of leads, but verifying a connection, or making use of them at all, was proving more difficult.

Phoenix points out it had taken Mia and him years to even dig up that much, and her plan had been to drag him into court as a third party and force his hand - something that Miles still didn’t agree with. He’d find his own way to drag White down.

Even if it meant accepting Phoenix even more into his personal life the longer they took.

For the first week or so it’d been fairly easy to hide his more… unconventional… interests from Phoenix. The less he knew about him the better, after all. But as it became clearer that this case was not so easily concluded, that option was becoming less and less viable.

And, symbiont be damned, he was not going to miss another episode of his favorite show.

To his surprise, however, when the opening credits rolled and Phoenix came over to investigate, he was met not with mockery, but a heavy groan.

“Not you too!”

Miles blinked. “Pardon?”

“Maya loves this show. Whenever she’s over it’s practically the only thing on tv!” He slouched into the cushions and covered his face. Then he shot up. “Oh my god, those books I caught you hiding from me! Those were Steel Samurai manga, weren’t they?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now hush, it’s starting.”

The symbiont stared him down. “Y’know, part of me wants to tell Maya you’re a huge nerd like her cause I think it’ll embarrass you,” Miles sputtered indignantly, trying to focus on his show, “but the other half knows I’ll just regret it in the long run.” 

“You are, under no circumstances, to utter a word of this to her.”

“That’s only more motivation for me to do it.”

He followed through on the thinly veiled threat around the end of their first month, when Maya came back in town. She was staying at her sister's apartment for a few days, partially to check on Phoenix and also to get away from the village elders, and invited them over.

By then Miles had mostly forgotten about the conversation. Phoenix generally ignored the show when it was on, outside of the odd complaint (“Wait, why is he not dead? I thought he was dead!” “They still haven’t resolved that?”). They arrived to the apartment complex and, much to the prosecutor’s surprise, Phoenix had announced “Miles watches Steel Samurai!” the second he’d freed himself, perching with a smug look in his eyes.

After several unconvincing denials and an excited quiz session from Maya, they finally got to the real reason for the visit.

“They had Sis’ service the other day. Nearly the entire clan showed up for it.”

“I’m not surprised, considering…” Phoenix trailed off. “I wish I could’ve been there.”

“I’m sorta glad you weren’t, to be honest. It was too stuffy. A lot of main family drama.”

“No offense Maya, but everything with your family is drama.”

She laughed at this. “True. But that’s why I needed to get away. Everyone’s been fussing over me now that I’m the only heir.” At Miles’ confused look, she clarified. “Mom was the head of our clan and she only had Sis and me, so they’re pushing for me to take over now. Even though I still can’t channel a spirit yet!”

“Well you’re not gonna get any training done here.”

“I’m not getting any done there either, not with the entire clan breathing down my neck. So I figured I’d grace you with my presence until things cooled down.” She slung an arm over his shoulder, pulling the firebird closer.

“Lucky me,” he retorted, no real bite to his tone.

“And who says I can’t get any training done here? Maybe Mr. Edgeworth has someone he wants to talk to. What d’ya say, first channeling's on the house. Mostly cause I doubt it’ll work.”

Miles stiffened. Maya didn’t know about his history with spirit channeling, her family’s specifically. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Besides,“ Phoenix chimed in, “don’t you need to sit under a waterfall or something first?”

She rested a hand on her face thoughtfully. “I could use the shower. No, wait, the water pressure’s probably too low…”

“Call the fire department. Maybe you can get them to spray you with the hose.”

“Oh, good idea!”

“I wasn’t remotely being serious.”

“Mr. Edgeworth, you mind putting a raincheck on that channeling?”

“Are you even listening to me?!”

“Take all the time you need,” Miles answered. “Though I was wondering something.” He and Phoenix had discussed the topic once or twice, but he was unsure if the symbiont remembered. “Did your sister keep any of her records here, rather than at the office?”

“Uhh… maybe. Nick would know better than me.”

He perked up. "Oh! Right. Lemme go check.” He flew off, disappearing somewhere in the apartment.

“I’ll go help,” Maya said, starting to go after him.

“Actually, Ms. Fey -“ he began, catching her before she could leave. 

“You know you can just call me Maya. Everyone uses Ms. Fey when they talk about my sister - it gets confusing.”

“Ms. Fey, might I ask you a question?” While he did want whatever potential notes Mia Fey had left behind, he had another reason for sending Phoenix away.

She sighed. “Shoot.”

“What exactly is Phoenix’s backstory? He refuses to explain himself.”

“Can’t,” she said.

“What?”

“Well, he probably wouldn’t want to talk about it anyway, but he literally can’t tell you. It’s part of the curse.”

“Curse,” he repeated slowly, stealing glance to make sure Phoenix wasn’t returning. “That’s preposterous, curses don’t exist.”

She gave him a look. “Nick is a phoenix that can turn into a tattoo and speak directly into your mind, and yet you draw the line at curses.”

“There is a logical, scientific explanation for Phoenix.” He paused as she raised an eyebrow at him. “I just have yet to find it.”

“Uh-huh. Give me a call when you do.”

He reevaluated his approach. It looked like she was sticking to that story.

“Fine, but that still doesn’t answer my question.”

“Oh, his backstory? I don’t actually know. Sis called me over one day - about two years ago - and introduced us. I have no idea how they ended up together.”

“Your sister never told you?”

“Nick didn’t want her to, so she respected his wishes.”

Great, so the only people who could explain this phenomena were either dead or not talking. He rubbed at his temples. Pardon, couldn’t talk, apparently.

“Since you’re so adamant, at least tell me about this so-called curse.”

“Sis kinda described it like some warped version of our spirit channeling technique; like Nick’s being forced to channel something that doesn’t have a soul. He takes on its appearance, but there’s no soul to replace his, so he stays in control. You get me?”

“I have no earthly idea of what you’re talking about.”

She hummed to herself. “This would be easier if I could just show you… Okay! So, for the Kurain technique, when we channel, our bodies take on the physical appearance of the deceased, understand?”

Not even remotely. “Are you implying he’s not supposed to look like that?”

“Of course he’s not!” she exclaimed, as though scandalized by the very idea. “He used to be human.”

Chapter Text

Miles took a seat at his desk, setting a large binder out in front of him. The meeting with Maya Fey had taken up a good portion of his morning, but he had the rest of the afternoon and evening to get work done. On top of that, he was looking forward to working with peace and quiet for the first time in a long while.

When it became evident that Phoenix and Maya were going to be spending a long time catching back up, he’d opted to let the firebird stay with her for a little while, planning to retrieve him in the morning to continue their work. The plan was deemed acceptable.

So he’d left the firebird behind, taking with him instead a binder of Mia Fey’s old casework - retrieved by Phoenix - and a revelation - delivered by Maya - that Miles had not been able to get off his mind.

Phoenix was originally human.

As soon as the words had left her mouth, Miles was ready to write it off as nonsense, but he couldn’t stop his mind from pulling it back into consideration. As a concept it made sense in all the ways it made absolutely no sense at all, like most things he’d observed about the symbiont.

On one hand, curses did not exist. A human could not simply become a bird, much in a same vein that the dead could not inhabit the bodies of the living, no matter how much the young Ms. Fey insisted upon it.

On the other, Phoenix himself shouldn’t exist and yet there he was, existing. Right now he was probably having some inane argument with Maya over burgers or ramen or whatever it was they’d been discussing before he left. Add that in with some of his mannerisms that came off as eerily human, like how he consistently tried to use his wings like hands and…

He tapped a slightly dented pen against the binder, refocusing. Phoenix’s predicament, curse or not, wasn’t his concern right now. The investigation was. He flipped open the binder in front of him, skimming over the earlier entries. They were mostly records pertaining to his father's murder, the case that had seen the disappearance of the Fey sisters’ mother, highlighting important people who could have led Mia to the leak.

Miles quickly flipped through those.

The first few court cases she had notes on didn’t seem to involve her. Under defense, the names Grossberg and Armando kept showing up - both sounded vaguely familiar. Potentially people she had been an understudy to while she was still in law school. He skimmed past a ‘Hammond’ in the listing and had to do a double take. He stared at the name for a moment until it hit him. Of course her search would have brought her to the law office of the defense attorney for DL-6. She’d likely planned it that way.

He started to glance up to make sure Phoenix hadn’t caught his shell-shocked reaction, then had to catch himself. Right, the firebird was still with Ms. Fey. That’s why he was enjoying his office without any constant chittering or banging from his belongings being knocked over by a large wingspan. 

Or his pens being chewed, he mused as he glanced back at the dents in his pen. Not that the firebird could help it, his beak was just the easiest thing for him to use to write. Though the fact he could write at all was just another thing that brought his origins into question and…

Miles pulled himself out of his rambling thoughts, shaking his head. He grabbed a few page markers out of his desk and made a note on Hammond before moving on.

The binder mostly seemed to be a record of cases she worked on, rather than personal research, but it was something he’d been meaning to look into. He continued on until he found the first listing where Mia Fey had been the primary defense; State vs. Fawles. Another suspiciously familiar name. Hadn’t that been…?

He spotted his own name. His first trial as a prosecutor, and a rather disastrous one at that. So much so that he tried not to think of it. It was a slight blemish on his record; not a win, but not a loss either.

It’s hard to declare a verdict when the defendant commits suicide on the stand.

And Mia Fey had been his opponent back then, which would explain why he could almost swear they’d met before. Just how interwoven were their lives?!

Despite himself, he found himself reading more and more into Fawles’ trial, memories flooding back to him. Mia Fey had been a formidable opponent, countering a fair deal of his arguments and even managing to drag his witness out of anonymity. She’d even managed to reveal her true connection to the victim and defendant, something he’d tried to hide so as not to complicate matters. Fawles was guilty, so what if his first victim technically wasn’t dead? She just happened to be there.

Though Fey had made a rather convincing argument towards his witness being the true culprit. All her thoughts were laid out before him, from the original ransom/murder that started it all and how that witness had been the mastermind behind it. Her claims, however, were circumstantial without any evidence to back them. Compelling, but circumstantial.

He read through her notes. Despite everything - motives, witness, evidence - she insisted that her client was not a murderer. It brought to mind Phoenix and his adamant defense of Wilhelmina Hickfield in his last investigation. Although, in that particular instance Phoenix had been right. There was no chance for Fawles’ innocence.

Or was this just like the investigation? Could Fawles have been protecting her, swallowing down the truth alongside that poison? Had the evidence been too obvious? Had the police been lead astray?

Had he been wrong?

No! Miles tore himself away. That didn’t matter anymore. It was not worth returning to that part of his past to confirm the innocence or guilt of a man three years dead.

He added another page marker anyway.

From there he continued on through Mia Fey’s early career. Nothing was turning up about Redd White, but her work was fascinating. The cases she took on were, just as he predicted, bizarre. One of her trials ended with the reveal of a ring of exotic animal smugglers, all from the defense of a somewhat neglectful dog-walker.

Maybe that’s where she’d picked up Phoenix, he joked to himself, almost disappointed the firebird wasn’t there to hear it. 

Miles let the pen fell to his desk with a clatter, running a hand through silver bangs. Maybe it was too quiet. Phoenix, however, was not allowed to know how much he’d grown accustomed to his company, so it was back to records for the time behind.

He poured through the pages until something, besides the odd way Ms. Fey seemed to conduct her trials, caught his eye. A name had popped up again. The witness from State vs. Fawles.

Dahlia Hawthorne.

The note was attached to a pinned article on the poisoning of one of her coworkers, Armando. Apparently he’d gone on with the investigation of the young woman. Then, six months after that courtroom debut, he was poisoned during an interview with her. The source of the poison was never found.

After that there was a noticeable change in the binder’s contents. Her trials became more intermittent, bookended with notes tracking the movements of Hawthorne. The event, clearly, had shaken her.

It led up until Mia Fey had apparently encountered her in another trial - the murder of a young man named Doug Swallow. The prosecutor this time was Payne (who was that again?), and the defendant...

A knock on the door caused Miles to jump, slamming the binder shut.

“Come in,” he said, fighting to keep the startled stutter out of his voice. He groaned as his visitor revealed themself.

Gumshoe. Of course he knocks on the day it doesn’t matter.

“Sorry for the late intrusion, sir,” Miles glanced at his watch. Was it after 5:00 already? “but there’s just been a breaking case that the Chief wants you on.”

“How breaking?”

“We just arrested the suspect. But this guy’s pretty famous, so he wants this handled ‘quickly and professionally’. Chief’s words.”

Miles rubbed his temples, gesturing to be brought whatever documents had been prepared for him. Celebrity trials were always the worst; the press were always trying to swoop in on the investigations, looking for juicy scandals for their infernal tabloids. The bigger the name, the better. Additionally, many of them thought their fame granted them some immunity to the law, and the types of lawyers they hired reflected that.

“So just who is so important that I needs my immediate- GGRK!”

“Mr. Edgeworth? Are you okay, sir?!”

“Just… fine… Detective…” he said through gritted teeth, staring at the report in horror.

Miles could admit that he was bad at remembering names and faces, but this was someone he knew all too well.

The Chief Prosecutor had just assigned him to prosecute the Steel Samurai himself.

 


 

Miles decided to hold off on his investigation until the morning. He was not mentally or emotionally prepared to interrogate Will Powers that evening.

He still wasn’t upon waking up the next morning, but at least it’d had more time to settle in. Plus, he thought, knocking on the door to Maya’s (Mia’s?) apartment, he’d have a distraction.

“Mr. Edgeworth! Have you seen the news!?” Maya said upon slamming open the door, denying him the curtesy of a proper greeting. She was still dressed in a nightgown, sported a severe case of bedhead, and seemed to have no concerns of presenting herself in said state, despite having ample forewarning of his arrival.

“Good morning, Ms. Fey,” he said flatly. “No I have not been privy to the news today as I’ve been preparing for a case.”

“It’s an outrage!” she continued. “The Steel Samurai would never!”

Ah.

“Doesn’t he, like, kill people all the time on that show?” Phoenix said from inside. As Maya stepped aside to let Miles in the rest of the way, he spotted the symbiont settled on the couch proper, rather than the armrest or back, using a pillow as a makeshift nest. On the television in front of him, a reporter was discussing the very case Miles had just been assigned.

Regret flashed across his face when Maya rounded on him. “No! He fights for justice and the good people of Neo Olde Tokyo. No matter how many times he faced the Evil Magistrate, he could never take his life.”

“Ms. Fey is correct. He was given the opportunity several times and showed mercy at each turn. He believes there’s still good in the Magistrate somewhere and that he can be saved. There is strong evidence behind the theory of them being childhood friends…” he trailed off as he observed both pairs of eyes on him and coughed into has hand, flushing.

“Yeah! So there, Nick!”

“I never said he actually did it!” he objected. “Just that it happened in the show.”

“But it didn’t! You were probably thinking of the demons and monsters. Totally doesn’t count.”

“Monsters have rights too…” he muttered.

“Whatever. At least Mr. Edgeworth agrees with me.”

“While I maintain that the Steel Samurai wouldn’t, the same cannot be said of the man who plays him. Actors do not always share the ideals of their roles, Ms. Fey.”

Her mouth fell open. “WHAT?!”

Phoenix looked between them for a moment. “You’re prosecuting, aren’t you.” It was a statement, rather than a question.

Maya continued to gape. “But… but you can’t! There’s gotta be a mistake. He has to be innocent! Nick, talk him out of it.”

“I love how you have this misguided idea that he listens to me.”

“But you’re partners!” she protested.

“Until we have successfully apprehended White,” Miles amended, gesturing for Phoenix. The firebird flew over and gently landed on his shoulder, careful that his claws were not digging into or tearing his suit. “Then I will be leaving him with you permanently.”

“Aww, I missed you too,” Phoenix cooed.

“Now then, Ms. Fey, I have yet to start my investigation, so we will speak with you later.”

“Wait! I want to go too,” she announced. “It was at the studio, right?”

Miles stepped back, surprised, and caused Phoenix to nearly lose his balance. “Ms. Fey, I-“

“Hold on, lemme just get dressed.” She ran off before he could get another word in edgewise. Phoenix gave him a comforting pat on the back.

Miles shot him the best glare his could from their positions. “You know I have no obligation to wait for her.”

“True, but she’ll just grab a bus and go anyway.”

“It’s an active crime scene,” he countered, “they’d never let her in.”

“She’ll find a way. Believe me.”

“And get arrested for trespassing at the very least.”

“Then I guess you should wait.”

With a huff, he crossed his arms. And waited.

Maya, thankfully, did not take long to get ready, rearranging her hair into suitable style and throwing on those purple robes once more. Did she even own any other clothing?

The first stop on the agenda was the detention center. Maya was practically bouncing in the passenger’s seat (much to Phoenix’s chagrin, who had been dragged into her lap like a stuffed animal again) at the prospect of meeting The Steel Samurai himself. Miles didn't share her enthusiasm.

He was surprised when the guards let Maya tag along without much comment, but it saved him from explaining her presence. He was ready to pass her off as a prosecutor-in-training gaining some field experience, then let his glares do the rest of the arguing. He was more confident in his glaring than the cover story.

Will Powers was waiting for their arrival. He was a large, almost beastly man. He had to be, to fill out the Steel Samurai costume. Miles had seen a few pictures of him from his early work, but he’d stayed out of the public eye almost entirely since accepting the Steel Samurai role, appearing at events in costume only.

“You know, I’m starting to rethink my stance,” Maya muttered.

Upon breaking the silence, Powers perked up a little. He squared his shoulders, like he was poised to strike one of his famous victory poses and…

Slumped forward in a very ‘un-samurai' way. “I know, you’re disappointed aren’t you? This is why I try not to show my face. Don’t wanna wreck the kids’ dreams.” He was smiling, but it was very self-depreciative.

Miles sighed. Never meet your heroes, as they say.

“Mr. Powers, why did you murder your co-star, Jack Hammer?”

Straight to the point, huh? Phoenix was revising his role as Miles’ shadow. 

“But I didn’t!” He brought his hands up almost fearfully. “Yeah, they found my Samurai spear in his chest, but I was asleep the whole time, honest!”

“That’s not a very convincing alibi.”

Powers sighed. “I know. I’m sorry, but that’s what really happened. We had practice in the morning and then rehearsal at 5:00. I took a nap after lunch cause I was tired, but when I woke up, I was late to the rehearsal! I hurried over to the studio and everyone was standing around, looking shocked. Then I got arrested on the spot.” He fumbled over a handkerchief one of the guards must’ve handed him at some point, blowing his nose into it. “Oh, what will the kids think…”

“I take it back,” Maya said after a long silence. “He’s definitely innocent.”

Powers looked up from his kerchief. “You mean it?! But… I thought you were the prosecution?”

I am the prosecution,” Miles said. “Ms. Fey is merely observing and only speaks for herself.”

“Oh…” Powers slouched again.

“Can’t you defend him though… just, from the other side?” she suggested. “He’s a good guy. He didn’t do it.”

“That’s not remotely how this works.”

“But Mr. Edgeworth…” she whined.

“Ms. Fey. My job is to prosecute. I have to assume everyone is guilty. So, if Mr. Powers doesn’t have anymore useful information…”

“Sorry. I really was asleep the whole time.”

Miles shook his head. “Then we should adjourn to Global Studios.”

“Yes!” She jumped up suddenly. “I bet we’ll find some clues there. Don’t worry, Mr. Powers, we’ll definitely clear your name so you can get back to defending Neo Olde Tokyo.”

“Ms. Fey…” he said in a warning tone, but she was already rushing off ahead of him.

Do you think she actually wants to investigate, or just sightsee? Phoenix asked as Miles quietly groaned into his hand. My money’s on sightsee. 

Is she always this… exuberant?

Basically. Why do you think Mia never took her on investigations?

He laughed as Miles fumbled through a response, suggesting they find wherever she ran off to before the detention center guards did.

 


 

“I can’t believe we get to see where they film The Steel Samurai! Aren’t you excited?!”

Miles scowled at the main entrance to Global Studios. In any other circumstance he would have leapt at this opportunity, but this visit was a bittersweet one.

“Ms. Fey, need I remind you that this is an investigation, not a field trip.”

"But you are excited,” she maintained.

That wasn’t exactly a ‘no’, Phoenix added.

Miles rolled his eyes at the both of them, although only one could see it. He was prosecuting the star of his favorite show while being tag teamed by a teenager and a bird. Could the day get any better?

“Hey! You! You’ll have to get through me if you want to get in!”

Maya 'eep'ed and sought shelter behind Miles as the security guard emerged from her booth, huffing and puffing like the big bad wolf. She was an elderly woman and Miles idly wondered just how long she’d held the position.

“S-sorry!” Maya squeaked from behind the wall of maroon. “We’re… uh… lawyers!”

Miles raised an eyebrow. We?

She took her glare off Maya, as though just realizing her shield was, in fact, a person. She gave him a long, sweeping look, lingering on his face. Then something in her expression suddenly softened.

“Oh my~” she said fanning herself. “Who is this handsome fellow?”

Miles had been anticipating several different responses. That was not one them.

Oh this’ll be interesting, Phoenix commented.

Maya decided to press the advantage. “Oh! This is Mr. Edgeworth. He’s a prosecutor.”

“Edgeworth, huh~?” She scooted a little closer and Miles immediately backed away. “Would you like anything? Coffee? Donuts?”

“No thank you, Ms. …” he said, ignoring Maya’s request for donuts.

“Oldbag,” she filled in. “But you can just call me ‘grandma’, dearie.”

A cold chill ran down his spine. “I’d… rather not.”

“Oh come now, don’t be shy. Everybody calls me ‘grandma’. Well, technically they call me Oldbag, since that’s my name, but it’s practically the same thing. Why, even back when I was a pretty young thing - “

Ms. Oldbag,” Miles interrupted, sensing the beginnings of a rather long, involved story that he wanted no part in. “Do you know anything about last evening’s murder?”

“I know a lot of things, dearie. Like that Powers is guilty. Nobody thought the kid was capable of what he did, but it had to have been him.”

“We don’t don’t know that for sure!” Maya protested.

“I do!” Oldbag switched back to sour. “And I know everything. Plus I was here all afternoon in my booth, 1:00 to 5:00. Now, you have to walk past me to get to that studio where the murder happened. I only saw one person go by before the time of death and that was Powers!”

“But Mr. Powers said he was asleep all afternoon!”

“Are you doubting me, missy?” she snapped. Maya ducked for cover again. “Youth these days, no respect for their elders. Why I saw it with my own eyes. I even have proof!”

Of course she does…

“Proof?” Miles asked.

“Yes, dearie. We have a security camera up on one of the gates that snaps a photo every time somebody walks by. I’ll show you if you like~” She disappeared into her booth for a second and retrieved a single photograph, which she handed to Miles. “The detective who was here earlier said it was useless, but you can clearly see Will Powers on his way to murder poor, old Hammer! The timestamp even places this before 2:30 - the time of death.”

Miles stared the photo, face blank. “Yes… clearly…”

“Wait, lemme see!” Maya demanded, snatching the photo from his hand. “No way, that is the Steel Samurai!”

Well, it was definitely someone walking towards the studio.

You don’t sound convinced.

Miles groaned inwardly. He’s in his costume. And, while it is unlikely someone else is under that mask, it’s not as definitive as she would have us believe.

He reclaimed the photograph from Maya. “I’ll just hold onto this.” Any defense attorney worth their salt could argue against that image incriminating their client, but it might come in handy with more information. “Now is there anything else you can tell me about yesterday?”

“No. Only that poor Hammer didn’t deserve any of this. Why, back in the day he used to be a big, headlining actor. He starred in some of this studio’s biggest movies and how do they pay him back? Demoted to a villain on some children’s program and then murdered on set. It’s a disgrace! Why, if I was in charge -“

“Yes! Well, thank you for your input, Ms. Oldbag. I must investigate the crime scene now.”

“Hey, Mr. Edgeworth, look!” He hadn’t even noticed her sneak off, but Maya was returning from the guard station, waving a pamphlet of some sort. “There are maps of the studio in the security booth!”

Apparently Oldbag hadn’t noticed either. “Those cost 50 cents!” she hissed, before smiling sweetly at Miles. “But of course, for you they’re free.”

Maya quickly shoved it into his hands.

“We’ll be taking our leave now,” said Miles, handing the map back over to his young tag-along.

Oldbag blew him a kiss. “Come back and see whenever you like, Edgey-boy~”

“E-Edgey-boy…?” Maya whispered in some combination of horror and disgust as they made their escape. “Please tell me I’m not gonna be like that when I’m older.”

“I refuse to answer that.”

She pouted. “Niiiick…”

I dunno, it’s possible.

Miles begrudgingly relayed his response, which only caused her to pout further. He then pointed out that she currently held the map and needed to navigate, which significantly improved her mood.

After being discouraged from checking out the employees’ quarters, Maya led them over to a branching path that connected to the studio where the murder took place. A large statue of some sort of creature stood guard, holding directional signs. Just in front of the body lay, broken, its head, alongside a fallen tree partially blocking one of the paths. 

The other path was blocked by Detective Gumshoe, who wasn’t as much of an unmovable object. In fact, upon spotting Miles, he moved immediately.

“Sir! I wasn’t expecting to see you…” He trailed off, glancing concernedly between the prosecutor and the young woman at his side. He leaned in. “Hey, Mr. Edgeworth, isn’t that…?”

“Yes, this is the POI from the Mia Fey case. Her presence here need not concern you.”

She grinned cheerily. “Hi again! I’m Maya Fey, in case you don’t remember.”

“Detective Dick Gumshoe. I guess if Mr. Edgeworth says you’re okay, then you’re okay, but you better not be trying to take my place as Mr. Edgeworth’s investigative partner, pal!”

Partner in the sense that he usually does all the investigating for you?

Hush.

Maya snickered to herself. “I’m not the one you need to worry about.”

He scratched at his head. “Huh? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Ignore her, detective.”

“If you say so… Oh! Since you’re here, I’ll go ahead and give you this.” He pulled out a file from his coat pocket. “It’s the latest autopsy report.”

He glanced it over. “Well, it seems the security lady was correct about the time of death.”

“Oh, that sweet, old lady? What a charmer!”

“Yes, she was very… charming.”

“Yeah!” Gumshoe said, missing the subtext. “Did she give you donuts and coffee too?”

“I knew we should’ve taken the donut…” Maya muttered.

“I’ll buy you donuts later,” Miles said. So long as he didn’t have to interact with that woman anymore than necessary. This seemed to appease her.

Do I get donuts, too? Phoenix asked in a sickeningly sweet tone, probably fluttering his eyes for added effect.

You don’t eat. Another stipulation of your so-called ‘curse’, no doubt.

The symbiont drew silent, long enough for Miles to realized he was being addressed.

“How come you’re offering to buy her food?” Gumshoe was asking, an ’instead of me’ implied in the tone.

Miles folded his arms. “Because you have yet to explain just how Ms. Oldbag had knowledge of the victim’s time of death.”

“Uh… because I showed her the autopsy report?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Detective, what have I said about showing evidence to civilians?”

The man pouted. “But… she’s a witness, so I figured it was alright. Plus she gave me some valuable evidence in return!”

“What? There’s more evidence?” Maya exclaimed.

Slowly, Miles pulled out the photograph. “Detective, is this your ‘valuable’ evidence?”

His shoulders slouched. “Oh. She gave it to you, too.”

“I hope you understand what the problem with this evidence is.”

“Yes, sir,” he sighed. “But I figured, if anyone could make use of it, it’d be Mr. Edgeworth!”

Miles put the photo away and tapped a finger. “Flattery will gain you nothing. Instead of skulking about here you should be looking for useful evidence.”

“Yes, sir,” he repeated.

The prosecutor let his arms fall back to his sides, letting out a slow exhale. “As I am headed to the crime scene myself, you are going to come along and put your detective skills to work for once.”

With one last ‘Yes, sir!’ and a salute, the detective took the lead, guiding them the rest of the way to the studio.

Upon arriving, Miles could already see there, as usual, wasn’t much to work with.  The studio, which aside from a backdrop and some cameras, looked more like a glorified storage room, only bared the outline of a body to even suggest that a murder had taken place there. His last few cases at least had the decency to have a few bloodstains where the body had been.

“The murder weapon’s been already been taken in to evidence,” Gumshoe explained.

Hey, is Maya okay? She got quiet all of a sudden.

Miles turned around to find her standing near the entrance. Despite her previous excitement, she’d barely entered the room, her eyes locked on the one thing tying the location to the crime.

“Ms. Fey?” he prompted.

“I guess you guys are pretty used to this stuff,” she said, her gaze unmoving. “That white tape… it’s so... so real!” She shuddered visibly.

Mia really didn’t talk to her much about this part of it, Phoenix said. She held onto evidence sometimes, maybe saw a trial or two, but never the real gruesome stuff.

“It’s okay, pal!” Gumshoe said, moving over to give her a comforting pat on the back. “I may be a homicide detective, but I can’t stand the sight of blood. It makes me all queasy.”

With that kind of crutch, it was a wonder the detective got into this line of work to begin with.

“Well, as you can see, there is no blood here, so there’s nothing to stop you from conducting a thorough investigation.”

He rushed to follow his orders, inviting Maya to join him.

There’s no blood? I thought he was stabbed with a spear.

It is possible that the costume absorbed most of it. The Evil Magistrate’s outfit is rather complex, consisting of several heavy layers. The chest piece alone - 

Alright! Alright! Forget I even asked.

“Hey, Mr. Edgeworth!” He looked over as Maya called his name, pointing at a ladder leaning against the back wall. “Look, it’s a LADDER!”

“I don’t think that has to do with the murder, pal…”

Phoenix groaned. Is it actually a ladder, or is it a stepladder?

Miles frowned in confusion. Are they not basically the same thing?

The symbiont groaned again, louder this time. You too? They’re completely different!

He turned his confused expression to Maya, who was waiting expectantly for his response.

“I am going to require some clarification later, but please refrain from doing things like that if I’m the one who has to suffer the consequences.” 

“Yeah! Don’t give Mr. Edgeworth trouble, pal,” Gumshoe added, despite his utter lack of context to the situation.

“It’s his fault for getting weird about trivial things.”

It’s not trivial!

It sounded like it was, but Miles had to wait on the story behind that exchange. “So, besides …tools…” Were ladders considered tools? “have you two found anything of use?”

“Not really.”

“But we did find this really cool camera!” Maya gestured grandly to it.

“Oh, yeah! I wonder how many of my paychecks this baby costs.”

Miles sighed. Good to know his two ‘assistants’ worked on about the same level of competency. “Unless the camera captured the murder, I don’t believe it’ll help us.”

“I’m pretty sure forensics already confirmed it didn’t.”

“Well there’s no harm in double checking,” Maya said, reaching for the large camera. Miles was about to warn her not to tamper with the equipment, but someone beat him to it. A young woman, probably no older than Maya herself, had chosen to walk in at that moment and caught her right in the act.

“Hey! Don’t touch that!”

Maya flinched away like she had been burned - as did Gumshoe, despite being nowhere near the camera at the time.

“And who might you be?” Miles asked of the newcomer, once she was satisfied that Maya was successfully deterred.

“Who, me? I’m one of the assistants.”

“Her name’s Penny Nichols, sir. We got her statement earlier since she was one of the people who was here yesterday.”

“I see, and what was that statement?”

“Not much,” Nichols admitted. “I was with everyone else in the morning when we did the action sequences. After lunch, Mr. Hammer came here and WP went to his dressing room.”

“WP? Oh! Will Powers. I get it,” Maya interrupted. Everyone turned to look at her. “What?”

“Was there anything else. Ms. Nichols?”

“No. That’s the last I saw either of them.”

“I see.” So no confirmation on Will Powers’ rather flimsy alibi.

“Although, there was something that’s been bothering me. It might not be anything, but yesterday, just after noon, I swear I sensed that someone was here…”

“‘Sensed’?” Miles asked dubiously.

“Yes. Several times, in fact.”

“I bet it was just another employee,” Gumshoe suggested.

“No. We were just doing run-throughs, so I was the only assistant here. I think it was someone from… outside.”

“Like a trespasser?” Maya asked. “Oh! I bet Ms. Oldbag would know if anybody snuck in.”

“Provided Ms. Nichols actually ‘sensed’ another person here,” Miles replied.

“It’s still a clue, and we need everything we can if we’re going to prove Mr. Powers is innocent.”

“Inno- That is not what we came here to investigate!” 

Maya either didn’t hear him, or didn’t care. Probably the latter. “Thanks for the lead,” she said to Nichols, who nodded and went on to whatever she’d originally entered the studio for. “Now let’s go talk to the security lady.” 

He hesitated. It was a good lead, their only one at the moment, but he also didn’t want to interact with that woman any more than necessary. Miles weighed his options, eyes falling on Gumshoe while he thought. That could work.

“Detective.” He snapped to attention. “Why don’t you accompany Ms. Fey. Make sure she doesn’t do any sightseeing on the way. I’ll join you shortly.”

“On it, sir. Let’s go, pal. Maybe we can snag some more donuts…” Their voices faded away as they exited the room and Miles allowed himself a sigh of relief.

Aww, what’s wrong? You don’t want to go see ‘grandma’ again? Phoenix teased.

He shuddered. I do not wish to subject myself to anymore of her… attentions… today.

Phoenix let a beat pass before he spoke again. Wait, by ‘attentions’, do you mean?

Figuring that the two had gotten a good head start on him, Miles exited the studio. She was making several attempts to flirt with me.

Really? THAT’S what it takes for you to notice?! he nearly shouted.

I’ll admit that blowing the kiss was a bit much, but it seemed fairly obvious.

You can’t be- Phoenix cut himself off. No. You know what, I should probably be thankful…

Thankful?

Oops… Did I think that out loud?

Unfortunately that was as far as Phoenix was willing to elaborate, muttering a quick excuse along the lines of ‘symbiont problems’. Maybe Ms. Fey could elaborate on that as well.

Speaking of Ms. Fey, when he rejoined her and Gumshoe, they were sitting on a bench by the intersection, both enjoying a donut.

“I take it everything went well,” he said, startling them.

“Yeah, uh,” Gumshoe said, fumbling not to drop the glazed confection. “So, turns out Ms. Nichols did see… er… sense someone else here.

Miles’ eyebrows shot up. “Then?”

“Oh don’t worry. It was just a kid. She said he’s probably only 10 years old. Ms. Oldbag had just forgotten about him cause he sneaks in all the time.”

“But he was here before the murder took place,” Maya interjected. “That camera even took a picture of him, so he’s a suspect!”

The prosecutor thought about it. “It might be worth talking to this boy.”

“What? But he’s just a kid!”

“I’m aware, detective, but our case against Powers is flimsy at best. If he was here around the time of the murder, then he may be a witness.” The biggest hurdle was confirming the identity of the Steel Samurai in the photograph. Hopefully this boy saw something that could aid in that endeavor. “Where is he now?”

“Unfortunately, we don’t know. He’s not supposed to be here in the first place, y’know? The lady said he probably sneaks in through the drain in the employee area.”

If she knew about his entry route, then why not block it? Well, her folly may just turn out his favor. “Keep an eye on this drain. If anyone sees the boy, bring him in for questioning immediately.”

Gumshoe was dismissed to go deliver the order, leaving him with Maya again.

“What if the kid proves it wasn’t WP under that mask?” she asked.

“Who else could it have been? Oldbag? There was hardly anyone at the studio.”

“But… I just don’t believe he could’ve done it.”

I actually agree with Maya, Phoenix said. I don’t think he did it either, but you’ve got a point. From what I’ve gathered, it sounds like the only other people around were an old woman, a teenager, and a grade-schooler. 

“Well, Ms. Fey, it appears someone else agrees with you.” She let out a triumphant ‘yes!’ “Unfortunately for the both of you, I’m not a defense attorney and I was given an assignment.”

“But-!”

“There’s nothing else to do here until our trespasser is found. The triaI’s not until Tuesday, so I suggest we retire for the day.”

Maya, though clearly not happy about it, agreed. In car the she decided not to talk to him, holding counsel with Phoenix in what the two of them probably thought were whispers, but Miles heard most of it anyway. Much like he was having difficulty proving Powers was guilty, they couldn’t prove his innocence without something more substantial than an alibi no one could confirm. It would make for an interesting trial were either of them able to stand in court.

After a while he tuned out their chatter, until something caught his ear.

“By the way, did you tell him about… the thing?”

“Thing? What thing?”

“The thing. My thing.”

“What? The curse?” He caught Phoenix sneaking him a quick glance and then nodding frantically. “Yeah I told him. He has to put up with you, I figured he should know.”

“‘Put up with me’. Wow. Thanks Maya.”

“Well it’s not like you were gonna tell him.”

The flustered firebird didn’t have a response to that.

Talking to Phoenix had, at least, seemed to improve Maya's mood by the time they returned to the apartment (as did the donuts he bought for her along the way), but she still looked bummed.

“Thanks for letting me tag along,” she said as she let herself out, shifting Phoenix into the passenger seat. “Even if it wasn’t all that I expected, I did get to meet the Steel Samurai!”

“Ms. Fey, I…” She paused, hand on the car door. He chose his next words carefully. “Even if I wanted to believe in his innocence, I’m still a prosecutor. I can’t just switch sides willy-nilly.”

“Yeah, I guess I kinda get that. I just want to help him, but there’s not much I can really do.” Maya smiled sadly. “I wish Sis was here, she’d know what to do.”

“Mia could also just defend him and solve all our problems,” Phoenix added. “Actually, I wonder if Powers has found a lawyer yet? Maybe someone who’ll finally beat that flawless record of yours, Miles.”

He scoffed. “Doubtful. Anyway Ms. Fey, I shall talk to you in the near future, hopefully when this is all done and I can get back to work on your sister’s case.”

“We’ll let you know what happens with Powers.”

Maya waved them both goodbye and shut the car door. Miles waited for her to skip off to the apartment building before he started his own route home.

 


 

The next afternoon saw Miles rushing over to the precinct. The young boy, a one Cody Hackings as they had learned, had been caught sneaking in through the drain, just as suspected, and was currently being detained for questioning. They hadn’t gotten much out of him, only that he’d apparently ‘seen everything’. Miles was hoping his luck would be a little better.

Cody had made it clear within the first few words that he was not interested in cooperating.

“I don’t have to tell you or any of those other grown-ups anything!” he had snapped, crossing his arms and sinking down in his chair.

“Cody,” he started. “You are a witness to a very serious crime, I need your cooperation.”

“You’re not the boss of me!”

Miles growled to himself. This was getting him nowhere.

Not used to dealing with kids, huh?

On the contrary, he had quite a bit of experience with children. This, however, was a far cry from a prosecutor-in-training who was quick with a riding crop and even quicker with her tongue.

Hey, he likes the Steel Samurai, right? Maybe you can bond over being giant nerds.

That was out of the question. Maya knowing was already bad enough.

“Tell me what you saw!”

“No!”

Although the direct approach wasn’t doing him any favors. Time to get creative. 

“I see you have a camera with you,” Miles said, noting the device hanging around his neck. “Do you bring that with you everywhere?”

“Maybe I do. What’s it to you?”

“You were apprehended at the studio, so you must’ve had it on you at the time. Is it possible you also brought it when you visited the studio two days ago?” Cody flinched, so clearly he was on to something. “Hoping to catch some footage of the Steel Samurai in action, perhaps?”

The child frowned. “So what is I was? What do you know about the Steel Samurai?”

Miles sighed. If he must…

“I know that the Steel Samurai is a noble warrior of justice. He uses his Samurai Spear to vanquish his foes and protect the people of Neo Olde Tokyo, all while inspiring hope that one day they might be free of the terror of the Evil Magistrate.”

Cody’s jaw nearly dropped. “Yeah! The Steel Samurai never loses!” He grinned. “You know you’re not so bad, gramps.”

“Gramps?!”

At least he’s talking to you, Phoenix offered.

He held his temper. “So, now will you tell me what you witnessed?”

“Okay. So, I snuck into the studio to watch the rehearsal. I had to go through the woods so that old lady wouldn’t see me, so I got lost for about 30 minutes. But, when I came out, I saw him. The Steel Samurai! Then the bad guy showed up and he totally took him down with his spear! Pow! It was awesome!”

It seems that Cody hadn’t quite realized that what he witnessed was a murder, rather than another scene from the show. Miles wasn’t sure if this was good or not. “And I don’t suppose you caught a picture of this finishing blow, did you?”

He froze up. “N-no. I, uh, didn’t have my camera on me.”

Now hold on, hadn’t they just established he did have with him?

“Cody, why aren’t you being truthful with me?”

“H-huh?”

“I already know you brought your camera that day, so why lie? What is it you don’t want me to know?”

“Nothing! I just… I didn’t catch it, is all. The Steel Samurai had just escaped from his foe, but my camera lens didn’t open in time.”

A plausible answer, but Miles still felt he was hiding something. “Cody. I’m also trying to fight for justice, but I can’t do that if you don’t tell me exactly what happened. What would the Steel Samurai think?”

He was silent for a long while, then suddenly, burst out into tears. “But- but he loooooost!”

Miles flinched back. Crying children were definitely not his strong point. “Lost?”

Cody nodded, sniffling. “The lens r-really didn’t open in time so I missed it but… h-he fell down… The Steel Samurai fell and… then he didn’t m-move…” He started blubbering again and Miles, not knowing what else to do, offered him a handkerchief. Cody took it and loudly blew his nose.

But what does that mean? Phoenix asked. If the Steel Samurai was the one who fell…

…then he was the victim, and the person the camera captured was…

Actually, I did get one picture…” Miles snapped his head back to Cody, who was done drying his face. The boy pulled the camera from around his neck and cycled through the history until he found what he wanted. He then handed it off to Miles.

The picture he was looking at was one of the Steel Samurai from behind, clearly taken from a vantage point in the bushes. The person inside the costume still wasn’t discernible. He stared at the photo hard. There was something else not quite right about this scene…

“What’s gonna happen now? Did the bad guy win?”

“Um…” Miles fumbled, handing the camera back to it’s owner. “I-I’m sure this was only a minor setback. Justice will prevail in the end.”

He sniffed again, but didn’t break down into tears again. “Yeah. Yeah! The Steel Samurai is the best! Thanks, mister.” He tried to give Miles the soiled handkerchief back, but he gestured for him to keep it.

After asking Cody to keep their discussion private for now, he released the boy back to the officers, advising them to keep him on standby as a potential witness for tomorrow’s trial.

Miles, the symbiont said as the left the precinct. That testimony just changed everything we knew about this trial. There’s nothing putting Powers at the studio at the time of death anymore.

We have no concrete proof of who was under that mask. It could still be Powers at this point.

Phoenix gasped in disbelief. You honestly still think he did it, even after that? Miles, there’s a lot more going on here and you know it!

He didn’t answer, forcing his car door open a little rougher than intended. As he sat down in his seat, Phoenix was immediately in his face.

“Move, you glorified parrot!” he said, trying to shove him into the other seat.

“Not until you answer me!”

Miles looked away. “We’ll discuss this back at the office.”

Phoenix scowled. “Fine, but I’m holding you to that.”

He made good on his word, rounding on Miles the second they were past the threshold and the door was securely shut.

“Now, tell me why you’re still pursuing Powers’ case.”

The silent car ride had given him enough time to properly formulate his response. “Simple. I’m a prosecutor. My duty is to get the defendant a guilty verdict.”

“Even at the cost of an innocent person’s life?”

Miles clutched at his elbow, scowling. “The police… made their arrest. I'm just following through.”

“The police can be fooled! We just had a case where that exact thing happened!”

Miles shook his head. “You’ve been on the defense’s side too long, you don’t know how the Prosecutor’s Office works.” He tried to turn away, but Phoenix was faster, hovering at face level and blocking the way.

“This isn’t about the office, it’s about you and what you’re about to do!” He set his gaze, the intensity in those blue eyes almost mesmerizing. “Miles, look me in the eyes. What do you believe?”

He broke their gaze. “…we have court tomorrow, Phoenix. I suggest you prepare yourself.”

Chapter 6

Notes:

I kinda wanted to get this out for narumitsu week, but life got in the way. Better late than never, right? (Not that this chapter in particularly fits with any of the themes lol)

Chapter Text

Miles took a deep breath as he entered the courtroom. His prep work for this particular trial had been… stressful, to say the least. On top of his own hesitancy given who the defendant was and the bombshell that had been Cody Hackins’ witness account, he had Phoenix to contend with. Miles still had his reservations about Powers’ innocence, but the symbiont was completely convinced the murder had been committed by some unknown third party.

A fine theory, too bad he didn’t have a shred of evidence backing it up.

What he did have, in abundance, no less, were counterarguments. Enough that, were Phoenix the one facing him in court, the judge would probably need to push the trial into a second day. A shame the firebird wasn’t an attorney - he liked having a challenge for once.

He looked across the room as he got settled, wondering just who his opponent would be for this particular trial. It was a rather portly man with a mustache behind the bench, looking as though he’d prefer to be just about anywhere else right now. 

Seeming to notice eyes on him, he took a nervous glance over to the prosecutor, then hurriedly turned back to his co-counsel, a young woman dressed in purple robes.

Miles couldn’t stop himself from shouting out. “Ms. Fey?!”

What? Phoenix exclaimed.

Maya grinned as she was called, waving eagerly to him across the courtroom. “Hi, Mr. Edgeworth!”

“What on Earth are you doing over there?”

“I found Mr. Powers a defense attorney!” She gestured grandly to the man next to her, who only looked more uncomfortable at the attention. “This is Mr. Grossberg, Sis used to work in his office. She told me that I could go to him if I ever got in trouble and she couldn’t help.”

“That does not explain why you’re behind the bench as well.”

“Well I can’t help from the gallery, can I? And Mr. Grossberg said I could!” She gave the large man a pat on the arm and he muttered something incomprehensible in reply, still eying Miles anxiously.

Phoenix snorted. His conscience probably wouldn’t let him say no to her.

Miles crossed his arms. “Enthusiasm is no substitute for law school, Ms. Fey. I don’t know how much help you’ll be.” He then asked Phoenix to clarify his statement, smirking at the indignant look on Maya’s face.

Mia ended up as his office because she was looking for the person who leaked the channeling to White, he explained. Miles figured as much. It was the law office Hammond was employed at. Well Grossberg was the leak. He probably still feels guilty about it. 

“Hey, I’m Mia’s sister. Lawyership runs in our blood!”

And this is how he’s atoning for that? Miles asked, rolling his eyes at Maya’s antics. Did he hire Ms. Fey out of guilt as well?

“That is not remotely how genetics work,” he then said aloud. He would know, given which side of the courtroom he’d ended up on...

Eh, it’s possible. He felt Phoenix shrug. Good thing Mia was really good at her job.

The judge, likely tired of being ignored, slammed down his gavel, bringing both parties to attention. “If the prosecution and the defense’s co-counsel are done with their conversation…”

“Of course, Your Honor!” Miles said quickly, a light flush on his face.

“Then court is now in session for the trial of Will Powers.”

After his opening statements, the trial began, Miles reluctantly calling Oldbag up as a witness. Her attempts at rambling and flirting had to be discouraged on several occasions, but she did eventually manage to get her testimony out.

The cross-examination went more or less as predicted. After a few presses, the security picture was presented and then immediately discarded as inconclusive - at least until Oldbag let loose another detail she’d conveniently forgotten to mention during any of their conversations.

She was probably too distracted by your good looks, Phoenix teased.

Turns out she could prove Powers’ identity in the photo. The samurai captured on camera was dragging his leg, which Miles did recall noticing. Powers, as it was, had injured that very same leg during that afternoon rehearsal. A point in his favor.

The testimony continued, Oldbag insisting how it had to have been Powers because no one else had gone by her that day. Miles rolled his eyes. This time he knew she was omitting information, though whether it was intentional or not could not be determined.

Maya, to her credit, picked up on this and prompted Grossberg to raise an objection, getting the poor man berated by the elderly woman until she admitted to discarding the photo of Cody Hackins passing the gate. The teen grinned proudly at her contribution.

It was, however, short-lived, as it was quickly established a young child couldn’t be the murderer. He couldn’t even pick up the weapon, much less kill a grown man with it. The judge banged his gavel, stopping the proceedings in favor of a five minute recess.

Now what? Phoenix asked once they were in the prosecutor’s lobby. He’d been warned not to reveal himself, in the event a bailiff chose to enter the room unannounced.

The new information hasn’t done much to change my original stance. Powers is still the only one who could have committed the crime.

I hear a ‘but’ coming…

Miles scowled at the wall to substitute for the fact he couldn’t glare at Phoenix directly. But, there is still the matter of Cody Hackins’ account.

The two, for all their arguing, had managed to agree on one thing - the Steel Samurai Cody had seen was the victim. It explained the lack of blood on site and the missing Steel Samurai costume. Miles still had detectives looking for it, but he suspected the killer had long disposed of it.

The killer, that might still be Powers. No one had seen either man after rehearsal. The current story was that Hammer went to the studio before Oldbag was at her station, and Powers passed by in costume later, but those roles could easily be swapped.

The firebird hummed thoughtfully. So what are you going to do? 

Miles pursed his lips. He could call for the guilty verdict as soon as they reconvened and end this whole affair before lunch, but that would leave too many loose ends open, and he couldn’t be content with a win like that.

The bailiff knocked and timidly poked his head in. “Sir? The recess is almost over.”

Miles turned. “Ah, perfect timing. Bailiff, I have a task for you…”

 


 

“The court will now reconvene for the trial of Mr. Will Powers. Mr. Edgeworth, will you present the prosecution's thoughts on this matter?”

“My thoughts remain unchanged. While we have learned of another person who went to the studios on that day, he is not physically capable of being the murderer. However, that does not mean he isn’t involved.”

“What do you mean?” the judge asked.

“Your Honor, the prosecution was already made aware of the presence of the young boy. More so, I have had a chance to talk to him about that day and learned something most interesting.”

Murmurs broke out from the gallery again. Even the defense looked flabbergasted by the admission.

Miles bowed briefly. “If it pleases the court, I have another witness I’d like to call to the stand.”

Cody was escorted to the stand, alongside a few boxes to allow him to see and be seen from behind the podium. He scanned the courtroom, immediately making a display of trying to yank a toy sword from the sheath strapped to his back. Honestly, the things they allowed witnesses to carry with them in court…

“Will the witness state his name and grade in school.”

The young boy snapped his head to the left, no doubt to make some snippy reply, until recognition reached his eyes.

“Oh, it’s the samurai fan!”

Miles gritted his teeth, forearm falling to the bench. “Witness please…”

“I’m Cody Hackins,” he stated with a grin. “I’m in 2nd grade!”

“Oh my, he is quite young, isn’t he,” said the judge. “Try not to be so hard on him, Mr. Edgeworth.”

“Hey, I can handle whatever you guys throw at me!” Cody said, trying to brandish his sword again and continuing to fail.

“Cody, you were at Global Studios on the day of the… incident. Please tell us what you saw.”

After a moment of two, Cody repeated the story of how he snuck into Global Studios with the hopes of taking pictures of the rehearsal. He took the time to brag a little about his camera, getting briefly chastised by the judge for having photographic equipment on the stand. (“He wouldn’t testify without it,” Miles had explained.)

Soon, he got to the part where he finally encountered the Steel Samurai and began to follow him, until the point where he encountered his unknown enemy. Cody paused and took in a nervous gulp of air, uncertainty reading in his expression. He looked to Miles and the prosecutor nodded in what he hoped was an encouraging matter.

So he told the court of the Steel Samurai’s fall. 

The crowd immediately burst out into murmurs. ‘The Steel Samurai died?!’ ‘But Will Powers is right there!’ ‘He’s just a kid, I bet he’s making it up!’

The judge banged his gavel a few times to regain control. “The defense may begin it’s cross examination.”

The two went through the motions, but otherwise did not question Cody’s testimony too much. Maya looked a bit confused from her position at the bench, but it was likely Grossberg had realized that this witness was actually aiding their case.

Miles took back over once the cross-examination was done and Cody was allowed to leave the stand. “While our young witness was unable to take a photo of the moment itself, he does have one from a few minutes beforehand that I had developed.” He presented this new evidence to the court. “As you can see, it depicts the Steel Samurai walking towards the studio. However, something about this was bothering me. Might I bring the court’s attention to the upper righthand corner?”

The judge squinted. “Is that… a number?”

“Precisely. Specifically, it’s the number ‘Two’.” 

“But, didn’t the murder occur in Studio One?” Maya called out before Grossberg could reign her back in.

“That is what we had come to understand. The prosecution, however, would like to propose that the murder actually took place at Studio Two!”

The crowd murmured again, but the judge spoke out above them. “The prosecution brings up an interesting suggestion. Does the defense have anything thoughts on the matter?”

Grossberg thought it over. “The defense thinks that, with this new information, a verdict is impossible. I’d like to request another day to gather information.”

“I see. Does the prosecution object?”

Miles tapped a finger against his arm. “We’ve not had a chance to investigate Studio Two.” 

“No, you can’t!” Oldbag suddenly chimed in, forcing her way back onto the witness stand. “That studio is off limits! Besides, the road got blocked the day Hammer was killed, so obviously nothing could’ve happened there. Nobody would’ve been able to get by.”

“But, the photograph clearly shows -“ the judge began.

“I know what it shows, whippersnapper, I’m not blind!” she snapped, cutting him off. “Just because I’m old, doesn’t mean my eyes have gone bad. They wouldn’t have hired me as a security guard if I couldn’t even see something like that. Why, I remember when I look my last eye examine, the doctor praised me on how good my eyesight was. ‘Why, Wendy!’ he would say…”

“So why don’t you want us in the other studio, huh?” Maya demanded, putting an end to her rambling. “Are you hiding something?”

“N-no!” she stammered. “I just don’t think anyone needs to waste their time chasing the delusions of a little boy.”

The defense team began murmuring to each other again.

Oldbag’s starting to sound real suspicious, isn’t she?

You don’t honestly suspect her, do you? I doubt she could wield the murder weapon either.

No, not really. But she’s hiding something.

That much he could agree on. The defense seemed to have picked it up too, moving away from their huddle.

Grossberg nervously cleared his throat. “The defense would like to present Wendy Oldbag as a potential suspect.”

“WHAT!?” the old woman screeched.

“Since she was at her security booth all day, alone, she also has no alibi. She also would have known about the camera and could have discarded evidence showing her moving past the gate. And, since we now know it was the victim in the Steel Samurai costume, that removes my client from the scene.”

“Why would I kill Hammer, I don’t have a motive.”

“True, but may I remind the court that neither does Mr. Powers.”

She screeched again, but the words were unintelligible. 

The judge turned to Miles. “Well, Mr. Edgeworth? Does the prosecution have an opinion on this matter?”

He had several opinions in fact. Given how much of a fan she insisted she was it seemed unlikely, the defense had yet to provide a reason for the victim to wear the wrong costume in this scenario, not to mention the weapon issue, but… 

“The prosecution has no meaningful objections at this time.”

“W-w-what!? What's that supposed to mean!?” Oldbag demanded. “Oh, so you all think I did it? Is that it!? Edgey-boy! Don't just sit there, do something!”

You know, I kinda feel bad for her now.

Miles shuddered. He certainly didn’t.

The judge paused a moment, as if to see if Miles would, in fact, do something. When he didn’t, he continued. “If that’s the case, then this court will suspend proceedings until tomorrow. I would like the prosecution to look further into this witness.” He raised his gavel to dismiss the court.

“Now hold on a second!” Oldbag interrupted. “If you’re going to go about accusing me, then I’ve got something more to say!”

There was a collective sigh that emanated from the room.

“Did you suddenly remember something else?” the judge asked.

“If you must know, there was something I was asked not to talk about.”

“What?!”

“By whom?”

Somebody actually got her not to talk?

“Well, testify!” the judge encouraged. 

Frowning, the elderly woman began speaking again. “Global Studios wanted me to keep quiet, but there were... some other people at the studios on the day of the murder. They said they had 'nothing to do with it,' see?” She made air quotes here. “So they told me to just pretend they ‘hadn't been at the studios that day.’ But if you're going to go accusing me, I'm not letting them get away scot free!”

“M-Ms. Oldbag!” the judge stammered, flabbergasted. “This is crucial information! Why did you keep this from the court until now!?”

“Ain't you been listening? They told me to shut my trap, and I always do what I'm told.”

Miles found the statement hard to believe.

“Who were these ‘other people’?” Grossberg asked, beginning his cross-examination.

“Just some studio bigwigs; the director, the producer…” she waved a hand dismissively.

“Of course!” Miles hit the desk. “Why didn’t I see it earlier? They wouldn’t have done a run-through without the director present!”

“I’m surprised no one asked about it.”

Miles scowled at her.

“And the police didn’t know they were there?” Grossberg continued.

“No. After the morning rehearsal everyone else was having a lunchtime meeting up at the Studio Two trailer.”

And there it was.

As the the judge struggled to regain control of the gallery, Miles turned his thoughts to his hidden partner.

Well Phoenix, we may have just found your third party.

 


 

Miles arrived to Studio Two about an hour into the investigation, this time unaccompanied by Maya. After choosing to align herself with the defense for this case, Miles had to explain how it would be untoward for her to be seen alongside him during the investigation, much to her disappointment (Plus there was only so much he could stand of her and Phoenix’s back-and-forth when he was forced to play receptionist). 

Gumshoe, however, was more than happy to reclaim his, as he put it, rightful spot as Miles’ assistant.

“It, uh, doesn’t look like much of a studio,” the detective muttered, eyeing the trailer setup. He bent over to prod at an oddly bent spear of a metal fence (someone should probably get that fixed) surrounding the trailer, and flinched back as it pricked him.

Miles sighed in disappointment. “Studio Two has not been used for filming in years. The trailer is a set from the last movie they shot here and has been left up for use as an extra employee area.” He gestured behind them where a table and some dirty dishes were being scrutinized by forensics. “Those are the likely remains of that lunch meeting the witness spoke of.”

“Oh yeah, they have some of that in the main employee area too - where Hammer and Powers were before the incident. That poor assistant girl kept begging us to let her clean it up.”

Miles sneered at the three day old remains. “I can’t imagine why…”

“Yeah. It looks like she might’ve done some cleaning here, though. There were still steak bones on the other plates.”

He gave him a look. “What an odd thing to take note of, Detective.”

“Is it?” He scratched at his head. “I just remember seeing those leftover t-bones and having a craving for steak all day. Of course, steak’s kinda pricey, so I treated myself to some extra beef flavored instant noodles instead.”

Yeesh, talk about settling. Maybe you should stop cutting his salary.

I wouldn’t have to if he did his job right, Miles fired back. Gumshoe’s shortcomings aside, he did make a note of the contradiction. Unless the studio heads were served something else, the plates shouldn’t be any cleaner than the ones in the employee area.

He turned his attention to the rest of the area. According to the evidence, this was where Jack Hammer was killed. A few things immediately caught his eye besides the broken fence; a large van and an incinerator tucked away near the gate - both pretty convenient if someone wanted to cover up a crime scene. He sent Gumshoe to get a closer look at the incinerator in particular. He quickly confirmed that the inside was filled with soot, meaning it’d been used recently.

He shuddered at a passing thought of the Steel Samurai’s classic costume, soaked in the victim’s blood and then burned away to ashes. Truly as shame if that was the real reason no one had seen it since the day of the incident. Although it meant nothing if they found no definitive proof that a murder took place in this location.

“Have we found any traces of blood yet?” He directed the question to forensics, still examining the table for reasons unknown.

The man shook his head. “They’re busy interrogating the producer in there, so I’m on stand-by until they’re done. Apparently she’s been giving everyone a run for their money.”

That was the other matter to be looked into, the people who tried to cover-up their presence that day. He’d have to have a word with this producer as well.

In the meantime, Miles scanned their immediate area once again, looking for anything out of place. Their witness had seen the incident from outside after all. Despite his efforts, he found his eye repeatedly drawn back to the fence and that single misaligned spike. What could have possibly caused it to bend at such a specific point, the rest of the fence untouched? It was clearly some type of sturdy metal, so considerable force must have been applied. Perhaps something heavy had landed there?

Miles stared at the bent spike. Cody did say he ‘fell’…

“Forensics, get a luminol test on this!”

A few quick sprays and his hypothesis was confirmed. The samurai spear wasn’t the murder weapon at all! 

Miles groaned and rubbed at his temples. Was anything from the initial investigation true? If he received an updated autopsy report stating Hammer wasn’t even dead he’d probably believe it at this point.

Hey, at least you’ve determined that your favorite actor isn’t guilty? Phoenix supplied.

What I’ve determined is Hammer was killed by falling onto this ludicrously dangerous railing. I still don’t know how he was put in this predicament, or why his body was moved and new weapon planted. Powers could still be responsible.

And so could those people who were hiding out here that day.

Miles trained a determined stare on the trailer door. Well, let’s find out, shall we.

Without much announcement, Miles let himself into the trailer, Gumshoe still trailing in his footsteps. The room’s occupants, a couple of officers and a rather sweaty man, immediately turned their attention to the new arrivals. The remaining person, a woman in black, spared him only the briefest of glances before returning to the paper in her hand.

Miles regarded her for a second before calling one of the officers over. “Report.”

“Sir! We’ve gotten a statement from the director.” He gestured to the perspirant man. “After the run-through that morning he was in a meeting with the producer and the other studio heads until 4:00.”

“I see. And does the producer confirm this alibi?”

He fidgeted nervously. “W-we don’t know, sir. Every time we try to ask, she just shushes us and keeps reading that script.” 

As if to emphasize her lack of concern, the woman took a long drag from her pipe and blew out a wispy trail of smoke.

Ah yes, Dee Vasquez. He’d done a little research right after this morning’s trial just to know who he’d potentially be dealing with. Not only was she the producer of Global Studios, she was also rumored to have connections to the mafia. A sudden rise to power and several deals that favored her far more than the other party supported the theory, but no concrete proof ever turned up. Getting her to cooperate would be a challenge.

“Ms. Vasquez, we-“

“Hush.”

Miles blinked, taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“Hush,” Vasquez repeated, still buried nose deep in her script. “I’m trying to read.”

He took a second to regain his composure. “I think you’d find this information-“

“Did you not understand that I’m trying to read this script?” she interrupted again. “I need silence.”

“Oi!” Gumshoe stepped forth. “You can’t just shut Mr. Edgeworth down when he’s trying to talk to you!”

She didn’t even dignify the detective with a response. He sighed deeply, slouching his shoulders. 

“Your effort is noted, Detective,” Miles said, folding his arms. If she wasn’t going to talk right now, he wasn’t going to waste his breath on her. Miles pivoted to the director, startling him with the sudden attention. “Sal Manella.”

“Y-yes?” the man practically squeaked. Miles appraised him quietly. Besides directing one of the greatest action shows of their time, he didn’t have much of note in his biography and was offering even less face-to-face. 

“I understand you’ve stated you were here all afternoon. Is that the alibi you’re sticking to?”

He puffed out his chest. “J00 don’t believe me? How r00d can j00 get!” He quickly deflated under the resulting glare. “I mean, yes, sir.”

“Then I’m afraid your ‘alibi’ has now made you a suspect. Forensics just confirmed the murder took place right outside this trailer.”

Somehow Manella began to sweat even more.

“Is that true?!” one of the officers whispered and he heard Gumshoe begin to explain to them what had occurred outside.

“Powers.” Everyone turned as Vasquez spoke. She had set the script down to the side to take another drag of her pipe. “Powers is the one on trial, is he not?”

“He is,” Miles confirmed.

“His whereabouts have not been confirmed from after morning rehearsal. He easily could have met Hammer here while we were all inside the trailer.”

“I hadn’t eliminated the possibility. My concern was no one stepped forth as a witness. In fact, you all were content to cover up your presence entirely.”

If Vasquez was affected by the allegations, she didn’t show it. “The curtains were shut and sound doesn’t carry well through these walls. To our knowledge, we were alone in the studio. Combined with Mr. Monkey, we assumed Studio Two was entirely unrelated to the incident so we omitted our presence so as not to waste anyone’s time.” She blew out a puff of smoke. “Like you are doing to me, right now.”

Miles gritted his teeth. He knew this was going to be difficult going in, but the sheer force of this woman’s insolence.  

“Hold on, I have one question!” Gumshoe interjected. “What’s a ‘Mr. Monkey’?”

The interruption was enough to break the tension in the room.

“The studio mascot, Mr. Monkey. His head was knocked over due to high winds the day of the murder, blocking the path to Studio Two.”

“We can confirm this. The mascot had a clock on it that stopped when the head broke. The time reads 2:15.”

“We didn’t find out until 4:00 when the meeting ended and we had it cleared. Powers and Hammer must have snuck in before it fell.”

“But that implies you were trapped here with a dead body for nearly two hours and no one saw anything?”

She frowned deeply. “I don’t like repeating myself. We were inside the trailer the entire time. Powers found a place to hide the body until we left. There’s a van outside, is there not? That’s probably how he transported him to Studio One as well.”

That was the same conclusion he’d come to as well. A blood test would need to be done for that van to confirm it.

Wait, were they really in the trailer the whole time? Phoenix asked. Weren’t you and Gumshoe talking about leftovers outside?

There was a table and some empty plates set up outside, but they could have been moved there after the meeting ended.

A pause. Do you really believe that?

No. No he didn’t. He met Vasquez’s challenging eyes and decided to keep that tidbit to himself a little while longer.

“We won’t take up anymore of your time. Come along, Detective.”

“But, Mr. Edgeworth - !”

Detective.” he repeated, and Gumshoe scrambled to comply, following him out of the trailer. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Vasquez following their movements, calculating. The producer definitely knew more than she was letting on.

“I can’t believe you let that woman speak to you like that, sir!” Gumshoe protested as they headed back towards the entrance to Studio Two.

As they passed by, he set forensics to work on the van. “She may be a little conceited, but nothing she said was particularly inconvenient for the prosecution,” he pointed out.

Except the part where she’s definitely lying, Phoenix muttered.

Gumshoe replayed the events in his head. “Huh, I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I am,” he said as they rounded the split in the pathway. He gave the broken mascot statue, (Mrs. Monkey, was it?) a brief once over. The face was a little weird, but he supposed he could see why they’d call it a monkey. He could also see the clock, frozen at 2:15 like they said. It didn’t affect his theories too much, as it was already established that Powers would have had to have transited before 1:00, when Oldbag returned to her station.

As they continued towards the front of the studio, Phoenix commented to the affect of hearing voices somewhere nearby. Miles paused to listen, but didn’t hear anything. He wrote it off as another of the symbiont’s quirks and continued on to the security booth, where hopefully the assistant, whose name Miles had already forgotten, might have some more information for them. Due to Oldbag being detained from the morning’s trial, she was standing in her place.

“Look, that sweet old lady’s back at the booth,” Gumshoe pointed out when they neared the front. “Guess they let her off the hook.”

Miles paled, warring briefly with himself if the potential for additional information was really worth it now, or if her should escape before she noticed. The decision was made for him.

“Oh! Did you boys come to make sure I was okay after that disaster this morning. I can’t believe I was actually suspected of murdering poor old Hammer.” She took a pause. “Not that I blame you, Edgey, you were just doing your job. It was that lawyer and that little girl, picking on a poor defenseless old lady. And that judge let them get away with it to boot! Next time I see them, I’ll give them a piece of my mind.”

Pretty sure they were just doing their jobs, too.

Miles cleared his throat, seeing that escape was off the table. “Yes, well… you shouldn’t have to see any of them again.” Miles certainly had no plans on calling her back as a witness.

“Eh, what are you talking about? Nichols told me she let those two in earlier while she was handling the booth for me.”

Those two… wait, Maya’s here?!

“Does she know defense attorneys aren’t supposed to do their own investigations?” Miles asked, though not particularly surprised Maya found a way back into the studio. It was Grossberg he was more shocked at. There were always a few who tended to press their luck and show up at crime scenes anyway, but Grossberg, from his initial impressions, didn’t seem the type.

Told you he probably can’t say no to her.

Oldbag shrugged. “Said they had some letter from Powers to check out his dressing room or something. They’d just better watch it if they show their faces to me!”

“Should we do something about that, sir?” Gumshoe asked.

Miles waved it off. “The dressing rooms aren’t related to the crime. So long as they stay out of the police’s way, I don’t really care.”

“You got it, sir,” he replied, though Miles noted he sounded a touch disappointed. “Anyway, they sure let you get back to work pretty quickly.”

“Oh, that. The police handed me that ‘Samurai Spear’ that killed Hammer right after the trial. I could barely lift the darn thing! As soon as they saw that, they determined I couldn’t be the murderer and let me go.”

Nice to see the police on top of things for once. Grossberg had clearly used her as a scapegoat to buy more time for his client. He was lucky the judge hadn’t seen through that ploy immediately.

“Wow, you lucked out then,” Gumshoe continued, chuckling a bit. “We just found out that thing wasn’t even the murder weapon after all!”

“What?!”

“Detective…” Miles warned. That information was on a need to know basis right now.

He didn’t seem to catch his tone. “Yeah! Hammer fell on that fence outside Studio Two. How come that thing’s so sharp anyway?”

“Detective!” Miles snapped, about to berate him for his loose lips, when he caught a change in Oldbag’s demeanor. Her eyes had gone wide and a hand had come up to clasp over her mouth.

“It happened again…” she practically whispered through her fingers, trembling slightly.

“Ms. Oldbag? You okay, pal?”

For once, she didn’t speak, silently shaking her head.

What’s happening? Phoenix asked.

I… I’m not sure… Seeing the usually chatty woman rendered so speechless, it was scary; a different flavor of scary from her natural brand. After a few moments of silence, the two men hovering nearby out of concern, but having no idea how to handle the situation, her hand eventually dropped from her mouth. Still she didn’t speak, disappearing instead into the security booth. A minute or so later she returned, a small piece of paper in hand.

“This was taken five years ago,” she finally said. “There was an accident… a fatal accident.”

The paper turned out to be a photograph, and a gruesome one at that. It depicted a man impaled on that same dangerous fence surrounding Studio Two. In the background were two familiar faces captured in shock and horror; Vasquez and Hammer.

“Is this…?” Miles began.

“You have to understand, he didn’t mean to hurt anyone. They were doing a fight scene and the other actor got pushed over the railing. Unfortunately, there just happened to be a paparazzi there who snapped that photo. It caused quite the stir, naturally, but that woman, Vasquez, fixed everything. She used her mafia connections to silence the paparazzi, but she never let poor old Hammer live it down.”

“And you’ve had this this whole time?” Miles asked.

She grimaced. “I’d rather not talk about it. Keep the photo, it might help you.”

“…thank you, Ms. Oldbag.” Miles gave her a sincere bow. She nodded tersely and returned to her booth.

“Aww, poor lady. She’s been through a lot, huh?”

Yeah, I guess she can’t help it if she’s an old windbag. Hey Miles, what’s on that photo? I think I have a slight idea. He briefly explained it to the firebird, who hummed his affirmation. So Hammer died the same way as the other actor?

It would seem that way.

And Vasquez was a witness back then. That’s… quite the coincidence, he said, though Miles could feel those wheels turning. This five-year-old incident was related, they both knew it.

I do believe she saw Hammer enter Studio Two. She’s too insistent that no one left the trailer despite evidence of the contrary, Miles said. But that doesn’t necessarily make her the culprit. She could easily be playing witness again.

But why hide it then? I didn’t get the impression that she’s the type to protect someone.

Unless she wanted to use them. At Phoenix’s confused noise, he elaborated. Recall what Oldbag just told us. Vasquez soothed the incident with Hammer, but she’s likely held considerable power over him ever since. History may be repeating itself in more than one way.

There was a momentary silence as Phoenix thought it over. Then that means… Powers definitely didn’t do it! She can’t use him if he’s in jail after all. 

Miles blinked. That is true, I suppose… Blackmailing Powers because he was the culprit was the best case scenario for Vasquez - exchanging the fallen star for the studio’s most profitable actor. So why was she giving that, and the Steel Samurai for that matter, up to keep silent?

The realization seemed to hit them both at the same time.

it’s her, isn’t it? the symbiont said.

Of course it, Miles replied as he rubbed his temples, a little upset with himself that it’d taken that long to realize. If he’d just questioned the missing director day one…

The voices! Phoenix said suddenly. She has mob connections, right? I bet she has someone tailing us right now to make sure we’re not onto her.

I haven’t heard anything this entire time.

Yeah, but I rely on my hearing a lot more than you do, Phoenix explained, and I definitely heard men following us at a couple of points.

Miles pursed his lips. He wasn’t sure whether or not to believe the symbiont’s theory, but it did seem like something Vasquez might do. There was a reason she’d never been arrested for her mafia ties.

“Mr. Edgeworth, sir?” Gumshoe asked, likely concerned by the prosecutor’s extended silence.

“Detective, go find our defense team, give them this, and tell them the security lady’s story.” He handed off the old photograph, watching Gumshoe’s brows knit in confusion. “And then have them leave the premises immediately.” If Phoenix was right, then they were likely being watched as well.

“Uh, you got it, sir,” he replied, profoundly confused, but went to fulfill the request.

 “And don’t tell them it’s from me,” he added on, just before the detective was out of earshot. Gumshoe gave a thumbs up to show he had heard.

Just what are you planning?

Vasquez is a cunning woman, confronting her head on won’t be easy. In fact, I believe that’s what our victim was trying to do when he met his demise.

Huh?!

Think about it, Phoenix. He was wearing the full costume and dragging the same leg Powers damaged in rehearsal, despite being uninjured himself. He wanted the camera and anyone else who might see him to think it was Will Powers heading to that studio. Now why might that be?

Phoenix gasped. You don’t think…?

He spent five years working under her thumb. Perhaps he finally hit his breaking point.

Poor Powers. He would’ve ended up in the defendant’s chair no matter what, Phoenix said. Miles assumed he was just an easy target. The man was a little pitiful in real life. But now we can put the right person on trial!

We can’t, actually, Miles said before his partner could get carried away. We don’t actually have any evidence. This is all hypothetical.

He groaned slightly. So what? You’re just going to keep prosecuting Powers after all that?

If he could glared at Phoenix, he would. I didn’t say that. We’ll continue with the trial and hopefully the defense can make use of that clue.

And what about your record?

Miles frowned. That actually hadn’t even occurred to him, but sure enough, finding Powers innocent would instantly put an end to any hope of living up to his mentor’s legacy.

A small price to pay to keep the Steel Samurai on the air, he replied. A part of him already knew he’d never live up to those standards anyway. There were worse things to confirm that disappointment over.

If you say so… He didn’t sound too convinced but past experience had finally taught him not to pry when the prosecutor didn’t wish to discuss certain matters. 

Good. Miles pulled out his phone, quickly texting Gumshoe to inform him of his departure from Global Studios. The day was still young, but he needed to prepare himself for something completely unheard of - sabotaging his own case. von Karma would surely be displeased with his performance, but it was against his code as a prosecutor to let a single criminal free.

By tomorrow morning, everyone would know who really killed Jack Hammer.

Chapter 7

Notes:

Symbiosis has fanart! Check out vvvvvvyeah's cool art of Phoenix and Miles.
http://vvvvvvyeah.tumblr.com/post/175015623931/hnnngg-uhhhh-symbiosis-is-a-really-good-fic-so

Chapter Text

The bang of the judge’s gavel echoed across courtroom number four.

“The court is now in session for the trial of Mr. Will Powers.” 

“The prosecution is ready, Your Honor.”

The prosecution is not remotely ready, Phoenix supplied.

He couldn’t deny the symbiont’s claims, glad, not for the first time, that only he could hear Phoenix’s voice. Today he based his case around a not-guilty verdict, on throwing the trial in favor of the defense. The end of a three-year winning streak dwarfed only by his own mentor’s forty-year run.

Could anyone really blame him for his hesitancy?

“The defense is ready, Your Honor,” Grossberg echoed, Maya grinning determinedly at his side. Miles just hoped that determination would aid in his grand plan. 

The judge nodded. “Very well. Mr. Edgeworth, your opening statement, please.”

Miles pulled up his case notes, letting out a slow exhale. It’s now or never.

“Yesterday brought some surprising news to this court. We have confirmed that Studio Two was the real scene of the crime, and that there were other people present at the time. Today, they will be explaining to the court why they were not involved.”

“Very well. You may call your first witness, Mr. Edgeworth.”

First up on the stand, much to Miles’ displeasure, was Manella. He would have much rather the producer testify so he could end this rouse as soon as possible. Unfortunately, Vasquez had insisted on not appearing in court at all. He’d only just managed to convince her to come in as a standby witness, in the event the defense managed to entirely discredit the director’s testimony.

Now all Miles needed was for them to do exactly that.

“Witness, please state your name and occupation.”

Sal Manella was not paying him the slightest bit of attention, staring rather intently at Maya, who took a few seconds to look behind her to search for whatever he found so intriguing. Finding nothing, she finally concluded that she was the subject of his scrutiny.  

“Uhhh…. can I help you?” she asked, cautiously.

“You’re kinda…” He trailed off, tongue suddenly wagging outside of mouth. “Mmm... Yeah... Hot! Hot! Hot! Hey, do j00 do a lot of cosplay, coz that costume r0x0rz!…"

“Rocksores?! Wh-what… Hey! You're drooling!” Maya exclaimed, cringing at the saliva dribbling down his chin. Manella simply wiped it away.

“Witness…” Miles warned, trying to regain control of the situation.

Is.. is he hitting on Maya? Phoenix asked, appalled.

Apparently.

Ugh, gross. He’s gotta be, what, twice her age?

He nodded discreetly as Manella continued to ignore the rest of the court. It was a bit… off-putting to say the least.

 “LOL! Buffer overrun! You've triggered my CR34T1V3 P0W3RZ! Yes... yes, it's coming to me! ‘Pink Princess’! The sequel to the Steel Samurai... ‘Pink Princess: Warrior of Little Olde Tokyo!’ ROFL... LMAO!”

Miles paused in his next attempt at scolding the witness. A sequel to the Steel Samurai with a female lead? That sounded… intriguing. Although the title could use some work. Platinum Princess, for example, to continue with the metal theme, or…

Miles… Phoenix whined, breaking his train of thought.

“Witness!” Miles snapped, refocusing. Manella jumped, finally tearing his eyes away from Maya. He didn’t miss her slight sigh of relief. “Refrain from ogling the defense’s co-counsel and introduce yourself for the court.”

One look at Miles’ face was enough to kill whatever retort he might’ve had. “S-Sal Manella. I’m a director.”

Manella’s spiel on the day of the murder was no different from when Miles had spoken to him prior to the trial - he came in for rehearsal and skipped lunch for the meeting. Despite being in Studio Two at the time of death, no one had left the trailer to have any involvement in the incident.

During the cross-examination, Miles rapped a finger against the bench. Thanks to a certain detective, he knew of the defense’s movements yesterday afternoon, and, in true Gumshoe fashion, he’d revealed most of the prosecution’s findings to them as well.

With this information, he knew that they should be aware of the first glaring inconsistency in Manella’s testimony.

“Mr. Manella,” Grossberg called out, “if no one had taken a lunch break, then why were there two plates on the table there?”

“O-oh,” he stammered, sweating. “Well, I guess I did eat some steak that day. The assistant went to the trouble after all, so I brought it over.”

“But that contradicts your testimony as, given that the plates are empty, the steaks must’ve been eaten.”

Manella began visibly sweating. “Well, I suppose there was a brief break. B-but it was only fifteen minutes!”

Finally they were getting somewhere.

“So you did take a break. And since there were two empty plates can we assume you didn’t take it alone?”

He nervously wrung at the towel around his shoulders. “The… producer was with me…” he admitted. If Vasquez was listening to the progression of the trial, she was probably grinding her teeth right now. “We both ate steak and then returned to the meeting.”

“That’s quite the contradiction, Mr. Manella!” the judge exclaimed. “Why did you omit that from your initial testimony?”

“Because it creates an opening where he, and Ms. Vasquez, could have become involved in the incident,” Grossberg answered. “The defense requests to hear the producer’s testimony of these events.”

“That is a rather serious omission of the truth,” His Honor muttered, scratching his beard. “However, we’d have to suspend the trial another day in order to prepare a new witness…”

Actually,” Miles intervened, “That won’t be necessary. Dee Vasquez has been on standby in the prosecutor’s lobby this entire time. She felt that Manella’s testimony would sufficely cover for the both of them, but I had her come in just in case the defense pulled a stunt like this.”

Prepared as always, Mr. Edgeworth,” the judge said, nodding in approval. “Very well, a brief recess while the prosecution prepares his witness."

To say Vasquez was displeased to be on the stand when they reconvened was an understatement, but she hid it well under her veil of vague disinterest.

“My story is no different from Sal’s. We had the meeting at 12:00 sharp. It ended at 4:00. We took a fifteen minute break at 2:30 to eat t-bone steaks outside the trailer. We did not see Hammer or Powers until that evening, when everyone went to Studio One. That’s all.”

“Yes, as we have heard. But can we be absolutely sure that…”

“Stop,” Vasquez said, cutting Grossberg off. “I dislike needless banter. You claim we were involved due to our break, however the steaks were eaten. Are you suggesting we witnessed a murder and, not only covered it up, but continued to eat lunch as though nothing had occurred?”

“What about aft-“

After, we returned to the meeting, as the break was only fifteen minutes. There was no time to do anything other than eat.” Already she was unraveling their arguments, leaving little room for Grossberg to properly cross-examine. If he hadn’t figured it out yet, she wasn’t giving him any opening to.

Looks like the defense needs to be thrown a bone, Phoenix said and Miles groaned inwardly at the pun. The damned t-bones - or the lack of, in this case - were key to their theory of how the murder went down.

Feeling mildly foolish, he took on the firebird’s suggestion. “Well, it appears the defense’s case has, should we say, gone up in flames?” he said pointedly, meeting Maya’s eyes from across the room briefly.

Really?

Oh, and ‘throw a bone’ was any better?! Miles retorted, watching the young girl’s face scrunch up in deep thought. She then began tugging excitedly on Grossberg’s sleeve uttering something unintelligible from his position.

The older man cast another worried glance his way before tentatively speaking out. “What if… the steak wasn’t eaten? What if it was disposed of in another manner?”

“And what is the basis for this argument?” Miles prompted, arms crossed.

“The plates. The assistant wasn’t allowed to clean up after lunch, leaving t-bones behind on all the plates. Except for those found on the Studio Two lot. Unless Ms. Vasquez and Mr. Manella ate the bones as well, the steaks were likely thrown out, maybe into that incinerator.”

“But then… if they didn’t eat, what were they doing during the break?” the judge asked, confused.

“Probably meeting with our victim.”

“I-I see…” he murmured. “Mr. Edgeworth, do you have any comments?”

He closed his eyes as if deep in thought. “The investigation did find that the incinerator had been in use recently.” As the galley began murmuring, he reopened his eyes, catching Vasquez shoot him a look out of the corner of her eye. Miles ignored it. At this point it didn’t matter if she suspected his true intentions or not, he did not intend for her to leave this courtroom a free woman. “But tell me, Mr. Grossberg; Why would Ms. Vasquez have any need to meet with the victim at that time? She was already planning to see him at rehearsal. And why would that meeting turn to murder?”

“W-well, Mr. Edgeworth,” he stammered, trying his best not to shirk away, “I may have that answer right here.” He presented the photograph of the five-year-old incident to the court, immediately getting a reaction from Vasquez.

“Where did you get that?” she asked calmly, though Miles could see the carefully concealed tension as she tightly gripped her pipe in one hand. Then she muttered, “Oldbag…” answering her own question.

“What is that?” the judge asked. “A photo of the crime scene?!”

“Actually this incident happened five years ago, but the circumstances were very similar,” Grossberg explained. “Jack Hammer accidentally pushed a fellow actor onto that spike, killing him. Ms. Vasquez was able to conceal the event from the press, in exchange for control over him.”

“You mean… blackmail?!” His Honor exclaimed as the crowd began its whispers once more.

Vasquez scoffed. “You presume much. Accident? Who ever said it was an accident?”

“You can’t possibly mean - ?”

“That he did it on purpose?” she interrupted. “Do you think he would have let me run his life for so long over a mere accident?”

“Then you admit to the blackmail?” Edgeworth said, surprised. He thought she’d have fought harder.

The woman shrugged, meeting no one’s eye. “Yes. I blackmailed Jack Hammer over this incident. Gave him minor roles for a fraction of the pay he would normally demand. I quite enjoyed our little… arrangement.” She smirked around her pipe. “So why would I ruin that by murdering him?”

He had to admit, she was good. Even backed up into a corner, she was still composed enough to build upon her alibi, even if it meant confessing to a lesser crime. It was no wonder she’d dodged jail time this long.

“Perhaps it was an accident?” Grossberg offered, almost fumbling when she turned sharply to glare at him. “Ms. Vasquez, you may not have a motive, but Mr. Hammer certainly had one against you. Could it be that this murder was an act of self defense? Then, to cover it up, you and your conspirator, Manella, redressed the body in his costume and drove it to Studio One in that van once the path was clear.”

Vasquez was silent for a long moment. “…I see. Seems I underestimated you and your assistant. You win. Good game.”

The courtroom was silent for a moment, no one sure how to handle the admission. People looked from one another, from judge, to attorneys, to witness, but no moves were made. It was Maya who finally broke the silence.

“So, does that mean you did it?

Vasquez stared off into the distance. “Who’s to say? You proved it was possible that I could’ve murdered Hammer, but it is just that. A possibility. You have no proof.”

“I… see…” Grossberg relented, quietly saying something that suspiciously sounded as though it ended with ‘hemorrhoids’ (and judging by the thinly veiled disgust on Maya’s face, that guess probably wasn’t far off).

“Order!” the judge said to the squabbling crowd, gavel ringing out. “Mr. Edgeworth, your thoughts?”

“Uh… hmm,” he grumbled, off guard. “The witness is… not wrong… There’s no proof.”

“Well, if there are no further questions…” His Honor began.

Damn it all! At this rate she was going to get away. If the cross-examination ended here….

Quick, Miles. Do something!

So he did.

“OBJECTION!”

He suddenly felt very self conscious as all eyes were on him in an instant, arm still outstretched in a commanding pose.

“Yes, Mr. Edgeworth?”

He cleared his throat and crossed his arms, face growing a little warm. “I was hoping to come with a question while I was objecting, Your Honor… I didn’t.”

The judge regarded him briefly, blinking. “I see. Very well.”

“OBJECTION! Your Honor! I request that the witness testify again!”

“What is the meaning of this, Prosecutor?” Vasquez demanded. “I am your witness, and yet you badger me in this manner?” If looks could kill, she’d definitely be going to jail now.

“I… just want to hear the testimony again. For my own peace of mind.”

Her eyes narrowed, but Miles was not one to back down from a glare. “Your Honor, I’ve just testified. What good does it do this court to repeat the last several minutes?

“I’d like to know that myself. Mr. Edgeworth, exactly what do you wish the witness to testify about?”

“Err, yes well… Indeed!” he stammered, surprised that his, for lack of a better word, bluffing, had actually worked.

Miles? What are you doing? the symbiont asked cautiously.

Just… trust me, he replied, the phrase sounding unnatural in his head.

“Ergo!” (‘Ergo?’ ‘Shut. Up.’) “Would the witness please testify about the discovery of the body?”

“But I thought we established that the murder took place in Studio Two,” the judge asked, perplexed. "What does the discovery have to do with anything?”

"We may learn something we had previously overlooked,” Edgeworth replied, shrugging.

Vasquez scoffed. “Very well. When we found the body, everyone was present except for Powers. I called the police, and Powers showed up afterwards. The security lady immediately fingered him as the culprit, around which time I left, asking to be left out of the proceedings.”

"Why would you leave an active murder scene?Grossberg asked.

"I felt my presence wasn't needed," she replied. “Besides I needed to retrieve my script and research notes from the trailer.”

“You didn’t bring those with you? Aren’t they necessary for rehearsal?”

“I was under the impression that we would not be rehearsing that evening. Hammer was injured after all.”

She slipped up, Miles realized with a jolt, and the defense has clearly caught onto it as well.

Grossberg brushed at his mustache thoughtfully. "You say that Hammer was the one injured? How would you know that?”

She rolled her eyes. “Obviously Sal told me after their dress rehearsal that morning.”

"I would think that he would tell you that Powers had an injury, not Hammer.”

“What?!” she exclaimed, gripping her pipe to the breaking point.

“Ms. Vasquez if you claim that the victim was injured, then you must have seen him dragging his leg. After all he was impersonating Powers, who had actually hurt himself. This was established in court yesterday.” 

Grossberg proceeded to lay out the entire crime. How Hammer had stolen the Steel Samurai costume (apparently some sleeping pills were found during their own investigation, legitimizing the defendant’s lackluster alibi) and plotted to kill Dee Vasquez while framing Powers. How he struck at Studio Two and, Vasquez, in an act of self-defense pushed him over the ledge. Then, with Manella's help, she moved the body and set Powers up to take a more metaphorical fall. By the end, she was fuming hard enough that her pipe finally snapped within her clenched fist.

Then, carefully, she set the broken halves on the stand and took a deep breath. “...Yes. I am guilty. It was me…”

 


 

“Mr. Edgeworth, we did it!” Maya called out as she caught him leaving the courtroom, launching herself to wrap her arms around him in a tight hug before he could shuffle away. 

“Ms. Fey, please,” he insisted, very aware that there were other people around - Grossberg and Powers namely. She gave him one last squeeze for good measure and then backed away, bouncing slightly.

“We really couldn’t have done it without your help.”

“I’ve no clue to what you are referring,” he said, readjusting his suit.

“Come on, we all saw what you did in there. And I know that picture was from you. Detective Gumshoe even said so.”

Miles groaned, rubbing his temples. “Of course he did...” Blast that man and his loose lips.

“Um,” a voice softly muttered. Miles turn to see Will Powers lingering in the back, as though trying to hide despite being significantly taller than everybody present. “I know we’ve met once, briefly, but hi again.” He came forward enough to hold out a hand greeting. “The circumstances are a little better this time.” 

Miles shook it, a little flabbergasted. “Yes! Uh, well, I'm a huge fan of your work.” Powers looked little doubtful, but perhaps that pitiful expression was just his default. Maya gave him a knowing grin while Phoenix made a cooing noise that eerily matched her expression. He chose to ignore them both.

“I must say, that was the most exciting trial I've had a long time,” Grossberg said, evidently feeling brave enough to interact with Miles directly. “I couldn't tell if those were my nerves for my hemorrhoids flaring up!”

He regarded the older man with a look of disgust, the consensus shared with everybody within earshot. “Don't expect this to happen again. It was a… mistake on the police's part. And I wouldn't be much of a prosecutor if I let a criminal go free.”

“Maybe. But,” Grossberg said, "I think I saw quite a bit of defense attorney in you today. It felt like watching your father in court again.” 

Miles stiffened at the words. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Maya said, inserting herself into the conversation. “Mr. Edgeworth’s father was a defense attorney? Like my sis?”

“And a brilliant one at that. I didn’t know him too well, but he was a fairly big deal. Our paths crossed a few times.”

“Then...” she turned to Miles, a deep furrow of confusion in her brow. “How did you end up prosecuting?”

Her interruption was enough for him to regain himself. “That’s enough questions for one day, Ms. Fey. I’ve still a lot to do today.”

“But the trial’s over…” she said, pouting.

“A separate trial for Vasquez’s crimes needs to be held and I will most likely be asked to oversee it.”

“Huh? She confessed, though. Isn’t that it?”

Miles sighed. He didn’t have the patience to explain the protocol of their legal system. “Perhaps Mr. Grossberg will enlighten you. In the meantime, goodbye, Ms. Fey,” he stated. “I’ll be in touch.” With a bow, he took his leave before anyone could form anymore objections.

 


 

It wasn’t until he returned to his office that Miles truly let the weight of what he just did sink in. 

He immediately went for his stash of tea, feeling the breeze brush through his bangs as Phoenix was unleashed. A glance over his shoulder revealed the symbiont sitting on the couch’s arm preening his wing. A blue eye shifted in his direction and quickly looked away. Miles shook his head and went back to preparing his drink. 

Once he was finished he took a seat behind his desk, grabbing the closest set of documents and flipping them open. His eyes glossed over the words while his mind roved elsewhere, though still very aware of Phoenix’s continued attempts at pretending he wasn’t watching the prosecutor.

After a while he set his cup down with a noisy clatter, annoyed with the attention. “Do you need something?”

Phoenix pointed an accusatory wing to himself. “Me? N-no. No! Of course not.” A beat. “You’re, um, taking this surprisingly well.”

Miles rubbed a hand against his temple. “What’s done is done. I need to focus on the upcoming trial now.”

“…and that’s why you’re looking at Mia’s binder, right?”

His head snapped down. Sure enough, he’d opened Mia Fey’s case record to a random page. Groaning, he shut it with a bit more force than was probably necessary. As Phoenix sniggered, he shot the bird a glare. “Hush. You’re to blame for this!”

He sputtered. “For what?!

“Saddling me with these… these unnecessary feelings!”

Phoenix tilted his head. “I’m still not following.”

“This unease and... uncertainty.”

The firebird stared blankly. “Those sound kinda necessary to me…”

“They’re distractions!” the prosecutor snapped, sliding the binder aside. “I have no use for them.”

“But I thought I was a distraction,” he said in mock offense. “Do you have no use for me, either?”

He almost answered ‘yes’, but perhaps that was a bit cruel. The symbiont was helping, in his bizarre manner of navigating life. Still he scoffed and rolled his eyes at his antics.

Though, speaking of the symbiont’s help… He pulled the binder back over, looking for the case he’d been reading before the Global Studios incident had occurred. It’d completely left his mind up until this moment.

“I saw something of interest a few days ago,” he said in response to the questioning noise Phoenix made. Curious, he hopped over and settled on the prosector’s shoulder to watch as he skimmed pages. “Ah, there it is,” he said, opening up to the murder of Doug Swallow. 

The reaction from Phoenix was instantaneous, jerking back with a choked squawk to land on the empty space on his windowsill. Alarmed, Miles spun around to check on his distressed new window ornament.

Unlike when Phoenix was usually agitated - generally by Miles’ offhand comments - with his feathers fluffed outward, he was curled in on himself, as though trying to look as small and unassuming as possible. His centrally heterochromatic eyes, generally unnoticeable unless at close proximity, were worryingly evident from how much his pupils had dilated. 

Miles had only seen him like this once before; the night they’d met.

“What… what was that?” he asked of the firebird. Phoenix violently shook his head, breathing stilted. Miles looked at the case file. “Were you with Ms. Fey during this trial?”

Another head shake, but it was hard to tell if he’d meant it as an answer or a dismissal. Frowning, Miles carefully read through, looking for any clues. A love triangle turned murder, and all a ploy of a shockingly devious young woman. It seemed odd that Phoenix would have any connection to this, but it had occurred two years ago, putting it right within that timeline he was given. 

“Did you have some connection with the people involved? The victim perhaps?” He did have a bird-like name, though it was probably a reach.

“I can’t…” came Phoenix’s voice behind him, quietly.

“You can’t, what? Do you honestly expect me to just drop the matter when you react like that?” Miles asked, turning back around. The firebird was so quick to jump into his own business, he ought to get a taste of it as well. “Now tell me what about this particular trial has gotten you so riled up?” 

“I can’t!” he repeated, the desperation in his tone enough to cause Miles to backtrack. That didn’t sound like the tone of someone being intentionally difficult.

‘He literally can’t tell you. It’s part of the curse.’ Maya Fey’s words suddenly echoed in his head. If that was the case, if everything she’d said really wasn’t some fantastic fabrication, then…

“…you truly cannot discuss your past, can you?”

He snorted softly. “You know, Maya said you probably didn’t believe her.” Another non-answer, but Miles was beginning to get the feeling he didn’t have much of a choice.

“Then… it was all true? You really are human… were human. And curses are real? Are you even allowed to answer that?”

Phoenix shrugged. “It’s not important.”

“I think it’s highly important! Is this an unprecedented event? Are there other, undocumented instances of curses and were they all similar to yours?” The implications were staggering, answering questions that only piled more and more onto the list of uncertainties that surrounded Phoenix.

“Miles,” he said, tone exasperated, “there’s no point discussing it with me anyway. Don’t you have a trial tomorrow or something?” It was the closest thing to a ‘yes’ he was probably going to get.

He decided to take mercy upon the symbiont. “The date has not been set yet, but yes, it will probably be tomorrow.” He sighed. “And Ms. Fey was actually correct. With Vasquez’s confession and the events and evidence already hashed out during today’s trial, there is unfortunately not much for me to do.” Thus, there really was no reason for him not to look into the old trial a little longer.

Phoenix left the windowsill for the desk, giving the prosecutor a look when he saw the binder was still open to that page. “Miles…” His tone this time was wary.

“I won’t pressure you for answers, but as long as we are working together, I’d like to learn as much as I can,” he explained. “Besides, this Dahlia Hawthorne did a stellar job of making an absolute mess of my prosecutorial debut, so let’s just say I have a personal curiosity in this matter as well.”

He rolled his eyes, but Miles was pleased to note the terror had left them. “Fair enough. Just toss me the White files in the meantime.”

He did not toss anything, pulling the folder out of his desk drawer and carefully holding it out so the firebird could take it into his beak. He brought it over to a clear spot on the floor where he could easily lay everything out, then flew back over to snag one of Miles’ pens.

Miles watched him work for a moment, then returned to his hunt for clues. What did a cursed firebird have to do with a love triangle amongst college students? There was nothing spectacular about the incident itself, at least nothing to suggest unknown forces were at work, although electrocution was a unique cause of death. The defendant, Rowan Kipper, and the victim got in a tussle over Ms. Hawthorne and only one walked away from the altercation alive. Mia Fey’s deducting skills had revealed Hawthorne as the murderer, attempting to silence an increasingly suspicious Swallow to continue to mask her previous crimes (namely, the two poisoning incidents. Apparently Swallow, as a pharmacology student, had been her source).

Grabbing his laptop, he did a quick web search for articles on the Ivy University murder. Nothing leapt out at him just yet; simpler recaps of what he’d just read, statements from the classmates of those involved, Kipper’s dropout after the scandal…

He did a brief double-take and delved deeper into the topic. A few weeks later, unable to deal with the aftermath of the murder allegation (and probably being betrayed by his girlfriend as well), Kipper had dropped out of the university. His current whereabouts were unknown. As far as casual web searches were concerned, Rowan Kipper had ceased to exist.

Miles quirked an eyebrow at this.

He closed his laptop just enough to see Phoenix over top of it, comparing him to the picture of the defendant included in the article. With his spiky hair and blue eyes, there was more than a passing resemblance…

Phoenix looked over, dropping the pen he was carrying in his beak. “Uh… can I help you?” he asked, confused.

“Not at all,” he replied, positioning the screen so the firebird was blocked again. “Not at all.”

He’d need to do a more extensive search later on, perhaps making use of police records and missing person reports, but he was potentially one step closer to unraveling the mystery that was Phoenix.

 


 

The day he’d expected to go in for Vasquez’s trial, he’d been met with unexpected news. Not only had the trial been postponed another day, but he was expected to report immediately for a meeting.

With his mentor.

Miles’ blood ran cold at the prospect. He had expected this to happen, von Karma demanded perfection after all and Miles’ performance had been anything but.

But he hadn’t expected it so soon. He hadn’t even been aware that the man was back in the country from his extensive international work.

What kind of person is your mentor if he’s got you this nervous? Phoenix remarked as Miles lingered before the senior prosecutor’s doorway, his hand on the handle, a single twist the only thing separating him from karmic retribution.

Aside from a passing remark or two, the subject of his teacher had not been breeched with Phoenix. There hadn’t been a need for it. You’re about to find out, he answered, surrendering to his fate.

Manfred von Karma did not acknowledge his pupil when he entered the room. He was seated behind his desk, filling some document obscured behind another stack of papers.

“Sir,” Miles greeted, stepping up to the desk in order to bow to his superior.

It was a full minute before von Karma responded. “You’ve lost your perfect win record.”

Miles winced. Straight to the point as always. He never was one to mince words.

“I took you in out of pity,” the man sneered, “but, just as expected, you couldn’t live up to the von Karma legacy.”

He kept his head bowed. “I’m sorry, sir. I know I’ve failed you."

The man stood stood and began circling, his cane clicking noisily against the floor with every step. “To your credit, at least he was accomplished, for a defense attorney. Imagine the disgrace it would’ve been had you lost to a rookie.” He settled behind Miles, his back to the young man. “I will be taking over as prosecutor for Dee Vasquez.”

“But- !” Miles finally picked his head, whipping around to stare at his mentor in surprise. “I’m already familiar with the case and-“

von Karma rapped his cane sharply against the floor, effectively silencing his student’s arguments. “Are you doubting my abilities?”

“No… Of course not, sir.”

“You are off this case and thats’s final.” He tilted his head back, examining Miles with a sick grin. “You’re lucky I allow you to continue prosecuting at all after that performance.”

“I… understand…” he replied, slowly.

“Good. See that you do.” He circled back around to his desk and picked up the document he’d been writing when Miles walked in. “Submit this change of prosecutor form to Ms. Skye on your way out. You are dismissed.”

Phoenix was oddly silent throughout his entire meeting with Manfred von Karma. Usually the firebird loved to punctuate his conversations with snarky commentary, but something had dulled his sharp wit. Perhaps the air of authority his mentor exuded.

That’s what Miles thought, until the unusual silence persisted even upon return to the solitude of his office. Phoenix had taken perch on the couch as soon as the door shut them off from the outside world, only to stare intently at the bookshelf across from him. Miles watched with concern, doubtful that he was merely perusing titles.

“Phoenix?” he prompted, shocking him from his thoughts. Phoenix snapped his head towards him. He blinked owlishly, looking briefly like the bird in him was taking over, before his expression softened into something more pensive.

“So that’s von Karma, huh?”

“Yes. He is one of the foremost legal minds of-“

“He’s awful,” Phoenix interrupted.

“Phoenix!” Miles sputtered, aghast. He turned his head, as though the slightest insult would summon him into the room. “The man is a genius. A god among prosecutors! He has never lost a trial in his 40 year career.”

“And that makes him any less awful?! I heard that he was ruthless, but I thought that was just court!”  

Miles furrowed his brow. “Where on earth did you get that idea from?”

“Well, some people are more serious in the courtroom. Mia was a very compassionate person, but she always got a little scary when things got heated. Even you’re like, 20 percent less of a dick when you’re not behind the bench.”

“…thanks?” he said, unsure if he should take that as a compliment or not.

“But that?” he continued. “How could he say those things to his own student? And then sound so smug about it?”

Miles crossed his arms, looking away. “He was not in the wrong. I was lax in my duty this last trial and it cost me the verdict. My first loss.”

“Lax in your - you threw the trial! Because you knew he was innocent! A criminal confessed to her crimes and an innocent man didn’t get convicted, all because you decided to do the right thing. Doesn’t that count for more than some stupid record?”

Miles pursed his lips, worrying at his sleeve. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“No? Then maybe I don’t want to.”

The prosecutor shook his head. Phoenix had not been raised or trained by von Karma, he could not begin to appreciate the man’s genius or dedication to perfection. Nor could he understand Miles’ gratitude to the senior prosecutor for taking him in and ensuring him a promising career. Any failure to live up to those expectations was on him, circumstances withstanding.

“Hey, since you don’t have anything to do right now,” Phoenix began, wincing likely at how poor that sounded out loud, “how about a round of chess?”

Miles smiled, softly. “I suppose another win might do me some good.”

“Hey, I’ve been improving! You said it yourself.” He flared out his crest haughtily, gaining a genuine chuckle from Miles.

“I will concede to that. Alright, let us see just how good you’ve gotten.”

 


 

October crept slowly into November without much incident. Vasquez’s trial went down flawlessly thanks to Manfred von Karma and Maya returned to Kurain shortly afterwards, though not without bumming some free merchandise off of the grateful heads of Global Studios. 

Miles was pouring over notes with Phoenix in his living room as Pink Princess played in the background. He’d been sad to see the Steel Samurai go, but it’s sequel was living up to the legacy thus far (though he still wished for a better title). They had just returned from commercial break when it happened. It was awfully late for an unknown number to be trying to reach his cell phone so naturally he’d ignored it. 

And then it rang again.

Curious, he picked up. “Edgeworth speaking.” Probably just a misdial, they’d leave him alone once they realized their mistake.”

“Ah, splendiferous! This is Redd White of BlueCorp. We spoke several weeks back.”

Miles nearly dropped his phone. Quickly he glanced at Phoenix. Judging from the firebird’s expression, he could hear exactly what was going on on the other end.

“It’s awfully late. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Well, I’ve been ruminating on our little tête-à-tête. Might you be available to talk tomorrow? Privately.”

Miles frowned. Sentences that ended like that never boded well. “Is there a reason this information cannot be shared over the phone?”

“I thought you might want to discuss this in person, lest there be any unsolicited listeners.”

“…I’m available after noon.”

“Phenomenal! I shall be awaiting you in my office. Farewell!” He hung up without another word.

Miles stared at his phone like it had suddenly caught fire, then caught Phoenix’s eye. “I suppose you heard all of that?”

The symbiont nodded. “It sounds like a trap.”

He was inclined to agree. “Unfortunately, we can’t pass up a chance like this.” By putting the pressure on White early, Miles had hoped the fear of being discovered might force him to compromise his position, all while he and Phoenix bided their time gathering evidence. “How’s our research?”

“It’s not a complete list, but there should be enough here.” He shifted one of the pages with his foot as he double-checked. “I just don’t know how we’re going to use it.”

“Just leave that to me.”

 


 

At 1:00 sharp the next day, Miles found himself back at BlueCorp. Unsure of what to expect of today’s meeting he had Gumshoe tag along as backup, stationing the detective close by incase things went sour. 

The same pink secretary was there, still tittering at him in that sickly-sweet tone of hers. He gave her the briefest of greetings as he passed by, his presence already expected.

“Ah, Prosecutor Edgeworth!” White greeted with open arms as Miles stepped into his office. “How tremendous it is to see you again!”

It took a great deal of self control not to glare at the man. “Let’s not beat around the bush, why did you call me here?”

White didn’t show if he was phased by the bluntness. “How forthright - I like that in a man. Very well. There were some… rumors about you that I wanted some clarification on.”

Phoenix gasped in alarm, but Miles wasn’t concerned just yet. “The media has been spreading rumors about me since I was 20. You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Why, even rumors of collusion with defense attorneys?” White replied, grinning at Miles’ stunned reaction. “The young woman serving as co-counsel to old Groddyberg during your last trial. It’s quite interesting how she was seen at the crime scene with you mere days before. I wonder what kind of conclusions people would draw if word of that got out?”

Miles clenched his fists slightly. He’d distanced himself from Maya after day one of the trial for exactly this sort of reason, and few people had seen her accompanying him before that. How could White have possibly known?

Remember, Phoenix said, likely reading in on his frustration, this guy has eyes and ears everywhere, especially in the police force. Who knows who he’s been bullying for any kind of dirt on you.

Fine. This was the sort of trap they’d been bracing for. “Mr. White, are you trying to blackmail me?”

White only grinned, flashing his many-ringed fingers. Miles briefly noticed that the bandage was off. “If you provide me with the information regarding Mia Fey’s death, I could be persuaded to keep this to myself.”

“I do wonder why you’re so interested, to go so far as to threaten me. One might think you had something to lose."

“I merely have a client who is inordinately interested in what you know.”

Miles cocked a brow, arms crossed. “That ‘client’ wouldn’t happen to be the murderer, would they?”

“Who’s to say? I only deal in information.”

“Yes yes, of course,” Miles replied, nonchalantly putting a hand in the pocket where his phone was. “I’m afraid, though, it’ll take more than that.”

White hummed thoughtfully, his right hand stroking his chin. “I think you underestimate the extent of my connections…”

The slight movement called to Miles’ attention a rather ugly scar on the back of his hand. He hadn’t noticed before under the glint of his decadent jewelry.

Phoenix, he asked, an idea forming, just to clarify, but you bit White, correct?

On the hand, yes. I think I got him pretty good.

It was quite the impressive wound; it didn’t look like it’d been allowed to heal correctly. White was probably reluctant take it to a doctor, being unable to explain how he’d received such an injury.

He smirked. Time to give him a push. “I must say, Mr. White, that scar on your hand is quite the interesting shape. Almost… beak-like, would you say?”

The look on the CEO’s face was priceless. “W-what did you just say?” he demanded, hiding his injury.

“Actually, I don’t have anything more to say to you, as you’ve clearly just called me here to waste my time.”

“Wait, I…” the man trailed off, eyes frantic as his mind raced to hit that curveball he’d just been pitched. Then all at once, he brought himself back in with a deep breath. “I hoped it wouldn’t come to this.” 

Miles watched cautiously, hand grasping his phone as White reached back for the intercom button on his desk.

“Yes, Mr. White?” came the voice of the secretary through the speaker. “Can I help you~?”

“Indeed you can, Ms. May. Could you come up here? And bring that detective whose been loitering about across the street with you.” Miles started and glared at White. “What? Do you think I don’t keep constant surveillance over this building?”

Several minutes later, Gumshoe, looking incredibly embarrassed that his cover had been blown, shuffled in. Ms. May followed just behind, a smug look upon her face. Like a cat who just outwitted the neighbor’s dog.

“You needed me, Mr. White?” she purred as Gumshoe settled next to the prosecutor.

“I’m afraid so. It pains me to do this as I’d hoped, for the sake of our history, that it might blow over. You’ve been such a faithful secretariat to me.” He turned away, pointing dramatically. “Gentlemen, arrest this woman! She is the one who murdered Mia Fey!”

Chapter 8

Notes:

Before we get started, here's more fanart! From lalabnf this time! I'm so flattered people want to draw this AU
http://lalabnf.tumblr.com/post/176529457158/dei-ryuu-im-only-just-learning-to-do-digital-art

Chapter Text

 Miles sat in his office, seething.

April May was currently detained in the detention center, awaiting her trial. The motive provided by White had been too solid to contest in that moment; May had been a close friend of Rozzi, the victim in the trial Mia was supposed to defend. Convinced of the defendant’s guilt and horrified by the thought of her acquittal, May had gone to Mia that night, begging her to reconsider. When her pleas were met only with contempt, May flew into such a rage that she lashed out, grabbing the closest thing to her and striking harder than intended. She fled the scene once she’d realized what she’d done, confiding her crime to her boss.

At the time, May had looked just as surprised as everyone else at the reveal. She’d tried to protest, briefly, but her outcries were silenced by a single stern look from White. She accepted the arrest without complaint.

But the false arrest wasn’t the only one of his troubles this encounter had produced. If May went to jail for Mia’s murder, then White would need to be tied to another crime, and opportunities like that felt few and far between. Proving his guilt now suddenly had a deadline.

As Maya was technically a witness and currently out of town, he’d managed to pull some strings and get the trial postponed to arrange for her return. Unfortunately, there was only so much a few days could do when it’d taken them literal months to get as far as they had (years if they counted Mia’s contributions retrieved from Phoenix’s memory). 

Phoenix himself was still hard at work, having encircled himself entirely with reports and case files they’d dug up together. Eventually, however, he sighed, carefully stepping around his elaborate setup. Once there was no longer the threat of scattering papers, he flew up on the desk. Miles quickly pulled his computer forward into his lap as the symbiont settled down right in the center. “I dunno, Miles,” he began. “I think we should just go with Mia’s plan.”

The prosecutor leaned back in his chair and shook his head. Beating White at his own game? Out of the question. “There’s got to be a better way.” Moral ambiguity aside, there was no guarantee it would work in the first place. Why should a man as powerful as Redd White yield to their petty threats? He probably had connections in the press for the sole purpose of keeping his name out of scandalous stories.

Phoenix adjusted his position, long tail feathers fanning out across the desk and making throughly sure that Miles had no access to his workspace. Miles briefly considered scowling at him before deciding it wasn’t worth it. “Well if you come up with something, I’m all ears.”

“Our defendant is the key,” he said, shutting his laptop so her could sit more comfortably. “If we can prove she has an alibi, we’ll at least have an opening.”

“But May refuses to talk.” April May had been questioned several times by different people, including Miles, regarding the crime and her involvement. Thus far she’d given answers to none of them. Phoenix shuffled his wings a bit. “Unless I just-“ 

“No,” Miles said pointedly, cutting him off. He’d much sooner employ White’s tactics and have that backfire than let the firebird testify in court.

“But what if this is our only chance?" Phoenix pleaded. “If it gets him behind bars, I’ll deal with the consequences of revealing myself.”

“It’s… risky,” Miles replied slowly. Initially he had plans that, if Phoenix testified, he’d do it anonymously. An innocent bystander scared to reveal their identity in the face of a cold-blooded killer. However the more he tangled with White, the less viable that seemed. No doubt the man would force his witness to reveal himself or be invalidated. And once Phoenix stepped into the public eye, he’d never be able to escape it. People would want to know what he was, where he came from, what he could do; or, worst case scenario, fear the strange creature, as mankind has oft shown an intolerance for anything different or unknown. He couldn’t let the firebird go through that. He didn’t deserve to have his life upheaved by this man any further. “If we start getting the supernatural involved it may compromise the legitimacy of this case. You're a liability.”

“Wow," Phoenix said dryly, “I didn't know you cared.”

Miles pursed his lips. He did care about the wellbeing of his strange little companion. Phoenix just wasn’t allowed to know that.

He put his laptop back on the desk, nudging Phoenix out of the way. Affronted, the firebird shifted himself over to the arm of the chair Miles was sitting in, making sure to invade as much of his personal space as possible. Vaguely aware of the symbiont’s head resting on his shoulder, the prosecutor opened the computer back up.

“I’ve been searching for our defendant in police records. To see if maybe, through her, I could find something to catch White on,” he explained. “The most I’ve found is a minor report from a patrol officer about a false theft claim from her.”

“False?”

“She had the hotel staff call the police after her phone had gone missing, believing it to have been stolen.” Miles waved his hand dismissively. “Turns out it had fallen between the couch cushions in the lobby.”

“Did she even bother looking before involving the cops?” Phoenix muttered in disbelief, flicking his head up slightly. His feathers tickled at Miles’ ear. “Wait, lobby? Hotel? What hotel?”

“The report says ‘The Gatewater’,” he answered, then flinched away as Phoenix gasped loudly into his ear. He groaned quietly, rubbing at the offended organ. “I assume that name holds some significance to you.”

“The Gatewater is literally across from Mia’s office.” He held his wings out in front of him, parallel to each other. “You could see into some of the rooms from our window.”

“There’s no way that’s a coincidence,” Miles said as he leaned forward, snatching his phone off the desk. He pulled up recent connects and put the device up to his ear. “Detective Gumshoe, meet me at the Gatewater Hotel as soon as possible,” he announced as soon as the call connected.

Gumshoe, obviously off guard, fumbled his affirmation. He began to ask why, but was cut short as Miles hung up to start gathering his belongings. 

“W-wait, we’re going now?” Phoenix asked, fluttering to keep from falling when Miles abruptly pushed the chair back to stand up.

“It’s a lead, Phoenix,” he explained as he slid his suit jacket on. “We don’t have many of those.” He made short work of the mess the symbiont left on the floor, stacking all the papers neatly on the desk, then waved him over.

“I had a system to that, you know,” he complained as he responded to the prosecutor’s beckoning.

“You can resort it when we return,” Miles answered. Phoenix got in one last eye roll before he was sliding up Miles’ arm to his usual place on his back. Miles flexed his shoulders as he settled. With the symbiont in place and all other necessities at hand, he exited the office to hopefully get some answers.

 


 

“You know, I’ve driven past here a million times, but I’ve never been inside,” Gumshoe admitted when they entered the lobby, giving an impressed whistle as he looked around. 

Miles shrugged. It was… fine, given the location, but he’d certainly seen nicer hotels in his day.

The two approached the front desk, where the clerk immediately shoved the magazine he’d been lazily flipping through to the side and put on his biggest fake smile.

“Welcome to the Gatewater, sirs. How may I be of service?”

Miles did a quick round of introductions before getting to the point, going as far as to have Gumshoe show his badge to prove they were serious. “I need your records on an April May. She’s the prime suspect in a murder that occurred two months ago and our sources say that she was seen here that day.”

The clerk’s fingers were instantly flying away at the keyboard of his computer. “Oh yes! Right away, sirs,” he said in a scandalized tone of voice, as though he’s just been accused of conspiring with this suspected murderer. “Here we are; April May. She checked into a twin room on September 3rd and stayed for three nights.”

Did he say twin room?

Miles slammed a hand on the desk, startling the poor clerk. “Did someone check in with May?!” he demanded.

“It… it’s possible,” the man answered, cowering a bit. “We only keep record of the name the booking’s under, you see. And I can hardly keep track of everyone who walks through the doors, sir. Why, I don’t even remember what this ‘April May’ looks like, to be completely honest.”

“I see…” Miles said, backing off to rethink his approach. “Which room was it?”

He glanced back to the computer. “Room 303.” 

“Should we go check it out, Mr. Edgeworth?”

The clerk turned around briefly to examine the wall of keys behind him. The slot under 303 was empty. “I’m afraid someone is currently staying in that room, so we can’t really advise that.”

It had been two months since Ms. Fey’s murder. Even if White wasn’t as cautious as he was, he doubted anything would remain after any number of guests and housekeeping visits. That’s not what he wanted to know anyway.

“And where, exactly, is this room located?”

He seemed confused by the question. “Uh, third floor. Facing north.” He gestured behind him. “About midway down the hall?”

If his mental map was correct, the office building was that direction. With Ms. Fey’s office on the second floor, it was highly likely this was one of the rooms that could be seen from there.

Could she have been watching you? he asked.

Pretty hard to, given the blinds. Mia usually kept them down for exactly that reason.

But it still may have been the intent, foiled by Ms. Fey’s measures to keep her assistant hidden from outside eyes. The wiretap, then. Ms. May was probably the one listening in on her conversations.

I guess? Couldn’t they do that from anywhere in the city, though? Why here?

Why here indeed. Benefit of proximity, he suggested, shrugging. He knew Phoenix couldn’t see it, but where he was he probably felt the motion. If they heard anything on your end they might have found troubling, they wouldn’t have to waste time commuting across town to respond.

Phoenix snorted. He really thinks of everything, doesn’t he? I’d be impressed if I didn’t hate the guy.

He did plan well, Miles thought, flicking a brief glance over to Gumshoe. Throughout his conversation with Phoenix he caught the man shifting anxiously out of the corner of his eye, no doubt unnerved by the silence. Before he could ease the detective’s worries, however, he’d stepped forward, loudly slamming his fists on the desk. 

“Come on pal, you’ve gotta have something! There’s no more information on that computer of yours?

Miles blinked, surprised by the detective’s initiative. He’d hardly discussed his true intentions with the man after all; he’d mostly brought him along incase the hotel had any protests to a prosecutor investigating alone.

The clerk shrugged, already indifferent to people banging on his desk. “Not especially, sir. Her account was credited for room service once, but surely that can’t be important,” he answered, chuckling a little.

“It might be, depending on when it was ordered,” Miles said, seeing an opening and seizing it.

The answer clearly shocked the clerk, because it took him a second to retrieve that information. “Uh, the order came in around 8pm on the 5th.”

The day of the murder! Phoenix, do you recall when Ms. Fey was killed?

Er… He paused a moment to think. Had to be just before 9, since that’s when we were supposed to meet Maya.

Blast. That left an opening of about an hour. Fey Law Offices was too close for that gap to hold any significance. “How long would it take for that order to be delivered?”

The clerk’s face was somewhere between nervous and exasperated. “It- it depends, sir. Prep time varies between orders and sometimes patrons request deliveries for specific times.” At Miles’ glare, his eyes darted to the side and suddenly widened. “Oh, why don’t you ask the bellboy, sirs. He deals more closely with customers so he might actually remember.”

It sounded suspiciously like the clerk was trying to be rid of them, but a lead’s a lead. He couldn’t really afford to be picky at this stage.

When Miles shifted his gaze in that direction, he saw the bellboy crossing the lobby, a silver tray tucked under his arm. He started to call out to him, but Gumshoe was quicker.

“Hey pal!”

The loud voice stopped him in his tracks. He looked over to the two men staring in his direction and pointed to himself, mouthing ‘me?’ back to them. At their nod, he approached, giving a small bow.

“How may I help you, sirs?”

Miles briefly explained the situation to him and watched the bellboy’s face light up in recognition.

“I remember Ms. May quite well, actually, sir. A fondness for the color pink, correct?” Miles nodded. “Wow, to think an actual murderer chose this humble hotel as her hideaway. I knew it from the moment I saw her, sir. I could just tell she was one of those ‘femme fatale’ types, if you catch my meaning.”

He didn’t. Besides not being the true culprit, May reminded him of a cat more than anything.

Someone’s been watching too many crime dramas, Phoenix commented.

“Do you remember delivering her room service?” the prosecutor asked.

“Why, yes, sir.” He took a moment to collect his thoughts. “I believe it was iced coffee and she had a specific time she wanted it delivered. I think she wanted to drink it after the program she was watching finished.” 

What a bizarre thing to remember after two months. “You wouldn’t happen to recall that time, would you?”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, sir, but it’s been so long. If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say it was an hour after the order was placed, sir.”

Which put her in the room at the murder’s time. A solid alibi, if he weren’t so unsure. He needed more information. “And what about when you delivered the room service.”

The bellboy immediately became flushed, scratching at his face with his free hand. “Well, when I brought the room service, sir... S-she... the guest, sir, favored me w-with a, um, an ‘embrasser,’ sir.”

“She embarrassed you, pal?” Gumshoe said, alarmed. “What’d she do?!”

Miles sighed. “It’s french for ‘to kiss’, Detective.” 

He flushed harder. “I’ll admit I’ve never been tipped in such a manner before. It was most memorable, sir.”

He wondered if that had been the intent. “One last thing. The person who checked in with Ms. May, you wouldn’t happen to remember what they looked like. Were they there when you delivered the coffee?”

“It was a man,” he answered. “I only saw him once or twice - he assuredly wasn’t there for the room service. I’m quite sure I could identify him if you had a photo.”

Miles quickly pulled out his phone, searching through his history for an article he’d been looking at on BlueCorp earlier. “Is this him?” he asked once he’d found it. The image attached to the article was one of White in all his sparkly glory, standing proudly at the entrance of his building.

The bellboy leaned forward to examine the small image, squinting (Gumshoe, curious, also peered over). “That’s him, Detective.” 

Miles’ brows furrowed. “I’m a prosecutor. My associate is the detective.”

“Oh yes, of course, sir. I just wanted to say it.”

“Right…”

“Anyway,” he continued, “that’s definitely him. I recognize that ‘Lady Killer’ air he struck me with when I first laid eyes on him. Would you like me to write an affidavit swearing that it’s him?” he asked excitedly.

“Uh… sure,” Miles said, a little put off by the enthusiasm. “Detective, give him something to write on.”

From his trench coat, Gumshoe produced a small notepad and removed the pencil from behind his ear, handed both over to the bellboy.

The man immediately began writing. “Oh, I’ve always wanted to write an affidavit, sir! From hence forth I will be known as the ‘bellboy who swore the affidavit’!” He signed with a dramatic flourish and handed the items back to Gumshoe. “Will that be all, sirs?” He was practically bouncing on his heels now.

“Y-yes… thank you…”

The bellboy bowed to them both and went to return to the duties they’d distracted him from, humming a jaunty tune to himself.

Phoenix sighed loudly. If I never hear the word ‘sir’ again…

“So, um, sir…?”

Miles couldn’t help but smirk at the frustrated groan. “Yes, Detective? What is it?”

“That lady, April May. She’s not the murderer, is she?”

Miles turned, giving the man his full attention. “That’s surprisingly astute of you. How did you come to that conclusion?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “It’s just… it’s been bugging me since last week, when you had me planted outside that building. I couldn’t figure why you’d want me to tag along if you were just gonna talk to the guy, unless you were worried something might go sour. Plus you looked really mad when we arrested that woman. I was scared you were gonna cut my pay for a minute there!”

“I promise you I only cut your pay for things that are absolutely your own fault.”

“Right. Anyway, I kinda wrote it off that you were just getting info from that White guy, since that’s what his company does, y’know. But now I’m not so sure. Now I’m starting to think that you’ve suspected him this whole time.”

“…it seems you’re worthy of the title ‘detective’ after all.”

“You really mean it, sir?!” His eyes were practically tearing up. Sentimental fool. “So I was right?”

“Yes,” he sighed. “Somehow you’ve managed to stumble your way into the truth.”

Are you sure, Miles?

I have known Gumshoe long enough to know he’s trustworthy, he assured him. Besides I doubt he has anything going on in his life for White to even consider targeting him.

Are you capable of compliments that aren’t backhanded?

He disregarded that remark. “I discovered a while ago that Redd White was the true mastermind behind Mia Fey’s murder,” Miles said as he began walking towards the hotel’s exit, their business concluded. “However I’ve been unable to find solid evidence with which to build a case against him.”

Gumshoe frowned. “But then how come you know?”

“That is a… last resort that I hope not to use.”

“If you say so.” To anyone else that would sound dubious, but Gumshoe apparently had enough faith in his superior to not question it. “Guess that’s what led you here too.”

“Actually, Detective, this was from a police report from the day of the murder. May called the police here over an item she’d merely misplaced.”

“Oh…” He scratched his head. “That’s… kind of a dumb reason. Did she look for it at all?”

That’s what I said!

Miles wouldn’t call it dumb, more leaning to the realms of extreme. Without evidence supporting a theft, the hotel staff should have been capable enough to help her with that issue. Unless she just got enjoyment out of inconveniencing the police, even if it meant getting her name on a report.

He stopped just short of the doorway, causing Gumshoe to look back in concern.

“Mr. Edgeworth, sir?”

Why was her name on the report? Someone with her kind of connections could easily get something as minor as that removed from the system.

“Detective, why might someone tip their server with a kiss?” he asked.

Gumshoe seemed puzzled by the question. “She thought he was cute?”

Or, she needed him to remember her.” More importantly, she needed someone to confirm her location, a location that set her up to spy on the victim, at the time of the incident. The call just reinforced it - not only did that still place her at the Gatewater, but someone who was plotting a murder likely wouldn’t draw the attention of the police mere hours beforehand. “I think Ms. May might have been planted here as a witness.”

“Uh, witness to what?”

He was still working that out. If she was just intended to serve as lookout, she wouldn’t need people to know where she was.

Maya! Phoenix exclaimed suddenly. Oh that bastard, he-

Phoenix? Did you realize something?

Ugh, I’m so stupid, I should’ve seen it earlier! He showed up right before we scheduled Maya to stop by. I thought it was because of the meeting, but there were definitely other openings. And I never even questioned why he was crouching over Mia when I chased him out. He… he was gonna tamper with the crime scene and…

…make it look like she killed her sister, Miles finished. Which Ms. May would conveniently see from her hotel room. He could feel Phoenix pacing around his skin, quietly berating himself. Phoenix, even if you had noticed earlier, it wouldn’t change where we stand now and May still wouldn’t have been a suspect.

The firebird grunted. Maybe…

Miles sighed. He’d tackle that when they were alone. “Detective, White may have been trying to frame our POI, Maya Fey. Whoever threw the fire alarm that night obviously foiled that plan.” 

You foiled that plan, he emphasized to Phoenix, who didn’t respond.

“But that’s horrible!” he said, aghast. “Who’d do such a thing?”

Miles gently led the detective out the hotel. “I think it’s time I told you exactly the type of man we’re dealing with.”

 


 

Having Gumshoe in on the plan was a bit of a weight off of Miles’ shoulders, even if he did have him sworn not to act without his approval first. The man was loyal to a fault, but he was not subtle. He mostly had him checking in on Maya, now that she was back in town. She likely wasn’t in any danger, but it never hurt to err on the side of caution. Plus the two genuinely seemed to get along, bonding over their love of unhealthy food. 

Unfortunately, allies and a few clues did not a solid case make. He could show May had an alibi and that White was seen at the hotel at some point, but it didn’t prove he killed anyone. May still wasn’t talking either, and he didn’t dare bring his discoveries up with her, lest that information somehow find its way to her boss.

He couldn’t rely on the defense this time either. Gumshoe had reported that May was being assigned an attorney by the state. In other words, someone White had guaranteed would get her a guilty verdict. Even if he’d known a defense attorney (Grossberg was already out due to past entanglements with White) who could’ve aided him, they’d probably be rejected.

The trial was tomorrow. They were almost out of time.

That night before bed he laid out everything they knew about the case and everything that was admissible in court.

It wasn’t much.

He had witnesses at his disposal, he’d just have to use them to his advantage. White was testifying as well; if he could destroy his testimony before he even got on the stand, force him to start improvising, then they might have a shot.

He must’ve been staring at evidence for hours, running through the strategy his head for the hundredth time, when he felt Phoenix nudge him. “Come on. Go to bed.”

He shooed him away ineffectively. “I need to make sure our plan is perfect, Phoenix. We’ve only got one chance and I still have my reservations.”

“Well your reservations aren’t going to matter much if you pass out in court.” He ducked under the prosecutor’s arm and hopped into his lap, blocking the evidence. “Plus you’ve got that meeting in the morning."

He blinked, having nearly forgotten in the wake of everything else. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Head Prosecutor Skye wanted to meet him before the trial. She’d already expressed her personal interest in the proceedings, it was only a matter of time that she’d want an update.

He just wasn’t sure why she felt the need to do it an hour before proceedings.

Miles sighed. “Fine. I’ll admit you’re right just this once.” He scooted Phoenix back onto the couch and began to pack his findings into his briefcase.

“I shall have to document this momentous occasion,” he replied in the most dramatic voice he could muster. “‘Miles admits Phoenix is right’. We’ll make it a national holiday.”

“Oh do stop,” he chided, lightly batting the symbiont’s beak with a sheet of paper. He finished packing and set the briefcase atop the table before retiring to his room, Phoenix in tow.

The two had finally settled down for the night when Phoenix deigned to speak again. “Hey, Miles? I just realized this’ll be our last night together.”

The prosecutor frowned. He hadn’t even been thinking in those terms - the terms he had set in place. “White will still have to go on to a trial of his own, which I may still require your and Ms. Fey’s help for.” Potentially, but even then there was little reason not for him to just stay with Maya overnight. “But… yes. It is likely.”

He’d spent so much time thinking about ending this case, he hadn’t spared much thought into what else was ending. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

Phoenix was quiet for moment, long enough that Miles briefly believed he’d fallen asleep. “I can’t believe it’s finally happening. Mia spent so long trying to stop him, it kind of felt like some far off dream.” His voice was slightly muffled, probably by the cushion he’d gotten for that chair. “And then she was gone and I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t found me. Maybe I’ve said this before, and maybe you already know, but I owe you a lot.”

Miles shifted onto his side, drawing the blankets tighter around his shoulders. “Let’s just get through tomorrow. You can be sentimental later.” It was too late for emotions.

“Right, right. I was the one telling you to go to sleep after all.” He yawned. “It just… doesn’t feel real yet, you know? Heck, it still feels like yesterday that I was coming to in an unfamiliar bathroom with some shirtless guy gaping at me and… that sounds really wrong out of context…”

Phoenix.”

“Sorry! I’ll shut up now. ‘Night, Miles.”

He waited until the chatter from the other side of the room had shifted into slow breathing, then sat up, eyes scanning the darkness for that patch of bright red feathers. The firebird was nestled up in a cozy little ball on his pillow, tail hanging down to the floor. He looked so at home there, so at peace despite everything that had brought them to this point. The sight struck him with an odd emotion and he lied back down before his brain had the chance to process it.

Staring up at the ceiling, he let his eyes flutter shut. One last whisper drifted past his lips before he finally allowed himself to fall asleep.

“… goodnight, Phoenix.”

 


 

Lana Skye had set their meeting at the courthouse, in one of the prosecutor’s lobbies that wasn’t slated for trial use that morning. He had arrived an hour beforehand to make sure his witnesses were set, in the event the meeting didn’t allot him that time afterwards. Maya was not thrilled to be at the courthouse at 8 AM, but at least she had Detective Gumshoe as company, as well as a buffer from ‘Mr. Psycho Bellboy’, as Phoenix had dubbed him. 

White, to his knowledge, was not at the courthouse yet; he’d deemed himself too important to talk to the prosecutor before trial and would make his appearance before it was his time to testify. Miles was fine with this, he’d nothing to say to the man and didn’t need him around stirring up trouble (or setting Phoenix off. He had enough worries without adding an angry firebird to the mix).

Skye arrived at 9:00 on the dot, greeting him with a curt nod. “I hope I haven’t kept you.”

“I’ve just been making sure the witnesses know their talking points,” he informed her.

She nodded again, appreciatively. “Prepared as always. Well, I don’t intend this to take long, so let’s just cut straight to the point. I’m sure you’re wondering what this is all about, or why I chose now of all times.”

“It’s crossed my mind.” The subject matter he could hazard a guess on, but the timing still perplexed him. May was arrested days ago, there had been plenty of opportunities for this conversation.

“The higher ups have concerns regarding your last performance in court. I have orders to take over as prosecutor of this trial.”

Miles barely heard Phoenix gasp over his own shock. They were doubting him? They’ve never brought his methods into questioning before. And to do so with such little notice? 

It’s White, Phoenix said. He’s not taking any chances.

“Head Prosecutor Skye, I-“

She held up a hand. “I said I had orders to take over. Whether or not I follow through on them depends on you, Prosecutor Edgeworth.”

“Me?” This situation was getting weirder by the second. “What about me?" 

“I need to know one thing: Why did you take this case?”

He chose his words carefully, unsure of what angle she was trying approach this at. “Chief Gant suggested I investigate the crime when it happened. I thought I might add a new perspective.”

Her gaze was unwavering. “Even though there was no suspect up until now? You could’ve left that up to the police. Or did you want a challenge?”

His eyebrows knitted together in confusion, second guessing himself. He’d told himself, at the time, that it was merely his hate for criminals driving him, but what if it was the challenge as well? No clues, a witness who couldn’t testify - the ultimate test of his prosecutorial skills.

And then he thought of all those suicides they’d painstakingly researched. Of Maya, who lost a beloved sister, and of Phoenix. Phoenix, who’s been by his side throughout these past two months, helping out as much as he could in his limited capacity, despite the obvious weight Mia’s death has left on him.

The challenge might’ve piqued his interest, but he knew why he stuck it through.

“Mia Fey was murdered by a terrible person; someone who has ruined countless lives and will continue to do so if they aren’t brought to justice,” he finally answered. “That is why I took this case.”

The ghost of a smile found its way to her face. “I could’ve reassigned you two months ago. I’m glad I didn’t.”

His eyes widen a fraction. “The day you called me to your office? That was to…?”

“I was given a similar order back then,” she confirmed.

“Then why?” he asked, confused. “You could’ve faced serious repercussions.”

A pensive look came to her face, and she turned around before she could betray any more emotions. “Because I knew you could finally end this.” She was quiet for a moment. “I think that’s what she was trying to do.” Skye turned back around before Miles had a chance to respond. “Ms. May may not be entirely guiltless, but she didn’t kill Mia. You know exactly who did, don’t you?”

“Affirmative.”

“Then-“

They were interrupted by a sharp ringing. Skye fished the phone out of her pocket, taking in a deep inhale at whatever contact had come up on her screen.

“Lana Skye speaking,” she answered, forcing the tension out of her voice. “Well I tried, but you know how he is; headstrong, tends to do things his own way. I suspect he gets it from his mentor.” She paused again for the person on the other end, who’s voice suddenly raised high enough for Miles to faintly hear it. “Then perhaps you’d like to take that up with Prosecutor von Karma.” 

The other end went quiet again.

Looks like that awful man is good for something after all, Phoenix remarked. Miles didn’t bother to correct him. He already knew he wasn’t changing Phoenix’s opinion on von Karma anytime soon.

“I’m sorry, but it may be out of my hands,” Skye eventually said to her caller. She stayed on the line with them a little longer before they evidently hung up on her. She pulled the phone from her ear with a slight sigh. “I don’t think you’ll face any more interference before the trial, but I’d stay on my toes.”

“Thank you, Head Prosecutor. I won’t disappoint you.”

“It’s not about me.” She turned sharply, her scarf fluttering behind her as she strode towards the door. “You have your assignment. Finish what Mia started.” She paused, hand on the door handle and shot Miles one last look over her shoulder. “Take him down.”

Chapter Text

To absolutely no one’s surprise, Redd White was the first person up on the witness stand. He looked genuinely surprised to see Miles behind the prosecutor’s bench, but masked it by using his introduction to rant about his significance and the unfortunate circumstances he was called in for. 

The entire bit went on far longer than his actual testimony, which was extremely concise: Ms. May had called him shortly after 9 PM that night, hysteric. They’d met up, where she’d confided in him how her conversation with Mia Fey had turned into a violent disagreement and how she hadn’t meant to kill her. Then he, in a misplaced act of pity, had kept silent on the whole ordeal until now.

“My client wishes to invoke her fifth amendment rights on this matter,” the attorney (Miles had been so wrapped up in his own planning that he’d actually forgotten her name. Something bird-like, he wanted to say) answered when inquired about Ms. May’s thoughts towards the damning claim.

 “Doesn’t that just make her seem guiltier?” the judge wondered.

“I have to abide by my client’s wishes. She will not be speaking.”

His Honor sighed. “Well if the defense has nothing to contribute, I must say that testimony was pretty definitive. In the case of the murder of Mia Fey, I hear by -“

“OBJECTION!”

The judge stopped mid gavel-slam, looking to the prosecution with a bewildered expression.

“But, Mr. Edgeworth, I’m about to rule in your favor!” He then cast a nervous glance to White, off the stand, but still very much present, and Miles had to hide his frustration. Even the judge? Of course the man wouldn’t step foot inside a courtroom without all his bases covered.

He shrugged, shaking his head as a smug smirk came to his lips. Miles was the hole in the safety net White was setting up, and he was going to make sure the man fell through. 

“And I promise this trial will end in a favorable verdict for me, but we mustn’t conclude proceedings just yet.” He referred to the paper on his desk. “There were a number of things found during the investigation that still have no explanation. I think these matters should be cleared up first.”

The judge only looked more confused. “But how do you propose going about this? There were no witnesses.”

“She may have not been there, but I do have someone who is connected to the incident and I think the court should hear what she has to say.”

The seed had been planted. “Well, for the sake of being thorough… Very well, you may call your witness.”

Maya slowly approached the bench, a noticeable hesitancy in her steps. “Witness, please introduce yourself to the court,” Miles said once she was in place, nodding encouragingly. It seemed to calm her nerves a little.

“My name is Maya Fey. I’m the little sister. Of the victim, I mean.”

“I’m sure this is all still extremely hard for you,” the judge said sympathetically. “Whenever you’re ready, we’d like to hear your testimony.”

She gave the smallest of nods, as if not trusting her own voice just yet. It was another few seconds, and a few deeps breaths, before she actually spoke.

“I actually live out of town, up in the mountains. I got a call from Sis that morning to come by. She wanted me to hold on to some evidence until her next trial. I got there a little past 9 PM, like she’d asked, but when I reached her office building everyone had been evacuated. I looked around, but didn’t see Mia, and when I tried calling her there was no answer. The police were investigating so I asked if anyone had seen her and that’s how I found out what happened.”

To his surprise the attorney actually raised a question to Maya, though perhaps just out of genuine curiosity.

“Why would she need you to hold evidence?”

“Sometimes Sis didn’t feel safe keeping evidence in her office, especially before a big trial, so she’d give it to me.”

“Unfortunately it seems her fears were justified,” Miles interjected. “Not only was Mia Fey’s life taken that night, but the investigation found no traces of the evidence. The killer likely took it before escaping, despite its rather… unique hiding place, according to our witness.”

Maya nodded. “Sis had put it in that clock. The…” she trailed off, swallowing visible. Miles suspected she couldn’t bring herself to say ‘murder weapon’.

“Clock?” the opposing lawyer asked. 

“The Thinker, the weapon in this case, is not actually a statue. It’s a clock.” Miles smirked and added. “Did your client fail to mention that to you?”

She flushed. “Anyone would assume that was a statue just by looking at it! She had no reason to know it was really a clock.”

“What if I said there was a way?”

“Mr. Edgeworth, what are you getting at?” His Honor asked.

“With her permission, I would like to submit the witness’s cell phone as evidence. Recorded on there is the conversation she held with her sister that morning.” Maya looked a little unsure, but gave her consent, allowing him to play the message for the court. The recording was mostly a reiteration of everything Maya had just testified, just in more detail, but it was solid proof that it was all true should that ever come into contention.

As the sisters signed off, the recording confirming the date and time of the conversation, Miles set the phone aside. “This call was made from the victim’s office phone. Interestingly enough, that same phone had been dismantled the night of the incident. Now, there is little reason for a criminal to tamper with a phone in such a manner, unless they needed to remove something from it. Perhaps a listening device?”

“Objection!” the attorney called out, actually surprising Miles. “This contradicts what your first witness claimed! Are you trying to suggest this was premeditated?”

“I doubt people normally check oddly designed clocks for stray papers.”

“I actually have a question of my own for the witness.”

“You Honor,” Miles prompted, curious as to what insight the judge had gleaned for all this.

“Who is this ‘Nick’?”

Maya nearly choked. Phoenix hadn’t been present in the call (he recalled Mia offering, but it was only supposed to be a brief chat and he’d been busy with something at the time), but Maya had concluded her half of the conversation with ‘Tell Nick I said hi,’ which had, in turn, made her hesitant to present the recording at all. Miles had to assure her he had a contingency plan in case it was questioned.

He just hoped it worked. “The victim had a houseplant she was quite fond of, going as far as to name it as though it were a pet.” Which, on its own, was not a lie. 

“Odd name for a plant. Reminds me of the time my granddaughter named her pet rock ‘Genevieve’.” 

Of course that worked… Phoenix muttered in disbelief, just as Maya gave him a look that matched the sentiment.

“Now, in addition to this information, further investigation had found that Ms. May checked into the Gatewater Hotel several days before the murder. For those unaware, that is the building across the way from Ms. Fey’s office. I have another witness who claims to have seen her there the very day of the incident.”

The attorney gaped, obviously unprepared for all the hurdles Miles was throwing her way. The poor woman had probably expected to come in, accept her defeat gracefully, and go home, hopefully to never have to interact with Redd White again.

Speaking of White, Miles cast a quick glance over his shoulder, where the man himself had settled to supervise the trial’s progression. So far, Miles’ points were only making May look  guiltier, but sooner or later he was bound to catch onto how he was steadily inching towards the truth. Miles just needed to get through this next witness before that happened.

The bellboy was called upon, still looking far too eager to be involved in the proceedings for a murder.

“I am the head bellboy at the fine Gatewater Hotel, in business for four generations!” he began. “As I recall, our guest, Ms. May. called for room service around 8:00 that evening. She requested it be brought to her at 9:00, sir, and I delivered it straight to her at the delivery time.”

“Witness!” May’s attorney snapped, slamming her hands on the table. “Are you claiming you saw my client at the time of the murder?” 

The galley burst out in shock and confusion. The prosecution was doing a better job defending the defendant than her lawyer, they cried out, swiftly silenced by the echo of a gavel.

“Mr. Edgeworth, your own witness just created an alibi!” the judge exclaimed

“Why, witness, you weren’t supposed to mention that,” Miles said in poorly feigned shock, as though this was not discussed with him at all prior. “You were supposed to discuss the potential accomplice.”

That got the crowd murmuring again, though they were quiet enough to not invoke another scolding.

“Oh of course, sir. My apologies. The room service order was actually for two, two iced coffees, though admittedly I only saw Ms. May at the time, sir. She did check into our hotel with a man, who I saw a few times in passing. I wrote an affidavit swearing I could recognize him, though!”

“And, who was this man?” the judge asked.

“Why, it was this court’s first witness, sir. Mr. White.”

The galley erupted, requiring the judge to take a minute to silence them again.

“I believe Redd White needs to be called back to the stand,” Miles stated, once order had been restored.

“He’s already here,” a voice from the side said. 

White, probably when the bellboy had given his first testimony, had left his spot in the galley and was now standing beside the bailiff. He replaced the bellboy on the stand, though his usual smug demeanor had lessened significantly. He tightly gripped the wooden railing, making the scar on his hand all the more pronounced.

Nobody in the courtroom looked willing to challenge him, so Miles took it upon himself again. “Mr. White, why did you neglect to mention that both you and the defendant were at the Gatewater? Mere steps away from the victim’s location.”

“I took the time out of my busy day to come testify and now I’m being treated like a criminal?” White pulled away from the bench, smarmy grin back in full force as he shrugged. “Ms. May asked to meet up with me after the deed had been done. I didn’t think the locus had any aproposity.”

“And yet that ‘locus’, as you say, has now provided her an alibi.”

“Could it be that the bellboy simply forgot the time? Who can be expected to remember such diminuous details after this long? In fact, she did order that room service for us, after the murder. She needed to caffeine to help with her nerves.” He then shot a look to the judge, who nodded sagely.

“I’m sorry, but I do have to accept that the time in the bellboy’s testimony may not be accurate."

Miles inwardly cursed. He was already undermining the truth!

We can come back to it later, Phoenix told him. You’ve just gotta push on for now.

“Fine. That does not explain why you were sighted there before that night.”

White shook his head. “But you’ve already stumbled upon that. I admit it; we were spying on Mia Fey. I run an illustrious information gathering business - it would be deleterious for me if word got out that we were using such methods, so I omitted it from my testimony. This changes nothing else. Ms. May still came to me with the truth of her terrible crime, regardless of where that conversation befell.”

Miles gritted his teeth. They were right back at square one!

“Thank you, Mr. White,” the judge said, dismissing him from the stand. “Does the defense have any comments regarding this updated testimony?”

She shook her head, sadly. “The defense rests.”

“I see. Well, we seemed to have cleared up a few mysteries surrounding this case. However my verdict is still-“

“OBJECTION!” Miles cleared his throat as every eye in the room was swiftly upon him. “I - That was… objectionable!”

“Mr. Edgeworth! Need I remind you which side of the courtroom you stand on?”

He took in a deep breath. This trial was swiftly getting out of hand, a feeling he was not accustomed to. He needed to think of something and fast, or all their hard work would be for naught.

“It’s just that, we shouldn’t leave any questions unanswered. For the past two months there’s been only one thing Maya Fey has known for certain - that her only sister was cruelly taken  away from her before they even had the chance to reunite. Doesn’t she deserve to have complete closure?”

Silence fell on the courtroom. Then a sniffle, from behind the judge’s bench. He set down his gavel. “You’ve spoken at length with Maya Fey, haven’t you?”

“She was our only lead for the longest time, but the whole thing I’m afraid has weighed quite heavily on her. I feel a complete understanding of this terrible crime will help with the healing process.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Allow me to call upon one more witness. They should hopefully clear up entire matter.”

He paused, thinking it over. “One more witness. I’ll grant you a recess to prepare them. Court will reconvene in 20 minutes.”

Miles had to wait until he was alone in the hallway before he could breathe his sigh of relief. He’d just barely pulled that through the skin of his teeth. Any other judge, one who wasn’t so sentimental, and that guilty verdict would be echoing right now.

“That was so close, sir!” Miles quickly straightened up as he heard Gumshoe approach. The man bounded up to him, Maya at his side. “I thought for sure we were gonna lose back there. Well, I guess, technically it’d be a win for you, but you get what I mean.”

“It’s not over yet, Detective. I may have continued the trial, but White is going to try just as hard to ensure that guilty verdict goes through.”

“You say that as though there’s a chance it won’t happen.”

Miles closed his eyes and exhaled. He felt Phoenix tense and sent a quick reminder to him to relax before he attended to their unwelcome guest. 

“Mr. White,” he acknowledged, though he didn’t bother to turn and face him. He watched Maya slide slightly behind Gumshoe, in the hopes White wouldn’t notice her.

“I thought you liked guilty verdicts, yet you’re the only one in there fighting. The judge, Ms. Crane, they both know it’s inefficacious to try and defy me. Mia Fey learned that the hard way.” He circled around front, forcing Miles to look at him as he leaned in close. “Perhaps you need to learn that lesson too.”

The statement must’ve triggered some kind of flight-or-flight response in Phoenix because the firebird was instantly on edge. However, since neither option was available to him, he settled for pacing.

“Hey, you can’t threaten Mr. Edgeworth like that!” Gumshoe roared, forcing himself between the two men.

White looked him up and down, as if just now noticing him. “Actually, Detective, I can speak to anyone anyway I like. I have this entire city in the palm of my hand. A few words to the right people and I could have you fired like that.” He snapped his fingers in the larger man’s face.

Miles nudged him back over to where Maya was still standing, desperate not to be noticed.

“And this is why I’m still fighting, Mr. White. Criminals like you don’t deserve to go about freely, treating our legal system like some sort of plaything. I’ll make sure you pay for your crimes, starting with this one.”

White grinned. A condescending expression; like Miles’ words were just the most adorable thing he’d heard all day. “And how will you do that? Call Mia Fey back from the dead to testify? Because that worked so well for her mother.”

There was a sharp gasp. Miles risked a glance at Maya, whose face was mostly covered from the way her hands were clamped over her mouth. A sharp eye caught the way her fingers trembled and he frowned deeply, brows creasing. “Detective, take Maya to the lobby.”

Gumshoe, in the process of trying to comfort her, snapped his head up. His eyes darted between the prosecutor and White in worry. “But -“

“Detective. That’s an order.”

He hesitated, but not one to disobey a direct order, he carried out the request, guiding Maya away from the conflict. 

“What’s wrong? Don’t want me to humiliate you in front of your attendants?”

Miles watched them disappear behind a door before he gave White his attention once again. “I felt that you’d caused Ms. Fey enough suffering. She needn’t be subjected to the filth that spews from your mouth as well.”

Rage flashed across his face. “Why you contumelious-“

“I’m guessing you’re not accustomed to people who your threats don’t work on,” he sneered. “You’re so used to getting your way that, the second someone defies you, you start falling apart. Is that why Ms. Fey had to die? To protect your precious ego? Heaven forbid the world find out what a pathetic, cowardly-”

White slammed his fist against the wall beside him. Miles only raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve had about enough of you, Prosecutor. This trial will see Ms. May convicted of murder.” He withdrew his hand, adjusting his cufflinks. “Then, once it’s over, I shall deal with you personally.”

Miles turned away, watching him through the veil of his bangs. “I look forward to it.”

Seeing no merit in furthering the argument, White laughed and shuffled off to probably find someone else to antagonize.

Miles! What was that?! Phoenix demanded. He’s gonna come for you now!

I’m sure I made his hit-list long before that exchange, he replied, unconcerned. There was no reason to remain in the hallway so he headed off to rejoin Gumshoe and Maya in the prosecutor’s lobby. Hopefully she’d had enough of a breather after that unpleasantness. Besides after this trial he’ll be heading straight to the detention center.

Awfully confident for a man who I know for a fact doesn’t have a plan.

He stalled, hand on the doorknob, lamenting his current inability to glare at his partner. Just because I haven’t discussed it with you doesn’t mean I don’t have one. Then, before Phoenix could get another word in edgewise, he entered the room and was immediately greeted by Gumshoe’s face on the other side.

He looked startled for a brief second, then grinned. “Oh, perfect timing, Mr. Edgeworth! I was going to grab something from the vending machine.”

Miles frowned. “Aren’t you usually griping about how everything in there is too expensive?”

He scratched at his head. “Yeah, but I think Maya really needs a pick-me-up right now. No worries, I think I can scrounge up enough change!”

Miles looked past him, where Maya was sitting on the couch, slightly curled in on herself. He sighed and reached for his wallet, pulling out a 20 dollar bill.

“Here.”

“Oh, no! I couldn’t possibly, sir!”

“You said it yourself, she looks like she needs it.” He waved the bill impatiently until Gumshoe had the sense to accept the offer.

He stared at the bill in awe for a moment, as though he’d never seen one in his life, before tentatively asking. “Uh, how much can I use?”

“Just… keep whatever you don’t spend. I don’t care.”

“Thank you, sir!” Miles groaned, dismissively waving him off and the man disappeared to go locate a vending machine.

At the telltale sound of a door shutting, Phoenix made his entrance. He swooped away from the alarmed prosecution and landed next to Maya.

“Phoenix!” Miles snapped, glancing to the door in concern. “Gumshoe could return at any moment!”

He ignored him in favor of pressing his head against Maya’s cheek, getting a weak giggle out of her as his crest tickled her face. She withdrew a little from her huddle.

Miles rolled his eyes, relenting. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, it just caught me off guard. Hearing him mention my mom like that.” She reached out to Phoenix, absentmindedly combing her fingers through his feathers. “It’s like, he really just doesn’t care about the lives he’s ruining. There’s no remorse.”

Miles crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. “I suspect it’s the only way he can live with himself.”

Her only response was a barely perceptible nod. She stroked Phoenix a few more times before deciding she was sufficiently soothed and then thoroughly ruffled the usually well groomed feathers. He squawked indignantly and scooted away, but the damage had already been done.

“So, what now?” she asked, sniggering at her own antics while Phoenix set to work preening.

Miles shut his eyes, letting his head lightly thump against the wall behind him. “I’m still working on that,” he admitted.

“What?!” Maya exclaimed. Phoenix muttered something that suspiciously sounded like ‘I told you so’, around a beak-full of feathers. “I thought you had another witness!”

“I needed more time to formulate a new plan. That was the only way I could ensure the judge would grant it.”

Maya pouted. “So you lied.”

“It’s only a lie if I fail to produce a witness before the recess ends,” he countered. “Although the only person who hasn’t testified is May herself.”

“That’s not true,” Phoenix said suddenly, tossing in his two cents. “There’s someone else who hasn’t testified.”

Miles thought the statement over a few seconds before the answer struck him.

No.”

“Just let me do it!” He abandoned his preening, leaving a few feathers at odd angles, in favor of flying to the closest surface to Miles, which happened to be a table. He stretched to his full height for optimal arguing. “What other choice do we have?”

“Wait, Nick, you’re not talking about going on stand, are you?” Maya asked in concern.

He looked over his shoulder at her. “If I have to, I will.”

“But you can’t!” she pleaded. “What if the government takes you away to experiment on?!”

Phoenix blanched. “I…I don’t think they actually do that…”

“You think. But do you know?”

The firebird groaned. “Look, all I know is that if we don’t come up with something, White’s going to get away!”

“I agree,” Miles said, “but that something doesn’t have to be you.”

He pulled back slightly, leveling the prosecutor with a hard stare. “You got any better ideas?”

Miles didn’t, but he also didn’t want Phoenix to ruin his life, or for Maya to lose anyone else. He grabbed at his elbow, fingers digging into the crisp fabric of his jacket. There was another way. There had to be another way.

“Miles.” At his name, he met Phoenix’s gaze, deep grey interlocking with passionate blue. “This isn’t just me making up for my failure. White has ruined so many lives and, right now, we’re the only ones that can stop him. I don’t care what happens to me if it means he never gets to hurt anyone again. Let me testify.”

Miles bit his lip, looking away. “Phoenix…”

“That won’t be necessary.”

They both jumped at the interruption. Even though the door hadn’t opened since Gumshoe left, somehow someone must’ve entered. After all, Miles certainly didn’t recognize that voice. They turned their heads in the direction it’d come from, where Maya was still sitting.

…or was she? It was definitely her outfit, there was no one else around who dressed in acolyte robes, her same dark hair with her signature topknot and purple beads, but the woman currently sitting on the couch was most certainly not Maya.

“Mia…” Phoenix said breathlessly. He was shaking, his jaw agape. He blinked several times, as if expecting her to be gone when he opened his eyes.

The woman smiled softly, beckoning him over. With damp eyes, the firebird flew over. She moved her hands from her lap so he could land there, letting him press their foreheads together with a delighted chuckle.

“It’s good to see you too.”

“You’re here…” he whispered. “You’re really here.”

“The thought of you giving yourself up must have been enough of a shock for Maya to awaken her powers.”

He scoffed a little. “That girl watches too much TV…”

“That’s not important right now and we don’t have a lot of time to work with. Isn’t that right, Mr. Edgeworth?” All the affection that’d been in her tone dropped away as soon as she addressed him. “I must say this was quite the surprise, though I’m still not sure if it’s a pleasant one or not.”

“Ms. Fey…” he replied, uncertainly, still in wonder over the fact a dead woman was sitting here - in her sister’s body no less - like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I must admit I’m having a difficult time wrapping my head around this situation.”

She smirked, a smug expression that probably wasn’t too different from the one he usually gave to defense attorneys. He didn’t like it. “Surely my sister’s mentioned the Fey women’s powers?”

“It’s come up.” He just hadn’t believed her. Given her wild imagination and his own past experiences, it wasn’t too unreasonable of an assumption. “But this… this channeling…

“I can field any questions after the judge gives his ‘Not Guilty’ verdict,” she interrupted. 

“Do you have a plan?” Phoenix asked excitedly.

“You have the information on White, right? Everything I was researching.”

“Why?” Miles, asked crossing his arms. “So we can try and blackmail him like you were going to? Even if I had confidence that it could even work, I’ll not lower myself to his level.”

Phoenix fluffed out, about to berate him, when Mia started laughing, surprising them both.

“Wow, Phoenix must be rubbing off on you. Where were these morals when I faced you three years ago?”

“There’s nothing immoral about having an anonymous witness,” he protested. “Sometimes the situation requires it.”

“Hold on, anonymous witness? You can do that?” Phoenix questioned, perking up. “Then why can’t I testify?!”

“Because I highly doubt White would let me get away with it. She certainly didn’t, and she didn’t have the entire court in her back pocket.” He nodded his head towards Mia, frowning.

“Much as I don’t like admitting it, he’s right, Phoenix. Tricks like that won’t work on White. He needs to fall into a trap of his own design.” As she spoke, she rose from the couch and crossed to room until she stood in front of Miles. Phoenix followed after her, landing on his late partner’s shoulder. “Luckily for you, he’s already started building one. All that’s missing is that list.”

Miles narrowed his eyes. “I already said I won’t use it in that manner.”

“Good, because I never said you were the one that needed it. You need something else if I recall. A witness, perhaps?”

He would question how she came about that information later as he pondered her words. He needed a witness, someone who could make use of White’s sordid affairs. Someone familiar enough to both him and the case.

It came to him. “You can’t mean - ! But shouldn’t she already know?”

“A little of it, maybe, but you underestimate how damning this list really is. This could ruin him far more than even a murder charge. Do you really think he would trust this information with anybody else?”

As he contemplated, Gumshoe returned, fumbling around in his pocket as he shut the door behind him. The distraction was enough to allow Phoenix to disappear onto Miles’ back, likely out of habit, before he was noticed.

“Sorry it took so long, pal. I didn’t know what you liked, but I figured, sweets always make me feel better.” He produced a couple of packets of Swiss Rolls from his pocket and handed them to ‘Maya’, seemingly oblivious to her sudden growth spurt.

“Oh, thank you, Detective,” Mia replied as she accepted the offering, discreetly sliding them into her own pockets. “That’s awfully kind of you.”

“Aw, it’s no big deal.”

“Actually, Detective, this is surprisingly good timing from you. I need you to fetch Ms. May.”

Gumshoe turned to his boss, confused. “The defendant? Why?”

“Because it’s about time she broke that vow of silence.”

 


 

His errand to fetch Ms. May took significantly less time than his snack run, which was welcome. Half of their recess was already up at this point. They entered the room together, not unlike the day they’d confronted White, though roles now reversed, and May immediately put on the charm, batting her eyelashes.

“Ooh, meeting with a defendant during recess. How scandalous~” She adjusted her top, drawing attention to the blatant disuse of buttons on her blouse. “Although it looks like you already had company.” Her eyes roved over to the woman standing at his side and she squinted suspiciously at her. “Something’s changed about you…”

“Must be the lighting,” Mia said innocently.

Miles cleared his throat. “A prosecutor must make sure they’ve spoken to all parties involved.”

She groaned in frustration. “Right. I forgot that doesn’t work on you. What d’ya want?”

“I want you to tell the court what you really did that night.”

“You already heard the story from Mr. White. What’s the use in hearing it again?”

“Ms. May, cut the act,” Miles said sternly. “You’re only in this situation because White knew I was onto him and he needed a scapegoat. Which I why I don’t understand why, after that betrayal, you still choose to protect him. Whatever it is can’t possibly be worth jail time.”

For a brief second, May looked conflicted. “I’m… scared,” she admitted.

“Scared?” Miles asked, leaning forward a bit. It was the most she’d revealed to anyone since her arrest. “Scared of what?”

“I don’t want to end up like her,” she whispered fearfully. 

Her. Miles looked back at Mia, whose face remained impassive.

“Whatever threats he’s made, you realize he can’t carry them out if he’s the one incarcerated,” Miles reasoned, but May only shook her head.

“No. It’s impossible. He has too many connections, he’s untouchable by the law.”

“He’s not as untouchable as you think,” Mia piped in, arms folded across her chest. “If he was this trial wouldn’t exist.”

“Grr… and what do you know?!” she snapped, glaring at Mia. 

“Obviously something you don’t,” she calmly answered. “Do you know what White so desperately didn’t want getting out?”

Her brows wrinkled in confusion. “Evidence against BlueCorp, obviously. He told me the details weren’t to important.”

“I thought as much,” Mia sighed.  

“Ms. May,” Miles said, recapturing her attention. He leaned over to grab the set of documents he’d set out on the table prior to her arrival. “I’ve managed to recreate the work that Mia Fey was compiling to take down White. You deserve to know exactly what you’re trying to go to jail for."

Skeptical, she took the papers from him, her eyes tracing over line after line, expression slowly growing more horrified the further down she got. What Miles had prepared was not just a list of names. It also detailed the kinds of scandals they had involved themselves in to gain White’s attention in the first place and how they ultimately ended up taking their own lives. Mia admitted that, while it wasn’t as complete as her own, it was far more comprehensive that than what she had planned to present.

“I… helped with a few of these,” May admitted, the papers rattling in her trembling hands, “but I didn’t know - I never realized -“ The words died in her throat. “There’s so many…

“That’s all I could recover before the trial. Ms. Fey had more. And the list will just keep growing if he’s not stopped.” 

With a quivering breath, she thrust the documents back into Miles’ hands and took a few steps back to brace herself against the wall. They gave her the space to breathe as the weight of everything slowly threatened to drag her to the ground.

After a couple minutes of silence, Miles took a glance at the clock on the wall. There was only about five minutes of recess left and no sign of response from the defendant. He sighed. Had this all been for naught?

“We should get Ms. May back to the defendant lobby before we reconvene.”

“Wait!” she interrupted, picking her head up to meet his eyes. “I’ll do it. I’ll testify.”

 


 

“The prosecution calls Ms. April May to the stand!”

The court went into their murmurs as the defendant took her place, head high and defiant. White watched from the sidelines with his usual confidence. Obviously he didn’t feel threatened by this course of action. 

May’s attorney, on the hand…

“Objection!” she called out. “This wasn’t run by me.”

“What was it you said earlier?” Miles asked. “You have to ‘abide by your client’s wishes’? Well, she wishes to give her testimony.”

“I must admit I’m quite curious as to what she has to say. She’s been so quiet about this whole incident,” the judge said. “Very well, the defendant may proceed with her testimony.”

“My name is April May and I’m the secretary for the CEO of BlueCorp. I did check into the Gatewater Hotel on September 3rd, with Mr. White. We were wiretapping Ms. Fey’s phone to find out what she knew about us. For those two days, we took turns listening to her conversations and watching the office.

“When Mr. White heard that conversation between the sisters, he panicked. The evidence could be fatal and it was going to disappear, so we had to act fast. He set me up as a witness that night - even had me cause a scene downstairs and order room service so the staff would remember me. Then he went over the office and murdered her with that clock!”

The galley was in an uproar at the startling confession, the judge shouting for order over top of them.

“She’s lying!” White shouted from the sidelines once silence descended, pointing an accusatory finger at Miles. “She’s the murderer! That prosecutor made her say that!”

“But, Mr. White, why would the prosecution make her to deny her own guilt?” He then cowered from the daggers being glared in his direction.

“Ms. May, I demand that you retract that statement, or -“

“Or you’ll what?” she hissed. “Add me to to body count alongside Fey and all those people you drove to suicide?!”

For the first time, White actually looked scared. “How did you…?”

Ignoring him, May reached into her shirt (gaining a few whistles for the action) and pulled out the documents Miles had provided her. “Your honor, this is what Mia Fey had. This is what he was so scared of getting out that he was willing to kill her.” She began to read a few names from it to prove her point and White nearly flew over the barrier.

“No! You mustn’t! Stop, please, stop!”

“Aww, what’s wrong, Mr. White? You don’t like how your own medicine tastes?” she purred. “You know that nice man down at the news station you always make me flirt with? I’m sure he’d love something like this~”

His knuckles were as pale as his surname from gripping onto the railing. “You can’t!”

“Then let me finish my testimony.” With a low growl, he backed up and complied. “Now, where was I? Oh! Originally he was going to frame little miss topknot over there for the murder and have me witness it, but then that fire alarm got pulled, so that part of the plan fell through. After that, we just laid low. The police had no leads, after all. But that prosecutor started poking his nose around and Mr. White was scared he’d been found out. He threatened me, said if I didn’t take the fall for him, I’d be next.”

“Mr. White, is this true?!” the judge demanded.

All eyes in the courtroom were on him now. He met their gazes in turn; the judge’s bewilderment to the shock of the rival attorney. May winked at him, waving the papers tauntingly. Then he looked at Miles, no doubt the cause of his downfall, and then past him, and his eyes widened in fear.

“Y-you…” he stammered.

There's no way White hadn't noticed the extra presence at the prosector's bench, but perhaps he hadn't given her a good look until now.

“Well, Mr. White,” Mia said. “It’s rude to keep the judge waiting.”

White took a few, shaky steps back, and crumbled to his knees. “I… I confess,” he said. “I did it. I killed Ms. Mia.” 

As the bailiffs gathered the broken man up to take him away, the judge addressed those that remained.

“To be honest, I’m not entirely sure who I should be congratulating in this instance,” he admitted, stroking his beard. “April May, you have many crimes that you will still have to answer for, but in the case of the murder of Mia Fey, this court finds you Not Guilty!”

 


 

“I’m afraid I can’t stay much longer. Maya’s powers are still weak.” 

The three had returned to the prosecutor’s lobby after the trial, sending Gumshoe off on some errand so Phoenix could talk to Mia face-to-face. Miles still had several questions about this whole channeling business, but their reunion seemed more important.

“But you just got here!” Phoenix cried. “There’s still so much I want to say…”

“Oh, Phoenix, I’m sure you’ll see me again. And you know I’ll always be with you, right?” He sniffled and nodded. With a sad smile, she drew him away from the table he was standing on, wrapping him in her arms like a small child. Phoenix sighed, resting his head on her shoulder.

“I missed you so much…”

“I missed you, too,” she replied, before setting him down. “Now, before I go, I have a few words for our prosecutor.” Mia turned to face him, her face stern, before it melted into a soft smile. “Thank you.”

Miles huffed quietly. “I was just making sure justice was served.”

“Not just for that. You didn’t have to look after Phoenix or Maya. Especially Phoenix. I know first hand how much of a handful he can be sometimes.”

“M-Mia!”

“I was skeptical when I saw that Phoenix ended up with you. After all you made a pretty poor first impression during our first, and only, trial together. But you proved me wrong, and I’ll never forget everything you’ve done for them. For my family.”

“You… you’re welcome,” Miles replied, not sure what to do in the face of such a heartfelt confession. She giggled at his awkwardness. “A-actually. I did have something to ask you.”

“Oh?”

“Phoenix. How did you come to meet him? And do you know how he ended up like this?”

The symbiont looked surprised at the questions, but Mia seemed to have been expecting it to come up. “I’m sorry, Mr. Edgeworth. I can’t break a promise, even in death.”

“Should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy…”

“Of course not, where’s the fun in that? I know you’ll figure it out, you’ve got an amazing partner by your side.”

With a wink she left her sister’s body. Maya stood, eyes closed, before unconsciously slumping forward. Miles’ reflexes were just quick enough to keep her from falling.

Her eyes fluttered open, looking up into his face. “What… happened?” she asked drowsily. “Did we…?”

“White has confessed to all of his crimes.” Miles gave her a soft smile. “It’s over.”

The noise that came out of Maya was almost inhuman. Whatever strength she had remaining after that channeling she used to wrap her arms around his neck in a death grip. “Oh thankyouthankyouthankyou,” she whispered into his ear.

“Er… yes… of course,” he replied, awkwardly patting her on the back. Phoenix laughed and joined in on the huddle, spreading his wings around them both. With his arms occupied by keeping Maya on her feet, there wasn’t much Miles could do but accept his fate.

“I’ve got all the paperwork for White’s trial!” Gumshoe announced as he burst into the room, then froze at the sight before him. Phoenix quickly hid. “Uh, am I interrupting something?”

“Mr. Edgeworth’s gonna take us out for celebratory burgers!” Maya announced, releasing one arm from its hold on him, the other still clinging on for support.

“Now, hold on. I agreed to no such thing. This plan was not run by me beforehand.”

“Oh come on, we’ve gotta celebrate. And what better to celebrate with than burgers?”

“I can think of any number of things, actually.”

“Aww, please, Mr. Edgeworth!” She looked up at him, pouting.

“I, uh, actually wouldn’t mind something other than noodles for a change…” Gumshoe offered, looking hopeful.

Two against one, Miles. Looks like you were outvoted.

He looked between both pitiful, pleading expressions and sighed. “Fine.”

“Yes!” Maya cheered, finally letting go. She wobbled a little, still weak from channeling, but managed to stay upright. “There’s this great place Sis would always take me. Come on, let’s go!”

She stumbled again, caught this time by Gumshoe. “Gosh, pal, that trial must’ve taken a lot out of you,” he said, letting her hang off his arm. “Maybe you should take it easy.” 

“No can do. Time’s a wasting and burgers are a waiting!”

Phoenix sighed. Some things never change.

Despite himself, Miles smiled. They were likely going to be around for a few days - at least to see Redd White finally get the guilty verdict he deserves - but he’d be lying if he said he wouldn’t miss them and their antics.

As Maya excitedly tugged at Gumshoe’s arm, trying to expedite things, Miles let out a quiet chuckle, gathered his belongings and followed them out the door.

Chapter 10

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“Will you be sticking around for White’s trial tomorrow?”

He had just dropped Maya and Phoenix back at her apartment after their impromptu celebratory lunch. The burgers had been admittedly not terrible, but it wasn’t a place Miles would soon be returning to of his own accord.

Maya nodded enthusiastically, nearly knocking heads with Phoenix, who was currently cradled in her arms. “Heck yeah! I wanna see him get what he deserves! And I gotta figure out what to do with all of Sis’s stuff.” She glanced over her shoulder into the apartment. “…it might take a few days.”

“Don’t forget the stuff in the office, too,” Phoenix supplied. Judging from Maya’s wince, she had forgotten.

Miles made a small noise of agreement. Having once had to uproot his entire life on short notice, he could relate.

“Then I suppose I’ll see you both…” His eyes wandered down to Phoenix. “…in some capacity tomorrow?”

Or… you could give us a ride to the courthouse?” she asked hopefully.

Rolling his eyes, Miles smirked slightly. “I suppose I could manage that. But you’ll have to come to the office with me in the morning.”

She shrugged. “Beats taking the bus.”

“And you’ll get to see Miles’ fancy Steel Samurai figure,” Phoenix said with a cheeky grin. His plans to embarrass the prosecutor only slightly backfired. Maya let out an excited ‘Really?!’, swinging her arms out to the side and nearly dropping Phoenix. He managed to scramble to her shoulder before he lost his support.

Miles could feel his ears burning. “That… that was a gift. It would be rude not to display it.”

“I don’t know why you try to deny it, everyone here already knows you’re a nerd.”

“Yes, and whose fault is that?” Miles huffed.

“Oh no, guilty as charged,” Phoenix said, draping himself around Maya’s shoulders like a red feather boa. “Take me away, officer, I must pay for my crimes.”

She giggled. “Alright ya big lug, that tickles! Let’s get you settled somewhere. You wanna hang out for a bit, Mr. Edgeworth?”

He shook his head. “Thank you for the offer, but I should really be on my way. I’ll see you both in the morning.” He nodded to them both in turn but hesitated when his eyes met Phoenix’s. Part of him was coming to the realization that, once he stepped away, the symbiont would no longer be his responsibility. Sure he’d be seeing them both infrequently over the next several days, but then they’d be leaving for Maya’s hometown and his life would finally return to its state of normalcy.

So why wasn’t he more relieved?

Maya caught their lingering stares and smiled softly, nudging her feathery scarf. “Why don’t you stay with Mr. Edgeworth another night? The case isn’t technically closed after all.”

Both men blinked at her in surprise. Phoenix straightened himself out so he wasn’t holding conversation with her chin. “But… I don’t really think he needs my help anymore. And I feel bad leaving you by yourself all the time.”

She made a dismissive noise, waving her hand. “It’s only one night. You’ll be with me 24/7 in Kurain.”

“I guess that’s true…” he muttered, considering.

Against his better judgement, Miles jumped in. “I do have a guest room,” he offered, “if that’s not too forward of me.”

Phoenix gave him a dubious look, but Maya’s eyes lit up at the suggestion.

“Like a sleepover?! Oh, I’ve never really had one before. It’s always just been me and Sis. Or Pearly.”

“It’s not a sleepover, I’m just offering you another option for the night…”

Maya wasn’t listening. “We can make popcorn and watch movies… Oh, I’m so excited! I’ll go pack some stuff!” Her excited movements jostled Phoenix enough that the firebird deemed it safer to retreat to the nearby coatrack, just before she disappeared into one of the back rooms.

Hunched over on his high perch like a vulture, Phoenix peered down at Miles. “Thought you didn’t like company.”

He shrugged. “This is a transitional period. I thought this might make things easier for you.”

Phoenix’s face was skeptical and he shook his head. “Well, you might as well come in. This might take a while.”

Realizing he was still standing in the open doorway, Miles crossed the threshold of the apartment, closing the door behind him. Phoenix pushed off from the coatrack, leaving it rattling in his wake, and led Miles further into the living space.

Maya poked her head back in as they both took a seat. “Hey, um… what do people normally bring to sleepovers?”

Miles’ repeated insistence that it wasn’t a sleepover was interrupted by Phoenix. “The same kind of stuff you bring when you stay here overnight?” He gave her a quizzical look. 

“I just want to make sure I’m prepared!” she protested.

“Since when are you ever prepared?”

Maya scowled and stuck her tongue out at him, then slipped back into what Miles assumed was a bedroom. Their shenanigans called to memory a similar exchange he’d had several times over; though without the threat of retaliation by means of physical violence. It got a small, breathy noise out of him that Phoenix had learned to interpret as a laugh of sorts.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

Miles shook his head. “I don’t know why I hadn’t noticed before, but you two are practically siblings. I see why Mia Fey referred to you as family.”

Phoenix was caught off guard for a moment, but his expression immediately softened. “I’m… surprised she thought of me that way, to be honest. I always figured she saw me as her weird roommate/assistant.”

“What?! Of course she saw you as more than that!” Maya announced as she reentered the room. She tossed a book bag to the floor and flopped next to him on the couch, poking a feathered cheek. “You’re basically the little brother we never had.”

“You really mean - wait… Little brother?!” He shooed her hand away.

“Yeah! You’re smaller, so you’re the little brother.” 

Miles actually laughed at that. 

 


 

“The guest room is down the hall to your left. There should already be clean linens in there, but let me know if you need anything.”

Maya gaped as she entered the condo, only half listening to Miles’ instructions. “This place is huge!” she exclaimed, slowly heading in the indicated direction, but pausing every few seconds to exam the space in further detail.

“It’s no bigger than your average condominium,” Miles said, shooing curious fingers away from the vase that decorated an end table.

“It’s bigger than your average apartment!” Maya countered, pouting slightly as her subsequent investigative attempts were met with similar resistance. Miles gestured to the guest room once again, more insistent. With one last, defiant poke at the decor, she skipped down the hall, book bag bouncing against her back.

“You’ve just let loose a spirit of chaos into your home,” Phoenix said from his preferred perch on the armchair.

Miles quirked a brow. “But you’ve already been here for two months.”

Phoenix gaped at him, holding a wing to his chest as though he’d been physically wounded.

Suddenly there was a sound from the back, echoed off the narrow corridor of the hallway. A scream, unmistakably Maya’s. The two didn’t spare each other a passing glance before rushing to the source of distress. Phoenix was first on scene, elegantly banking past him to accommodate for his wingspan, but Miles was, quite literally, on his tail.

They charged in, ready for just about anything, except the scene they were actually greeted with. The room itself showed no signs of distress, nothing out of place and no uninvited entities. Maya herself was merely faced away from the door, standing in front of a shelf. She turned her head around at their sudden arrival, a little surprised, but otherwise unharmed.

Phoenix landed on the bedpost with a heavy sigh. “Darnit, Maya, don’t scare us like that! We thought you were in trouble or something!”

“Oh, sorry,” she said, apologetically, turning to face them. A case of some sort was clutched in her hands, its details obscured. Miles’ eyes idled over to the shelf that’d caught her interest, where he generally kept all his movies instead of having them cluttering the den.

“Why were you even screaming?” the firebird asked, though Miles had already formed a theory based on the evidence present.

“Because Mr. Edgeworth never mentioned that he had this!” she held out the case in her hands and, yup, just as he suspected. The complete boxset of the Steel Samurai he’d purchased recently. The show hadn’t been over that long, but they’d already released a compilation of the entire series, likely to capitalize on the media buzz generated by Will Powers’ trial.

“Oh no…” Phoenix groaned.

“It’s unopened too,” Maya said as she examined it. “Is this a special collector’s edition?!”

“Not especially, I just haven’t had the time to watch it,” Miles answered honestly. He’d mostly picked it up on a whim, but, in the midst of the madness that was Mia Fey’s case, it’d slipped his mind entirely.

The response only spurred her on further. “Well we have to watch it now. We’ll make it an all-night marathon!”

No,” Phoenix protested.

“While I have to say ‘no’ to the all-nighter,” Miles said, looking off to the side, “I'm not opposed to watching a few episodes.”

She cheered and brought the boxset back out to the den with her, mussing Phoenix’s feathers as she passed him by. He expressed his grievances to the mistreatment of his ‘spikes’ and chased after her. Miles followed to make sure his home remained in one piece.

Miles ended up putting the DVD in, once Maya realized she had no idea how to work anything in the entertainment center, apparently used to much more outdated technology in her home town. Phoenix voiced a few more complaints, but settled down on the couch regardless. Maya decided to pick the floor for optimum viewing experience, her head slightly cushioned against his feathery body. Miles rejoined them after grabbing some paperwork to get a head start on.

“Miles, do me a favor,” Phoenix mumbled in his ear after a while. He was practically draped across the back of Miles’ chair having moved after Maya, in her excitement, had head-butted him one too many times. He wasn’t sure how many hours in they were at this point, but they’d already gone through one of the discs.

“That depends on what the favor is,” Miles responded, not bothering to look up.

“Drop me off at the apartment. You two can have your fun, I’ll sleep there.”

Miles dropped his paperwork long enough to crane his neck to where he could see the symbiont. “Phoenix, you will literally die.”

“Death is better than this.”

“Oh come on Nick, stop being dramatic. It’s a good show!” said Maya, who neither of them realized had been listening to the exchange.

“I never said it wasn’t,” he replied. “You just make me watch it every time I see you.”

“Well yeah. Because all you ever want to watch is the news. Booooring.”

“So I like to keep up with the outside world,” he huffed. “Sue me.”

She sat up straight from her reclined position, looking to Miles with interest. “Can I sue him?”

He thought it over for a moment. “I’m sure some court somewhere would allow it, but I doubt you’d accomplish anything.”

Maya narrowed her eyes at Phoenix. “You win this round, Nick.”

He made a vague gesture with his wing in response. “What’s my prize, more Steel Samurai?” he asked flatly.

“Yes,” Maya started to reply, but her stomach chose that moment to growl rather loudly. “Actually, can we break to get food? I haven’t eaten since lunch!”

“That’s… that’s how it usually works…”

Miles glanced at his clock, noting that it was basically dinner time. He actually hadn’t put any thought into preparing food for company, though he knew his kitchen was well stocked in any event. “Did you have something in mind?”

“We could order a pizza,” Maya suggested.

“Pizza.”

“Yeah, you know - cheese, pepperoni…”

“I know what pizza is,” Miles interposed. “I just haven’t had one in a long time.”

Maya gasped, clutching her chest. “Mr. Edgeworth, how are you even living?!”

“He mostly sustains himself on tea,” Phoenix remarked. 

Miles glared at the symbiont. “Ms. Fey, I understand that you live in the middle of the mountains. Do you expect me to believe you get pizza delivered regularly?”

“Of course not! Why do you think I eat so much junk food when I’m in town? Oh, speaking of which, I still have those Swiss Rolls…”

Miles watched her slink into the guest room briefly, only to return with the packaged pastry in hand. “I hope you’re not planning on that being dinner.”

“Oh no, I still want pizza. This is just a snack to tide me over.” She ripped open the plastic, holding it out to him. “Want one?”

“No… thank you.” He frowned at an odd sensation the moment triggered, like an old memory that couldn’t quite break through to the surface. Maya shrugged and went on to munching on the roll.

For lack of other suggestions (since Phoenix did not need to eat, he’d withdrawn himself from the discussion) he ended up ordering a small pizza, though he prepared a salad for himself from his own food reserves. He’d had his fill of greasy food for one day. Maya was mildly disappointed, but it didn’t last long in the face of having an entire pizza to herself. After cleaning up the dining area, the group returned to the den and resumed their marathon.

Somewhere along the journey to scale Neo Fujiyama, Maya had fallen asleep on the sofa, Phoenix sprawled out on her stomach. Miles briefly considered draping the blanket over the two, but decided against it. Aside from being covering in thick feathers, Phoenix generated enough of his own natural heat. Adding more would likely be stifling.

He turned off the TV and switched a light on in the guest room, in the event they woke up and wanted to spend the rest of the night in a proper bed. Miles then retired to his own room. As it was still fairly early in the evening - too early to go to bed in any event - he grabbed a book and decided to make use of his desk for once, setting Phoenix’s cushion off to the side so he could sit.

Despite his book, Miles found his mind was too active. It was the first time since the trial that he’d been alone long enough for his thoughts to roam and they kept finding a way back to the morning’s spirited encounter.

He’d found solace all these years in convincing himself that Misty Fey had been a fraud. Had his father’s spirit truly been consulted, there would have been no room for anything but a guilty verdict, yet the defense had won his case.

But he’d seen Maya’s powers first hand and spoken to her late sister. There could be no doubt that this was the real deal, but it left doubt in him. The one called upon in the DL-6 incident was Maya’s own mother, which opened the possibility that, 15 years ago, that channeling had not been faked. His father had appeared before the police, implicated the bailiff who so obviously had to be the culprit, and he was still allowed to walk free.

His elbows fell to the desk, fingers carding through silver hair until they tugged at the roots. Why was the past so determined to be dredged up?!

A much needed distraction came in the form of a tentative knock on his ajar door and a soft “Miles?” spoken in question.

The prosecutor removed his hands from his hair just as a crested head peeked in through the opening.

“I thought you were asleep,” he commented, gesturing him over.

“I was, except for the fact that Maya fidgets a lot, even when she’s not conscious,” Phoenix said as he flew up on the desk. “After I woke up on the floor, I figured I’d come bug you.”

“Lucky me,” Miles replied in a flat tone, though the firebird’s presence was not unwelcome.

“Hey, who else is gonna keep you from reading up on legal theory at all hours of the night?” he said, tilting his head a tad to get a better look at Miles’ book. “Although I’m not familiar with this particular dialect of legalese.” 

Rolling his eyes, Miles set the book aside. “It’s German if you must know.”

Phoenix looked at him in surprise. “You never told me you knew German.”

“I don’t tell you a lot of things,” he casually replied. “Although this particular factoid was hardly a secret. I was tutored in Germany by Prosecutor von Karma.”

Phoenix made a face, as he normally did at any mention of his mentor, but refrained from comment. “…so is it actually German legalese or…?”

“It’s a novel,” Miles replied. “I do try to keep up with the language and law books aren’t a suitable reference for the conversational aspects of it.” He frowned when the firebird snorted at him in response. “What?”

“Only you would make work out of reading a novel. Don’t you ever do things just for fun?

“As I recall I just spent several hours watching television with you and Ms. Fey. I believe that constitutes as ‘fun’.”

“While you were doing paperwork!” the symbiont countered. “And I was behind your head for a good portion of that, so I’ve got eyewitness proof.”

He couldn’t really argue with testimony like that. “The prosecution rests, I suppose.”

“Then the court finds Miles Edgeworth guilty of being a workaholic. Loosen up, take a break for once! I’m… not gonna be around to distract you, y’know?”

“I’ll consider it,” he replied with a certain tightness to his voice that he couldn’t explain. “I suppose now you’ll be distracting Ms. Fey from… whatever duties she has.”

“Maya says all she really does is train all day. She might just be over exaggerating, but I’ve never been to Kurain, so I can’t really say for sure.”

“Never?” Miles asked, surprised.

Phoenix shook his head. “Mia never went back after she left, she was always calling Maya here when we saw her - not that she minded the excuse to get away from training.”

“Training… to channel spirits…” Miles muttered, its mentions bringing his previous concerns back into the forefront of his mind.

Phoenix cocked his head. “What? Don’t tell me you’re still in denial after - “

“No,” Miles interrupted, holding up his hand. “Today was sufficient evidence.”

“One might even say it was ‘decisive’ evidence?” the firebird added, wiggling his non-existent eyebrows. “Though, if that’s not the issue, what is?”

The prosecutor bit his lip slightly. Phoenix had become a bit of a confidant for him over these short months and he’d grown somewhat comfortable sharing his worries with him. However, minor misgivings related to cases that Phoenix very much had a say in as well, weren’t nearly on the same level as his decade and a half old trauma. 

“You don’t have to tell me, if it’s too much,” Phoenix amended as he noticed the stricken look on Miles’ face. “But I’m here if you need me.”

For now, Miles’ brain reminded him. Soon, the symbiont would be leaving his life, potentially forever.

If they were to never see each other again, perhaps, just this once, he could let his walls down a little.

“Phoenix, I’m going to pose a question to you,” he said slowly, Phoenix perking up at the prompt. He couldn’t bring himself to breach the topic itself, but maybe approaching it in its basest form would work. “What if something you thought you knew - that you’d built so much upon - was suddenly cast into doubt?”

Now unlike himself, whose cold exterior was partially to blame for the ‘Demon Prosecutor’ nickname, Phoenix wore most of his emotions on his sleeve, or wing as it may be. However, there were still quite a few even he kept locked away. Their empathy link granted him glimpses every so often; a deep pain hidden under all his goofiness and snark.

“I don’t know, Miles,” he answered after a while. “You reevaluate your life and… move on, I guess. Learn to put your faith in… elsewhere…” He shrugged in what he probably thought was a noncommittal manner, but Miles wasn’t buying it.

Just now, as Phoenix processed his question, he’d felt it again. This wasn’t a ‘what if’ for the firebird.

“Interesting…” Miles said, reclining a bit. Phoenix only got this way in regards to his past. “This wouldn’t happen to pertain to a court case, would it? State vs Kipper, perhaps?” It was a pretty severe breach of trust from what he gathered.

“Kipper?” Phoenix repeated in confusion, before his eyes slightly widened. “Oh.”

Poor thing, Miles mused. He was so unused to hearing it, he was forgetting his own name.

Some of his pity must’ve shown of his face, because the symbiont made a dramatic motion out of rolling his eyes. “Got any other existential questions while we’re at it?”

“That was the only one,” the prosecutor replied. “But it did help me, so thank you.” Namely, it’d  given him something else to think about.

“You’re welcome, I think?”

The two fell into a comfortable silence after that, both caught up in their own thoughts. It was only interrupted, much later, by a loud thud that came from the other room. 

“Sounds like Maya’s awake,” Phoenix laughed. “I’d better go check on her.”

Miles bookmarked his page. “Do you need me for anything?”

“If I do, I’ll yell, but I’m just gonna make sure she goes to bed instead of trying to turn that DVD on again.” He swooped off the desk to the doorway, but paused to look over his shoulder. “Which you should do, by the way. The bed part, not the DVD.”

“Yes, yes,” Miles said, waving him off.

Phoenix shook his head with a slight sigh. “Goodnight, Miles. I’ll… see you in the morning.” Then he squeezed himself back out through the opening he came through.

Miles was quiet as he listened to the muffled voices of Maya and Phoenix fussing at each other and footsteps disappearing in the direction of his guest room. Maya yelled a ‘goodnight’ to him that echoed off the hallway wall before the rest of the condo drew silent once more.

The prosecutor yawned. It was, perhaps, getting a little late, but he had one last thing he wanted to do before he went to sleep. Opening the top drawer of the desk, he pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen and began jotting down everything he’d learned so far about Phoenix, marking a few details to be rechecked at his office, where he had left Mia Fey’s binder.

He took a step back to run through all his clues. It wasn’t much, admittedly, but maybe he’d have a more complete picture after tomorrow.

Telling himself he’d solve this mystery before they parted ways for good, Miles put the paper away and got himself ready for bed.

 


 

With the trial not scheduled until mid afternoon, Miles had more than enough time to take care of all his office related work before it began. Or try to, if his newfound entourage had any say on the matter. Phoenix on his own was generally quiet when he needed to be and good at picking up menial tasks that didn’t require much dexterity.

Phoenix and Maya, however, were a bit of a disaster.

Which wasn’t to say that Maya herself was purely a hindrance; she was actually quite eager to offer her assistance. And, while she didn’t understand much of the legal work, she compensated by providing Phoenix a much needed set of hands. Unfortunately, she seemed to find the silence difficult to work in and her preferred solution to that was apparently goading on her ‘little’ brother, who had a hard time ignoring her taunts. Mia Fey may have been able to work in these conditions, but Miles was someone who needed peace to properly focus.

Unfortunately, getting her to take a break did little to solve the issue, as she just poked around the office instead, asking an inordinate amount of questions about his Steel Samurai before it lost her interest (There was only so much entertainment one could derive from a non-action figure) and she needed to find a new distraction.

So when Gumshoe came by to drop off the prosecutor’s mail, he immediately tasked him with giving her a tour of the prosecutor’s building. The two got on well enough that he didn’t have to feel guilty about forcing him to supervise the excitable teenager.

Phoenix, who chose to duck behind the couch when the knock on the door came, was left no choice but to stay behind. However, Miles suspected that had he been presented the opportunity, he likely would’ve stayed anyway. He generally chose whatever option offered him less time spent imprinted on someone’s skin.

As Phoenix left his hiding place, Miles began to filter through the delivered mail. Amid the legal documents awaiting later review and unwanted love letters from a certain security guard, there was one nondescript envelop, labeled only with his name in a messy scrawl. He gently felt around the mysterious envelop, but felt nothing inside aside from paper.

Wordlessly, he held it out to Phoenix. The firebird examined it briefly, just as confused, before using his talons to tear the seal. With a quiet thanks, Miles pulled the letter out and began reading.

The message itself was brief, requesting his presence, alone, in exchange for information. It wasn’t the first time he’d gotten such a proposition, but the details were what truly shocked him. The information being offered was on none other than the DL-6 incident! The sender; Robert Hammond.

Miles let the paper flutter loose from his hand as everything sunk in. Taking advantage of the prosecutor’s momentary distraction, Phoenix slid it over to read it for himself. Miles snapped out of it long enough to realize what was going on, snatching the letter away from Phoenix, but judging from his expression, he’d seen enough.

“Miles, you can’t seriously be considering this.”

“Hammond is the one man who might be able to clear up the circumstances surrounding the DL-6 incident. I’ve been having… doubts recently regarding my own memories of the event.”

He was convinced he’d hidden it well enough that morning, given Phoenix had made no comment (or perhaps he was just too distracted by Maya), but his recurring nightmare had struck again last night and it couldn’t have come at a worse time. His forced re-evaluation of spirit channeling had caused him to consider things he never would have dared to before. Hypotheticals of which the consequences were truly frightening. The arrival of that letter was almost too good to be true, but the explanation of its timing was enough not to raise suspicion. In a little over a month, the statute of limitations of DL-6 would be up; the truth needed to come out soon, or be lost forever.

Phoenix made a face. He wanted to protest, but he could also tell how important this was to the prosecutor. “At least take Gumshoe with you. You shouldn’t go alone.”

“The letter specifies that it should just be me.”

“Which is exactly why you shouldn’t!” he squawked.

They stared at one another for a long moment. Miles could see the logic in the firebird’s concerns, but…

“Phoenix, I have to know.”

The symbiont sighed, distress written all over his face. He tilted his head downwards in the direction of the letter that started this, blue eyes unblinking as his mind raced.

“…then take me.”

“What?” 

“Take me,” he repeated. “If you’re determined to go, then I’m going with you. Hammond won’t know I’m there.”

It was a reasonable solution, but, in this matter, Miles didn’t particularly want to be reasonable. He didn’t want Phoenix to hear what the two men would have to discuss that night.

“What about Ms. Fey?”

“I’ll talk to Maya. I… I think she’ll understand if she knows it’s for something important.”

Miles was running out of arguments. “Fine. But not a word to her about the letter.” He had a month before the promised date. Perhaps by then he could find a way to attend the meeting unaccompanied.

They didn’t breech the subject again until Maya returned, when they had to break the news to her that Phoenix intended to stay with the prosecutor a little while longer.

Maya considered them both in turn, moving her head in dramatized motions as she pondered the decision. “On one condition,” she said slowly.

Miles linked his fingers on the desk. “State your terms.” Depending on what they were, he could send Phoenix home with her and avoid this all together.

She dropped the serious act all at once. “I’m staying too!”

Neither were prepared for that response.

“W-what?!” Phoenix stammered. “Maya, are you sure?”

She nodded. “The lease on the apartment’s good til the end of the year, so it’s not like I’m in any rush…” she trailed off at the end, waving her hand.

Miles watched Phoenix’s feathers flatten a bit as he approached her, gently brushing her arm with his wing.

“You’re not ready to go back, are you?” he asked softly.

“Before I had Sis calling me down to grab evidence for her. And then I had the excuse of checking in on you guys and the case. Now there’s not much reason for me to leave the village anymore.”

“You could always come visit,” Miles suggested. “I’m sure Detective Gumshoe would not mind seeing you from time to time.”

Maya giggled a little. “Thanks, but I think, once I’m there, that’s pretty much it. The elders have really been pushing for me to finally take over as the master.” She sighed, slumping back on the couch, her eyes trained on the ceiling. “I just wanna be a normal teenager, with no responsibilities, a little while longer.”

Phoenix shot a pleading look over his shoulder.

Miles crossed his arms. “It’s not as though I can force you to return to your village.”

“Really?” she picked her head back up.

“If you return home, I do expect Phoenix to return with you,” He snuck a small glance at the firebird, “but I believe that’s your decision to make, not mine. I’m not your guardian.”

“Thanks, Mr. Edgeworth,” she said, grinning. “Now I’m just wondering why you decided to stay all of a sudden.” She pointed an accusatory finger at Phoenix’s fluffy chest. Startled and panicked, he quickly looked to the prosecutor for assistance.

Miles mouthed a single reminder: ‘Not a word’, then left him to bluff his way out of this predicament.

 


 

White’s trial was one of, if not the, swiftest ones of Miles’ career. Whatever fear April May’s threats, or maybe seeing Mia Fey at the prosecutor’s bench, the day before had instilled had caused him to demand his own guilt before the first witness (Ms. May, incidentally) could even be called. 

His attorney, who Miles suspected had been one of his victims in the past, offered no objection.

After denying Maya a second round of celebratory burgers (“The battle was yesterday, Ms. Fey, this was just the cleanup.”), he dropped her and Phoenix off at her sister’s office to get started on packing. Now that it was no longer considered a crime scene with the closing of the case, they were free to tamper with it as they saw fit.

With a quick reminder to call should they need anything, Miles returned to his own office, alone. For now, at least. Crossing the room, Miles slid into his chair and pulled out the mysterious letter, carefully tucked away in his desk drawer. He hadn’t expected the day to go by smoothly, but he’d been mentally prepared for some debacle during court, most likely in the form of a last-ditch plea of innocence by Redd White. Nothing could have prepared him to have his status-quo thrown into further disarray by one singular note.

He read it over one last time before casting the evidence into a shredder. The meeting time and location were thoroughly committed to memory, now all that was left was to wait until Christmas Eve and hope Phoenix and Maya left for Kurain before they became entangled in his drama. Maya was already connected to a worryingly close degree - if Hammond had anything to say on her mother’s involvement, he’d pass it along, but only then.

He glanced idly at his phone, wondering when it would next light up with a notification. Maya, despite his protest, had been sending periodic updates on their progress, mostly consisting of ridiculous pictures with equally ridiculous captions and no actual progress. Phoenix made the occasional appearance, always as a crimson blur in the background trying to escape the frame. Had he always been camera-shy, or did he just not like photo evidence of his current form existing?

It then struck him that the one in Mia Fey’s court record might be the last proper photograph taken of him.

He pulled out that very court record, realizing now was the perfect time to check over what he’d compiled off of memory. 

Rowan Kipper (it was hard to associate him with the name), framed for murder by his girlfriend and then disappearing shortly after. This must be when he became Phoenix - cursed on some soul searching quest. It sounded like the setup for a fairytale.

But how did that lead him back to Mia Fey? The line of logic didn’t quite connect. He was a new client, according to her notes, so they hadn’t met previously. It seemed weird to him that the man would suddenly find himself in the body of a phoenix and decide his lawyer was the best person to turn to. Had he been familiar with the Fey clan’s spiritual connections? Was it mentioned as part of the curse? Maya had said his condition was similar to one of their channellings, but that did not necessarily equate to a connection. 

Although, what if it wasn’t only similar in the sense of form changing? A curious idea began to form in his head. Could the the Feys, or someone with a similar power, force it upon another? Miles had been entertaining the notion that it was something that had cursed Phoenix, but what if another person had done this to him.

And while it was a new avenue to explore, the theory, much like the others, was a dead end. The only person he knew of who had any kind of involvement was Mia Fey. On the surface, it did explain how they’d ended up together, but digging deeper Miles had to push his suspicions elsewhere. Phoenix spoke of her with nothing but reverence and their interactions were very affectionate from what he’d seen, meanwhile the curse itself seemed to be a source of pain for the firebird. He couldn’t imagine her to be the cause given that information.

Still, there were a few situations where the case may be true; like if Phoenix had wanted to be cursed to escape his old life, not truly understanding the conditions. Miles wrote it down as a possibility.

Miles returned to his own work after exhausting the resources at his disposal. Hours passed by with only a few more texts from Maya (one specifically requesting his services in the future sorting through her sister’s vast collection of law books. Apparently neither of them even knew where to begin tackling that task) before receiving one telling him that they were going to take the bus home. Miles glanced at his clock. It was progressing towards evening, but he wasn’t ready to call it a day yet.

Night had fallen by the time Miles decided he should return to his own home. The prosecutor’s building was quiet as he worked his way to the parking deck, most of his colleagues having left long before. As he entered the lobby, he discovered that at least one other person remained, apparently lost in thought.

“Head Prosecutor Skye,” he greeted.

Not one to be startled by sudden outbursts, she merely blinked as her thoughts were interrupted, nodding in acknowledgement at his approach. “Mr. Edgeworth. Leaving for the day?”

He confirmed her inquiry. “I was just on my way to the parking garage.”

“I was headed that way myself. Mind if I accompanied you?” It was an odd request, coming from her, but he saw no reason to deny it and they fell into step together. “Congratulations on your victory today,” Skye said after a little while.

“I would hardly call that worth congratulating. The defendant practically did my job for me.”

“Then let me rephrase. Congratulations on your victory over Redd White. You succeeded where many have failed in the past.”

“I can imagine,” he commented. “I do hope you’re not facing any serious repercussions for intervening on my behalf.”

She made a half-hearted attempt at a shrug. “The Chief Prosecutor certainly wasn’t happy with my … insubordination, if you will, but a considerable weight has been lifted with White’s sentencing. He’s willing to turn a blind eye as a result.”

He shook his head. “Just how deep into our system had White sunk his claws?”

“Deep enough that I think he’ll find life in prison difficult. He’s made quite a number of enemies.”

“Good,” Miles replied, finding it hard to conjure any sympathy for the man. For a career spanning at least fifteen years of ruining the lives of others, he would finally get what he deserved.

They reached the entrance to the parking garage, Miles pausing at the doorway to let her go first. As she passed by, she gave him a long look, like she was assessing him.

“I don’t know what’s triggered it, but you’ve been quite different as of late.”

He raised a single eyebrow, questioning. “I do believe it’s considered polite to hold the door open for another.”

She cracked the smallest of smirks, evidently finding something amusing in his response. “Goodnight, Mr. Edgeworth.”

He watched her leave for her vehicle a moment before heading to his own, wondering if these strange encounters with his boss were just going to be the norm from here on out.

Notes:

Happy Octoberween! Maybe I won't take a full month to update next time.

Chapter 11

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Miles was vaguely aware that Maya was talking, potentially to him, but he was too busy scrutinizing a particularly oddly worded line of text in the report he was reviewing for a colleague. He rolled his eyes, trying to block her out. Honestly he’d been quite clear in his conditions; he’d come over to her sister’s office to ‘supervise’ the organizing process. Only supervise. He had no intentions of helping them. In addition, he would be spending the time doing work of his own.

Deciding any other configuration of words would just make the passage worse, Miles scrolled further down into the file. He had several more of these to go through after this one, after all. Not that he minded the busy work, but he’d been getting an awful lot of it in place of cases lately. Then again, crime rates always lowered this time of year as winter began to roll in - or at least the slight temperature drop that locals interpreted as winter - so he didn’t think much of it. 

Frankly, he’d love to see these Californians attempt a German winter. He doubted they’d last a day. Or even an hour.

THUD

He jumped when a large book was dropped on the table before him, forcing his attention outside of his personal bubble of thoughts. Maya, evidently, had grown tired of his lack of response, from the way she was pouting at him.

Letting out a short breath, he slowly closed the computer and met her eyes. “Yes, Ms. Fey?”

“I was trying to ask if you could get some things off the top shelf for us,” she huffed.

“I believe our agreement was that I’d only come over if I didn’t have to help.”

“I know…” Maya sighed. “But everything’s wedged too tightly for Nick to get at and he won’t let me climb up the shelves to try for myself.”

“You’re darn right I won’t!” Phoenix shouted from the main office, his voice muffled by the wall between them.

Well, at least someone had some sense between the two of them. “Don’t you have a ladder?”

Maya looked towards the doorway briefly, then beckoned Miles closer as she leaned in herself. “Nick has a complicated relationship with ladders, so Sis got rid of all of hers.” Despite putting up the pretenses of secrecy, she didn’t actually lower her voice at all, meaning Phoenix could still easily hear.

“Hey, don’t go spreading weird rumors about me!”

“She hasn’t kept any ladders around since the… incident.

He was almost afraid to ask. “What incident?”

“There was no incident,” Phoenix said as he swooped into the room, landing on Maya’s shoulder. “Though she is right, Mia doesn’t have any ladders, there’s only a step-ladder in the hall closet in the apartment. It’s not in here because Mia wasn’t too short to reach the top shelves.” He leaned forward, lightly tapping her on the forehead with the top of his beak. 

Maya shooed him off her shoulder. “Ladder. Stepladder. Whatever. You need to be less close-minded, Nick.”

“How is that close-minded? They’re not the same thing!” he protested, landing on the book Maya had dropped on the table. “Help me out here, Miles.”

“No. I indulged you on this inane argument once, because I didn’t know any better. I’m not making that mistake again.”

“Although, speaking of helping…” Maya said, once she was done snickering at the firebird. She inclined her head, gesturing towards the other half of the office.

Miles sighed again. “If I must.”

As he stepped into the other room, he took the moment to look around. It was odd, being at a crime scene post trial. Some of the furniture had been rearranged since his last visit, the walls were barren, and most of the shelves' contents were in stacks on the floor or boxes. The houseplant was somehow thriving after all this time, soaking up stray beams of sunlight creeping in from the cracked blinds. Either it was a particularly hardy specimen, or one of the officers had had a soft spot for flora.

He soon spotted the offending shelf, tucked behind the desk. It wasn’t particularly high, but Maya could likely just barely skim her fingers against the bottom of the books’ spines. He reached up, tugging at one in the center. It was… wedged in there quite well, wasn’t it. He could see the dilemma now. Applying some more force, after a few more tugs he finally managed to dislodge the book, coughing as some of the accumulated dust flew into his face.

“Yes!” Phoenix cheered, flying up to the very top of the shelving unit. “Thanks Miles, we’ve got it from here.” Bending forward, Phoenix grabbed one of the books that’d fallen to the side due to the gap. Holding it in his beak, he jerked his head to send it sailing towards an awaiting Maya.

Miles watched their surprising amount of coordination, then looked down at the book he was still holding in his hands. It looked to be a legal textbook of some sort, and a rather well-used one if the state of its edges were any indication.

“This is quite old,” he remarked aloud, opening to a random page where he was bombarded with fluorescent highlights.

Phoenix paused to respond. “Yeah, the stuff up high’s mostly from college or when she was a paralegal at Grossberg’s - things she didn’t really need to look at often.”

“Why bother keeping this all then?” The information in this particular book was all entry level. Mia Fey was established enough in her career to have a successful law firm of her own, it hardly could have been useful anymore.

“Sentimental value?” Phoenix replied around a beakful of bound paper, sending it down a second later. “I dunno, I never saw a problem with it.”

“Sis was one of those, ‘you never know what might come in handy’ kind of people,” Maya chimed in. 

“So a hoarder,” Miles said, snapping the book shut and tossing it onto one of their piles.

Hoarder might be a little harsh…” Phoenix remarked.

“She did tend to hold onto documents maybe a bit longer than necessary,” Maya added. “Remember we found all those old receipts?”

“They could’ve been useful!” the firebird protested. “What if we needed it to confirm or deny an alibi. Like… ‘this item was purchased on this date, so obviously the testimony is false!’… or something.” He tossed down another book.

“That seems like a stretch, even by your standards, Nick.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

Miles shook his head at the two of them. “Well, if I am no longer needed, I’m going to return to my work. Try not to disturb me any further.”

“No promises,” they both replied.

He left them to it, hoping that was the end of the intentional distractions. The prosecutor returned to his spot on the couch, reaching for his computer, when something caught his eye. The book that Maya had used to gain his attention was still there, innocuously occupying the center of the coffee table. Now that there weren’t any symbionts standing on it, he could freely read the cover. 

To his surprise, it wasn’t another one of her many legal tomes, but an ornithology book. It too, he discovered as curiosity prompted him to flip through, was filled with highlights and notes. Comparisons to existing species, behavioral observations, and even some complex studies on wing shape and flight.

He chuckled to himself, recalling an instance early in the partnership when Phoenix had nearly stumbled across him researching similar topics on his computer. He’d slammed his laptop shut so fast that he’d probably given the firebird a wrong impression of what he’d been doing.

In hindsight, the secrecy had probably been unnecessary.

He set the book aside and reopened his laptop. As interesting as comparing notes might have been, he did have more important tasks to attend to.

He’d knocked out three more reports by the time Phoenix and Maya stumbled back into the room, done for the day. They managed to convince him to stop as well - or at least take a break for dinner - and the three departed the office to pick up something to eat before heading to their respective homes.   

 


 

Despite enjoying her time at Miles’ condo, Maya generally preferred to spend the nights at her sister’s place. It probably felt homier to her when compared to the prosecutor’s lifestyle, which was just as reserved as his personality. As a result, Phoenix tended to bounce between them like a child whose parents had joint custody, switching up who he wanted to stay with.

It was one of the nights he’d chosen Miles that it happened.

Miles bolted up in bed, the remnants of a scream still on his lips. A hand ran through sweat-damp bangs as the other fisted the bedsheets, grounding him back in reality. There’s no elevator. There’s no earthquake. There’s no - 

“Miles?”

He jumped, the voice coming from a lot closer than expected. Despite the darkness, Phoenix’s bright feathers gave away his location at the foot of his bed, anxiously leaning towards him.

“Are you alright?” he asked, worry evident in his tone. “I-I’ve never seen it that bad. You were thrashing around and crying out in your sleep.”

Phoenix was no stranger to the nightmares, having been awake or awakened several times when he’s had them. And, while probably curious to the nature of them and saddened that Miles had no desire to discuss them with him, he respected the prosecutor’s privacy on the matter and usually just offered a few words of reassurance and stayed up with him. This bout must have been especially bad to illicit such a level of concern.

With a grunt, Miles turned his head away from the symbiont.

He heard a sigh. “I know I can’t make you talk to me, but at least let me do something. I hate watching you suffer like this.”

Miles shot him a flat look, unsure of how well it translated in the darkness. “What could you possibly do?” he asked, voice strained. His nightmares were just a part of his life. There was nothing anyone could do about them.

The firebird went quiet. He likely hadn’t thought that far himself. Then, spreading his wings, he fluttered over to the space in-between the prosecutor and the edge of the bed.

Miles tensed at their close proximity. Normally he was mostly fine with Phoenix’s casual invasion of his personal space - it was a necessary evil at times - but with his emotions still so raw from the nightmare, it was a little daunting.

Phoenix drew back a little at his discomfort. He brought his head down instead, nudging at Miles’ hand, which hadn’t released its vice-like grip upon the sheets. Slowly, he unclenched, allowing Phoenix to slip his head underneath so his hand slid down his neck to rest at the soft feathers around the base. Unconsciously, his fingers dug into the ruff as Phoenix leaned into the touch, giving his arm a gentle nuzzle.

“I want to try something… okay?” he asked in a low whisper. Not trusting his own voice, Miles swallowed thickly before giving a single nod of consent. 

Using their physical contact, Phoenix let his form meld onto the man’s skin and moved into position. However, instead of staying still or his usual anxious fidgeting, he could feel Phoenix moving in a steady, rocking motion - back and forth - across his back, like a metronome keeping tempo. Combined with the warmth he naturally generated it was… oddly soothing. Despite himself, Miles could feel the tension easing away from his body.

Mia said that having me with her was sometimes a good stress reliever, because it’s almost like having a heat pad. At least, when I wasn’t the cause of her stress.

You? Stressful? Perish the thought.

Miles could practically feel the eye roll. Good to know you’re not too put out to sass me. Now lie down, you’re not gonna smother me or anything.

He was hesitant. Why?

I don’t know, something about dimensional planes. I’m not a scientist, I can’t explain this stuff.

Not that, he sighed. I’ve seen you go out of your way to avoid being a tattoo, yet now you choose to embrace this form when it’s entirely unnecessary.

He stopped moving. A little extra time like this won’t kill me. Actually, that would kinda suck if it could, y’know? Given the whole… symbiont thing I’ve got going on.

Phoenix… he said, interrupting the ramblings, you know don’t owe me anything for ‘avenging’ Ms. Fey’s death or whatever other obligation it is that you feel the need to repay.

… did you ever consider that maybe I just want to help you?

The thought actually hadn’t occurred to him. It was such a personal inconvenience after all, he must’ve had more reason.

There must have been something telling in his silence, for Phoenix responded with a long, tired sigh. Just… Go to sleep, Miles.

Seeing no point in trying to reason with the symbiont, especially since there was no way, as far as he knew, to remove him, Miles complied and lay back down. Phoenix had gone quiet, focusing his energies elsewhere as he resumed rocking. Miles still had a million worries swimming around in his head, but under the firebird’s gentle ministrations he allowed himself to be lulled back to sleep.

 


 

The young boy pressed his back to the wall, watching the man before him slowly dissolve into hysterics. They’d been trapped for who knows how long with little hope of salvation. Air was running low and his own mind grew hazier with every shallow breath.

The man - bailiff - was screaming in terror, deaf to the reassurances from his father as he tried in vain to calm him down. Miles wanted to assist him, to offer his encouragement, but he was just so tired. So weak from the diminishing air supply. How much longer could they hold out?

The bailiff suddenly lashed out, hands grasping out for his father as the defense attorney struggled to keep him at bay, all the while still trying to soothe his assailant. 

Miles stepped away from the wall, fighting off a sudden wave of dizziness as he called for his father. They were fighting. He had to stop it. He had to protect his father! He shrunk back a little, watching the adults tussle. But what could he possibly do?

There was a dull, metallic thud. Miles looked down expecting to find the answer to his unasked question resting innocuously at his feet. There was nothing there.

It sounded again and Miles pinpointed the source, turning his head to the elevator doors and the thin band of light emerging at their junction.

The doors were opening.

They flew apart, light and air flooding the cramped compartment. It was so bright, Miles had to bring an arm up to shield his eyes as the darkness he’d been surrounded started to melt away. His father and the bailiff, locked in their eternal struggle, faded away into the shadows. The frightened boy now replaced by a confused young man. The ghosts of his past had been driven away, leaving him alone in this strange new present.

Or so he thought, until he dared look into the light again. In the doorway there was a silhouette of a person, their features obscured by the backlighting. They stood motionless, staring in Miles’ direction. Miles stared back.

Suddenly, the ground began to rumble and lurch. The elevator sank, slowly, downward, casting his feet once again in darkness as the opening began to slip away.

Thrust into action, the shadow brought forth a hand, reaching out to the prosecutor. Rooted in place by the quakes, Miles blankly regarded the proffered limb as he sank further. It wasn’t until the ground outside was at his waist that he snapped back to his senses, grabbing the stranger’s hand. The silhouette steadied their grip with their other hand, straining under the weight of a grown man.

With a great heave, they finally managed to yank him forward, though the momentum sent them both tumbling to the ground. Miles braced himself for the cold, hard tile of the courthouse floors, but, instead his fall was cushioned by soft grass. He pushed himself up onto his knees and looked around. He was in a bright, beautiful field surrounded by sunflowers. Behind him was a fissure in the ground which was still slowly consuming the elevator, now three quarters of the way down. A moment longer and Miles didn’t even want to consider the outcome.

He looked down at his side, where he finally got a good look at his savior. A young man was lying flat on his back, chest rising and falling from his labored breaths. Miles could only stare, bewildered. For over a decade he’d been having the exact same dream on repeat. It was one of the few things in his life he could count on, and now…?

Miles examined the stranger. He had black hair and a slight sunkissed tone to his skin, dressed in plain, casual clothes. His eyes were closed, but the eyebrows above them tapered off into the oddest zigzag shape.

Miles was still studying his face, trying to figure out how and why he was dreaming about someone he’d seemingly never met, when the stranger let out a sudden laugh and propped himself up on his elbows. His hair sprung back into a series of elaborate spikes, despite just being flattened under the weight of his head.

Once his brief laughing fit was over, he met Miles’ gaze with bright eyes. Eyes that were a unique mix of brown and blue that seemed all too familiar. “That was a close call, huh?”

That voice was the last piece of evidence needed. Miles could only gape as the pieces filled in. “Phoenix?!”

“In the flesh,” he replied, grinning. “Well, sorta, anyway.”

“But you... you’re…” His eyes raked him over head to toe, nary a feather in sight.

“It’s pretty obvious.” He smiled again, but this time there was a distinct sadness to it. “I’m always human in my dreams.” 

It was all a dream, that much had been clear from the start. What wasn’t clear was the fact that this Phoenix didn’t seem to be a subconscious construct of any sort. Somehow he’d managed to invade his recurring nightmare.

“How is this possible?” Miles asked, adjusting his position for a more comfortable one.

“I guess the mental link does’t just connect thoughts,” he replied, sitting crosslegged so he was opposite Miles. “But I don’t really know. This is a first, actually.” Sheepishly, he ran a hand down the back of his neck.

“What?!” Phoenix flinched a bit at the prosecutor’s sudden volume. “Not even with Ms. Fey?” He paused and then clarified. “Mia Fey, rather.” Somehow he suspected Maya would’ve mentioned something like this.

He shook his head. “We were only physically bound in public, so it’s not like either of us were asleep at the time. The situation just never came up before.”

“Fascinating,” Miles said in a marveled whisper, finding himself hard pressed to look at anything other than Phoenix. “This is what you’re supposed to look like…”

Phoenix blinked and tilted his head, unsure of what to make of the intense scrutiny he was currently under. “Miles? You’re kinda staring… Is it cause you can’t believe how handsome I am?” Despite the cheekiness of his words, his face betrayed a certain self-consciousness, his cheeks flushed with color (Huh, come to think of it, he’d never actually seen him blush before).

Ignoring the remark, Miles frowned. “Your hair’s black…”

Phoenix gave him an odd look. “…yeah? What color were you expecting? Red?”

Yes, he was, actually, thinking back to the photograph in the court record. There were even more inconsistencies that he was noticing the longer he stared; darker skin, a less angular face, thinner eyebrows, the spikes were in a completely different pattern. He was also fairly certain the man in that picture might’ve had a scruff of facial hair as well. It was all leading him to one conclusion.

“Your real name isn’t Rowan Kipper, is it?”

Phoenix dipped his head down, sending his gaze sidelong. “So you figured it out.”

Miles glared. “No thanks to you. You might have mentioned I was on the wrong track before.”

“Maybe I didn’t want you on the right track.” At least he had the decency to look mildly guilty. “Besides, I wasn’t entirely sure if you thought I was him. There was still the slight chance you were just asking if I knew anything about that case…”

He narrowed his eyes further. “And do you know anything about that case?”

“It was definitely a case Mia defended,” he answered vaguely, picking at the grass between his crossed legs. He was dodging again, though Miles couldn’t decide if it was a ‘that’s all I can say’ matter or if he was being intentionally difficult. Or both. “Honestly Miles, it’s in the past either way. It doesn’t matter.”

Miles glanced him over once more. “It matters enough that you still dream in your original body.” The symbiont winced, sweat beginning to form at his brow so Miles decided to spare him for now. “Fine. I have a different question for you.”

He picked his head up, finally meeting the prosecutor’s eye again. “Shoot.”

“Why the sunflowers?” Miles hadn’t gotten much of a look at their surroundings, but that was mostly because they were entirely boxed in by the tall plants. Even the fissure, which by now had entirely swallowed up his own nightmare, had more of them sprouting up from the cracks.

“Oh, I just usually have dreams about flowers.” He looked away from Miles and over to the rupture in the ground. “The elevator’s a first though. Gotta say, if I was having dreams like that, I guess I’d take the stairs too.”

Miles was quiet, unsure of just how much had been seen when he’d forced the doors open. Though he’d never said anything, he had his suspicions that Phoenix had stopped buying his ‘fitness’ excuse for the stairs a long time ago.

A finger lightly poked him in the shoulder. “Hey, wanna know a secret?” Miles turned back to Phoenix, raising an eyebrow. “I’m terrified of heights.”

Miles stared at him for a long moment. “Phoenix.”

“Yeah?”

“You can fly.”

The symbiont chuckled. “I know. But try telling my phobia that. It’s good that I don’t need to actually fly anywhere, otherwise I think my wings would just lock up the second I got too high.”

“An acrophobic bird,” Miles muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. “I don’t know if that’s ironic or tragic.” He supposed it was a curse for a reason.

“I’m surprised you didn’t say ‘illogical’,” he said, snickering at the affronted look on Miles’ face. He leaned back, putting his weight on his arms as he stared up at the sky. “I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone that before. Not even Mia or Maya.”

That got his expression to soften considerably. “Then why tell me?”

“Seemed appropriate at the time.” He tilted his head back, smiling softly. “I just… wanted you to know.”

Miles felt the heat rising to his own face and decided to take interest in his hands rather than the way the light was reflecting in Phoenix’s eyes. “Yes… ergo. Verily…” For some reason, rational thought was proving difficult at the moment. The other man’s quiet laughter wasn’t helping matters.

When he dared glance back up, Phoenix’s lips were moving, but there was no sound coming out. He had returned his gaze skyward, oblivious to the look of confusion being sent his way.

“Phoenix?” He was not granted a response.

As he continued on whatever tangent had come to mind, his visage began to fail as well, steadily pulling away as the world around them grew brighter, the harsh glow threatening to white everything out.

He got one final glimpse of his companion’s brow wrinkling in confusion and him finally turning his head. There was a silent shout of alarm as they drifted further… and further… and…

With a groan, Miles blinked himself awake.

Again he found himself shielding his eyes, but this time from the bit of early morning sunlight creeping in through a gap in his curtains. As he brought his arm up, he soon felt Phoenix slipping down its length, emerging a moment later in all his feathered glory.

“Oh man, my wings feel so cramped!” he whined as he stretched his body out as far as he could. With a shake to fluff out his feathers, he brought his wings back to a resting position and then turned to Miles with a slight hop. “I hope you're not in the mood to retry that experiment anytime soon. Apparently sleeping in two dimensions is not recommended.”

He stared at Phoenix, glimpses of a dark-haired young man flashing through his subconscious. Fingers combed through his bangs. “It really wasn’t all a dream.”

“Well, technically it was, but, yeah.” He rolled his shoulders, still trying to shake off the stiffness. “Actually, I’d be concerned if it was.”

Miles, in the process of rolling out of bed and begrudgingly starting his day, paused. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we both saw…” His eyes searched for the right word. “…things we really shouldn’t know about, right? That would’ve been weird, and that’s saying a lot coming from me.”

“Not necessarily,” Miles replied as he stood up. “I know you’ve surmised that I have an… aversion to elevators. And there’s a possibility my subconscious could have made an attempt to envision your human face.” Not a likely one, but a possibility, he told himself as he scooped his phone off the dresser, making sure he didn’t have any urgent messages awaiting him in his various inboxes. “Although I probably would have seen Kipper instead.”

“Oh yeah.” The symbiont ducked his head down. “Sorry, I guess I could’ve at least said it wasn’t him.”

“No, I should understand wanting to keep the past in the past. If you don’t want me to, I won’t investigate it any further.”

Phoenix blinked, mouth agape. “I… really? Just like that?” Miles grunted, but nodded. “Thanks.”

The prosecutor deleted a few spam emails instead of responding. “I do wonder what happened to him, then. It’s bizarre that he should just disappear with a trace like that.”

“Oh, what was it called?” Phoenix muttered mostly to himself, his face buried partially in his wing. Miles chose to leave him to his devices as he went about his routine.

“Changelings!” That was the first thing Miles was bombarded with as he exited the ensuite, straightening out his cravat.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Changelings. It’s a band,” he said. “Mia used to get invites to their events.”

Miles sighed. “Phoenix, I don’t need music suggestions at the moment.”

“It’s not a suggestion. Just look them up.”

Confused, but knowing he’d never hear the end of it if he didn’t comply, Miles plugged the prompt into a search engine (and was immediately met with result after result on mythological beings before he specified that it was a musical group he was looking for).

He pulled up the most promising link, detailing the career of an Irish folk metal group by that title. Alongside a painfully short synopsis of how they got their start, there was a listing of all the band members and their photographs.

Nothing stood out to him, until he realized the drummer looked very familiar. He’d gotten a fancy new hairstyle and color, as well as a few piercings, but there was no doubt about it. Even though the webpage may have him listed as Alan Ias, that was definitely Rowan Kipper staring back at him.

“He created a new identity when he dropped out, so the scandal wouldn’t follow him,” Phoenix explained. “Once he joined that band, he would occasionally send Mia free concert tickets as thanks for saving him. She, uh… never went to them.”

Of course. That’s why records of Kipper disappeared, because ‘Kipper’ didn’t exist anymore!

“He really must have nothing to do with your past if you can say all that,” Miles mused. Phoenix made a face, one that made him want to pursue that line of logic. However, he did say he’d drop the matter, so he resisted. “Actually, Phoenix, that reminds me. You were trying to tell me something, just before we woke up, weren’t you? What was it?”

He blinked. “Oh, you… you didn’t hear any of that?” He shrunk a little when Miles shook his head. “I-It’s fine. It wasn’t really important anyway.”

Given how he looked crestfallen in both the figurative and literal senses of the word, Miles could only assume the contrary was true.

“Are you sure?” He held an arm out for the firebird to take perch upon before they exited the room. “You should get your ramblings out now while you still have my attention. Otherwise you’ll be ignored once I start work.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. It was dumb, anyway,”

“Suit yourself,” Miles said, noting to return to that later. He’d only promised to drop one topic after all.

 


 

Every year, as Christmas got ever nearer, Miles had a tradition. That tradition was to become as reclusive as possible until the holidays had passed by. If his colleagues, whom he rarely interacted with anyway, had caught on, they’d yet to give him grief over it. Besides, Gumshoe always made an attempt at inviting him to small gatherings or encouraging attendance to whatever department-sponsored event was scheduled, but fear for his salary kept him from becoming too persistent in his endeavors.

This year, with the lack of cases he was getting in favor of paperwork, it looked like it was going to be exceptionally easy to disappear from the public eye for a week or two.

The only things preventing that went by the names of Maya and Phoenix.

It had started with a phone call from the former, asking to drop some stuff by his office. The cleaning process was mostly done at this point in time, though they were still having some difficulties figuring out what to do with Mia’s belongings. The more personal things were being sent back to Kurain and other stuff donated, but they weren’t quite sure what to do about the vast library of legal books and documents. Miles offered to at least take the case files off her hands, figuring that, even if they couldn’t make use of them, the prosecutor’s office or precinct were at least better places to store such things.

Miles had informed her to leave the documents with Detective Gumshoe, as he would not be coming into the office in favor of working from home - as was stipulated by his self-imposed exile.

That was his first mistake. Not an hour later there was a knock on his front door. He answered it, only to find Maya on the other side, who immediately invited herself in. Phoenix apologized for the intrusion, though it seemed like he’d done little to discourage it from happening in the first place.

His second was letting them talk him out of the house. Maya Fey, as it was, was astonishingly hard to say ‘no’ to. The puppy-dog eyes (or whatever the avian equivalent was) did not help.

Miles adjusted the collar on his black coat as Maya skipped along a few feet ahead of him. They were walking around some shopping district mostly populated by local businesses. Apparently Maya had wanted to get some, extremely, last minute Christmas presents, though the only shopping she’d done so far was of the window variety.

He scowled at a particularly cheery gingerbread man peering out from a bakery’s display case. He just wanted to be miserable in peace, was that too much to ask for?

“I won’t know until I see it,” Maya said.

Miles blinked. He was pretty sure those thoughts had been internalized, and the statement was nonsensical, so he deduced that it had not been intended for him. Phoenix was bound to Maya for this particular excursion, and she tended to respond to his outbursts verbally. Which, had he not been accompanying her, would no doubt give any passerby a reason to doubt her sanity. Perhaps that was reason he’d been dragged along on this fool’s errand.

“Aha!” Maya had stopped so suddenly that Miles nearly crashed into her. He stepped around the young woman to see just what had warranted such a reaction. He raised an eyebrow at what he found.

“A bookstore? Are you not having difficulties getting rid of books at the moment?”

“It’s not for me, silly,” she answered.

“Then who?”

She shushed him, holding a finger to her lips. “It’s a secret,” she giggled, then darted into the store before Miles could ask anymore questions. With a tired sigh, the prosecutor followed.

Even though it was a relatively small store, Maya had somehow already managed to disappear amongst the shelves. Lacking any desire to play hide-and-seek with her, Miles set himself at one of the shelves near the entrance, nodding a greeting to the old woman behind the counter. He’d catch her on the way out.

Miles browsed the new arrivals, catching glimpses of her weaving in and out of aisles out of the corner of his eye. One in particular grabbed his attention, its cover displaying a familiar figure wrapped in fire and feathers. And while the summary failed to captivate him and the phoenix seemingly symbolic only, there was a small part of him entertaining a purchase purely for the novelty. Temptation aside, he replaced it on the shelf. 

He was a few pages in on a mystery novel when Maya reappeared and approached the counter, clutching something to her chest. She exchanged a few words with the store owner as she made her purchase, sending heavy glances in his direction. The elder lady even went as far as to package her parcel in gift wrapping before sending her on her way with a cheerful smile.

“Satisfied?” he asked Maya as he fell in step with her, exiting the bookstore. She nodded, swinging the gift bag at her side enthusiastically. “What did you purchase?”

Again she pressed a single digit to her lips, grinning. He shook his head at her secrecy. It wasn’t as though he could possibly know the recipient. Unless it was Phoenix, but probably not. He didn’t get much use out of books with those talons.

After their brief shopping trip, Miles pulled up to the apartment to drop Maya off. Bundling up the firebird settled in her lap so she could stand, Maya exited the vehicle and leaned in through the open door to express her thanks.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Miles asked, once he noticed she was making no attempts to grab the package that’d been resting at her feet the entire drive over.

Maya grinned again and shook her head. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Edgeworth!”

“…Christmas is still two days away.” And his meeting with Hammond, by proxy.

“Aaaand, to make sure you don’t open it early.” She plopped the feathered bundle back into the seat she’d just been occupying. “I’m leaving Nick to keep an eye on you.”

When Miles looked at him, Phoenix shrugged in a matter to suggest the whole thing was her idea that he was just going along with. “She wanted to get you something as thanks for everything you’ve done.”

Miles let his eyes drift from the firebird to the gift. Besides Gumshoe, likely out of his well-meaning, but misguided sense of loyalty, no one had gotten him a present for the holidays in years. “I… I’m not sure what to say.”

“Just promise you won’t open it until Christmas. I want to see your reaction!”

“I would think you’d rather spend the day with your family as opposed to me.” Who was quite determined to deal with the emotions dredged up this time of year alone, despite their efforts to continually draw him back into their circle.

When she made a face, Miles suspected that may have been the wrong thing to say.

“We don’t really celebrate Christmas at home. I still don’t, really, but because there was so much going on in the city it just became a good excuse to hang out with Sis.” The unsaid implication hung in the air. “So, I want to hang out with you this year. We could make fun of the Steel Samurai Holiday Special~”

Miles groaned into his palm. “Please don’t remind me that that abomination exists…”

With a soft laugh Maya stepped back from the car, resting a hand on the door. “Just, think about it, okay? And no opening that gift early!” With a cheerful wave goodbye, she shut the passenger side door and headed up to the apartment. He watched her leave with a pensive expression.

“One of these days you’re gonna have to accept that there are people who want you to be happy.”

Miles was not expecting to follow the voice and find Phoenix staring at him rather intensely. “Huh?” he asked, off guard.

“We talked to Gumshoe today, when we dropped off all that stuff, and he mentioned that you always disappear at the end of December.”

Curse Detective Gumshoe and his inability to keep his mouth shut. “Did it occur to you that perhaps I simply dislike the hustle and bustle of the holidays and wish to avoid it at all costs?”

“Miles.” The expression grew sterner. “Even if I hadn’t seen a bit of that letter, I worked with Mia on her research. I know when DL-6 took place.”

Gritting his teeth, the prosecutor glared at the steering wheel. 

“I know you’re used to doing things alone, but I want you to know you don’t have to. It may not be for much longer, but Maya and I are here for you. We want to be here for you.”

Miles sighed. He hadn’t wanted them to become so entangled in his life for this exact reason. All his observations told him that Phoenix and Maya were the type of people who cared deeply, perhaps too deeply sometimes, about others. Even those they’d just met. He didn’t need (or deserve, a bitter part of him whispered) them wasting that energy on him and his problems.

“… I’ll keep it in mind,” he answered after a while, though meaning every word.

Phoenix snorted. “It’s a start, I suppose.”

One more time his eyes drifted to the bag sitting on the floor, tangible evidence of the symbiont’s words. “So what did Ms. Fey end up buying at that store?”

There was a smirk in his eyes. “Guess you’re gonna have to wait until Christmas.”

Notes:

Several people asked how I came up with the name ‘Rowan Kipper’

Rowan: Irish name meaning red or little red head.

Kipper: A herring dish

This is the peak of my cleverness guys, I’m never gonna top this.

 

In other news, when I was thinking of a band name, I did discover that there’s a group called The Changelings. They aren’t Irish folk metal, but they are from my hometown… so there’s that. I liked the name too much so I just stuck with it.

Chapter 12

Summary:

We're gonna start getting into some Investigations 2 territory, just a fair warning. There will be absolutely no story spoilers however.

Notes:

Before we get into it, I'd like to highlight some fanart of Phoenix by sarahtoninsmile over on tumblr
https://sarahtoninsmile.tumblr.com/post/179542708068/finally-got-around-to-make-a-couple-doodles-for

I also wanted to acknowledge that, although I'm terrible about responding to comments, I appreciate every single one. And for everyone who yelled at me about the red herring last chapter, I need you to know I much I sat here cackling while reading your words.

Chapter Text

There’s still time to turn back.

It was a few minutes before midnight, Christmas Eve, when he stepped up to the calm waters of Gourd Lake. The only source of light came from the moon and stars above, and even that was obscured by a thick, consuming fog. There was no sign of Hammond, meaning he could still call this all off and head home, but that was the one thing he couldn’t do.

You don’t have to do this.

It was almost scary how well the firebird knew his thoughts, even when they weren’t being communicated, but he was wrong. After all the years and years of nightmares, and pain, and anger. Anger at that bailiff, at the channeling, at Hammond. At himself. This was his chance for closure, he was going to see it through.

Phoenix sighed, again knowing the response without Miles having to voice it. He’d protested this every step of the way and gotten the same answer each time. He knew how this discussion was going to end before it even began.

For the record, I still think this is a terrible idea. 

Ironically, there was a side of him that agreed with Phoenix. The rational part of his brain that usually guided his life, setting off alarms at every turn. For once, he was shutting that side out. If only for this one moment, let him be irrational.

But… Phoenix continued, I’m with you. No matter what.

Miles let out a shuddering breath. As much as he’d wanted him as far from this as possible, he was just as grateful that he wasn’t facing it alone.

Phoenix had stopped grilling him on his life choices, though his disapproval still came out in grumbled snippets that likely were being unintentionally broadcasted. It gave Miles something to focus on amidst the fog and the silence as the minutes ticked by.

Ever tuned in to the sounds around him, Phoenix heard the approaching footsteps far before he did. Miles turned to see an orb of light hovering in the mist. As it got closer, a figure melted into view, a small lantern in his hand.

He stopped just short of the prosecutor, lantern swinging between the the two men and casting odd shadows on his face. Miles didn’t really remember what Hammond looked like, but judging by the deep wrinkles and creases highlighted by the lighting, the years had not been kind to him.

“Edgeworth,” the man grunted.

“Hammond,” Miles replied in turn.

Wordlessly, he motioned that Miles should follow him and began walking towards the dock that’d been set as their meeting point. Hammond walked out to the end and set the lantern on the dock. He clambered into the nearest boat, holding it steady as he impatiently gestured for the prosecutor to do the same. Gingerly, he stepped in.

The men were silent as Hammond rowed out to the center of the lake. Phoenix probed his mind with an endless stream of questions and concerns, but Miles was mostly ignoring him as he focused on Hammond. What did he have to say to him after all these years and why did it require such secrecy? Meeting at night was one thing, but taking them out on the lake suggested he wanted to be absolutely sure there was no chance of being overheard (Oh the irony).

They came to a stop far from the shore. Hammond set the oars down and stood, rocking the small boat slightly in the process. Miles followed his example, taking a bit longer to be sure of his footing.

“It's been, what, 15 years?” the other man led with.

Miles nodded slowly. “About that, yes.”

“15 years is a long time to wait…” Hammond took in a breath, looking out on the lake. “You can't imagine how much I've suffered…”

That caught him by surprise. “You… suffered?”

What’s he talking about Miles?

He honestly didn’t have an answer to that. Hammond had won his case, against all odds. What could he possibly know of suffering? 

“And now... the perfect opportunity presents itself.” There was a discreet motion and Miles glanced down as the defense attorney began to reach into his pocket. “At last... I shall have my revenge!”

“What?!” He didn’t have much time to react as a gun was pulled on him, but Phoenix was already responding to his alarm. Faintly, he heard the symbiont calling his name and felt him making his way to the uncovered skin of his gloveless hand. 

“…Merry Christmas.”

The gunshot shattered the serene silence of the lake and time itself seemed to freeze. Phoenix, previously spurred into action, stopped dead in his tracks. Miles twisted his body to watch the water rippling where the bullet had sailed past him and impacted the lake instead.

A warning shot, or a promise of what was to come?

Miles! Phoenix was moving again. He could feel him at his wrist, but Miles didn’t have the peace of mind to tell him to stay put, both for risk of discovery and his own well being. A second shot rang out, then the gun clattered to the bottom of the boat as Hammond slipped over the side.

Phoenix emerged just as his feet disappeared into the inky black, his massive wingspan crowding Miles’ view. He dropped down to occupy the space where Hammond had just been standing, looking around in confusion. “What happened?” he demanded as his head darted about. “Wh…where’s Hammond?”

“I-I don’t know… He pulled out a gun all of a sudden and…“ Miles stopped himself, looking down at where the discarded weapon lay, still smoking, between them. Dazed, he began to reach down and…

“What are you doing?!”

Phoenix’s outcry snapped him back to his senses and he retracted his hand, staring as though it’d developed a will of its own. “I don’t know what came over me.”

The symbiont gave him an odd look. “Obviously.”

Miles bristled. “And what of yourself? He had a gun, what did you think would happen if a phoenix suddenly materialized in front of him?!”

“I don’t know, I panicked! I had to do something.”

“And getting yourself shot is supposed to help me?” Miles scoffed.

“Maybe! I don’t know,” he repeated, and Miles sighed deeply.

“I honestly worry about your sense of self preservation. Have you always been this quick to throw yourself in harm’s way? I bet that’s how you got yourself cursed in the first place!” Hurt flashed across Phoenix’s face. Dimly, Miles realized that might have crossed a line, but being held at gunpoint had done no favors for his already tense emotions, so empathy was pretty much out the window momentarily. “If you would just stop and consider the consequences for more than 2 seconds then-“

“He could’ve killed you!” Phoenix snapped, unfurling his wings. “I couldn’t just sit there and let it happen again!” 

Again? 

Miles’ counter argument died on his tongue as he really looked at the symbiont, all hackles and glares and… tears? Phoenix sniffed loudly and brushed away the small pinpricks of moisture at the corners of his eyes, then hopped to the edge of the boat so his back was now facing Miles. 

His hand twitched, wanting to reach out to him, but he held back, crossing his arms instead. “It was still foolish.”

Only a few seconds passed before Phoenix responded, but it felt like minutes. “Did he shoot himself?”

There was no use berating him any further. “…yes. I suppose he must have,” Miles relented, clutching at his arm. Distracted by the first shot, Miles had still been looking away when the second was fired, though it was the only explanation that made sense. He shuddered at the thought.

A similar shiver ran down Phoenix’s spine as he looked over the edge, studying the water. “All this just to have a witness to his suicide?” he muttered mostly to himself.  “I don’t like this, something’s not sitting right…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Miles said in a resigned tone, sinking back down to a seated position. Whatever truths Hammond had regarding that incident were now lost to the inky depths of Gourd Lake. He grabbed the discarded oars. “Let’s just go.”

As the boat began to move, Phoenix inched back towards the center, though he stayed at the bow like a figurehead. In order to row, Miles was faced away from him, though he could feel him brush against his back every so often.

“Hey, um. Miles?” Phoenix prompted. Focused on trying to navigate in the fog, he only gave a small grunt to indicate he was listening. “I’m sorry it turned out like this.”

He smiled ruefully, grunting with the effort required to keep the boat in motion. “What? No ‘I told you so’?”

“I was saving that for when you ended up tied up in the trunk of someone’s car, or - ” He cut himself off.

Miles raised an eyebrow, letting the boat glide a bit as he stopped rowing. “Or?”

“…I’m just glad you’re okay,” he muttered weakly. “And I’m sorry you didn’t get whatever answers you were looking for. I know it was important to you.”

He didn’t even know if Phoenix was facing him to see it, but, wordlessly, he nodded his acknowledgement of the firebird’s concern and resumed rowing.

After several minutes of seemingly aimless rowing, Phoenix eventually spotted a small speck of light in the distance - the lantern Hammond had left behind. Miles pulled up to the dock, and, with Phoenix’s help, moored the small vessel. Cautious of how it rocked, he carefully disembarked, breathing a sigh of relief once he was standing on a solid surface again.

As soon as he was settled, Phoenix clambered up onto his shoulders and draped himself around the prosecutor’s neck, shivering against his skin.

“So, should we call someone…?” he asked. He cast a glance back out to the lake. “The body’ll probably turn up by morning.”

That would probably be the responsible thing to do, but what he really wanted do was return home and wash his hands of this whole affair.

“I’m still finding it hard to believe he’s dead…” he muttered instead. 

“Maybe he…” Another shudder. Was he cold? Shouldn’t those feathers keep him warm? “No, nevermind.”

“What?”

“It’s stupid, but… what if he’s not? Dead, I mean. Maybe he jumped overboard.”

“Phoenix, the water is freezing this time of year, why would anyone do that?” Plus that still didn’t explain the gun.

“Maybe he saw Gourdy?” the firebird suggested.

Miles gave him a look. That alleged lake monster people were reporting sightings of? “Please be serious, Phoenix.”

He brought his head down, pressing his face into Miles’ cravat. “I don’t want to think seriously,” he said into the ruffles. “I’m afraid of what answer I might come up with.”

Miles was still processing the statement when Phoenix’s head suddenly shot up in alarm. “Someone’s coming,” he whispered and quickly slid into hiding. No sooner had he done that, a flashlight beam illuminated the area, forcing Miles to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness.

“Mr. Edgeworth?!” a concerned voice asked. The light lowered, allowing him to see Gumshoe, as well as several other members from the precinct standing before him. “Are you alright? We got a call about gunshots.”

From who?! Phoenix demanded. I thought we were alone.

“I’m… fine,” he replied as the assembled officers fanned out to investigate.

Gumshoe let out a breath of relief. “That’s good to hear!” Then a pause. “Wait, what are you doing out here anyway, sir? You weren’t the one who called, were you?”

The prosecutor bit his lip and looked away, bunching up the fabric of his coat at the elbow.

Oh just tell him! They already know about the gunshot.

“Detective, over here!”

Telling the prosecutor he’d be right back, Gumshoe jogged over to where his colleagues were gathered on the dock. They were out of earshot, but Miles didn’t need to hear to know they’d discovered the gun in the boat. They wouldn’t find his fingerprints on it, thanks to Phoenix, but as the only person around, it was still pretty suspicious.

“Mr. Edgeworth, do you know anything about this?” Gumshoe nervously asked when he returned, presenting the now bagged weapon.

Again he was silent.

One of the other officers put a hand on his shoulder. “Sorry, detective, but we’re gonna have to take him in for questioning.”

“Hold it, pal!” Gumshoe protested, rounding on the man. “The call was only about the shots, we don’t know if anything actually happened. Maybe Mr. Edgeworth was just out here for target practice! Right, sir?”

Shaking his head, the officer gave Gumshoe a sympathetic pat on the back while another came to lead Miles away.

Come on, why won’t you say something?!

They’re going to take me in regardless. Why fight it?

Because you didn’t do anything!

Yet, he must have done something for all this to be happening, he thought as he followed the officers out of the park. Hammond had made one thing clear, whatever occurred 15 years ago had scarred him enough to seek revenge. Revenge that resulted in taking his own life.

Miles turned around as he was loaded into the back of the squad car. He’d started this night seeking clarity and now, as he watched Gourd Lake disappear in the darkness, he was leaving with only more doubts.

 


 

Miles was confused when he stepped into the courthouse, only to find it utterly devoid of human life. Not even Gumshoe was around, trailing behind him like a lost puppy with unnecessary utterances of good luck. Was court already in session? Was he, perish the thought, late?! He looked over to the wall for the time, but the faceless clock showed nothing, only a lone second hand ticking away to infinity.

That was… new.

Miles shook his head. He didn’t have his briefcase with him, nor any recollection of a pending trial, so it stood that he probably wasn’t late for anything. Still didn’t explain why no one seemed to be around, however. The courthouse was never a particularly lively locale, but there was always someone around, even if it was just a bailiff.

 He set off hoping to find anyone around, the echo of his heels in the abandoned halls only adding to the eeriness. He checked the courtroom and lobbies to no avail. The next floor up yielded the same results. Miles paused at the stairwell. At this point, he could probably acquiesce that the building had been abandoned for some reason, but he couldn’t concede until he’d fully confirmed for himself.

It was in the third floor lobby where he finally found another person. It only took a single glance at those black spikes for Miles to realize exactly what was going on. Their eyes met from across the room and Phoenix offered him a lazy grin.

“So, come here often?”

The memories were flooding back now. After being apprehended at Gourd Lake, he’d been brought straight to the precinct for questioning. Questioning that went by at a remarkable pace as Miles had chosen not to respond to anything, despite Phoenix’s many pleas. He hadn’t seen much point - he’d been found alone, at night, in close proximity to a gun that had recently been fired. Even if he were willing to divulge the truth, they had no reason to believe it.

He’d then been led to a holding cell for the night, while the investigators waited for better conditions in the morning so they could conduct a thorough search of the area. After several visits from Gumshoe (until the chief detective finally banned any further interactions) and more unsuccessful prying, this time from Phoenix, he must’ve dosed off. Which, in itself was quite the feat given that the stiff cot his cell was furnished with had not been made with comfort in mind. The night’s events must have drained him far more than he realized.

“You really need to get out more if you’re going to court in your dreams,” Phoenix remarked. While Miles had been thinking, he’d taken the time to cross the room, now standing in front of the prosecutor. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, leaning back slightly. “At least I assume this is the courthouse. I don’t exactly get to see the hallways. Or the courtrooms. Or the lobbies, usually…“

“Phoenix, did you have a point?”

“Not really.”

Miles pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re incorrigible.”

“At least I don’t fall asleep while people are trying to talk to me.”

While Phoenix’s tone and relaxed grin suggested he was only teasing (it wasn’t as though this was a common occurrence), Miles still winced at the accusation. The firebird had been reasonably upset over the whole matter - not only had he been against the meeting from the get-go, now he was unjustly confined as a direct result. He should have tried harder to push him away and attend that meeting alone. Then he’d at least be safe with Maya and far away from this mess.

“I’m sorry,” he told Phoenix, genuinely meaning it.

He blinked, the smile falling from his lips. “Oh, uh, thanks? I wasn’t really serious, I think we were both pretty tired after… well, everything.”

Perhaps he needed to be more specific. “I’m sorry you’re in here with me. You didn’t do anything to deserve this.”

His expression shifted again, jaw set into a frown. “You say that like you did,” he said quietly, almost at a whisper. When Miles didn’t respond, Phoenix sighed, brushing a hand through his spikes. “It’s… whatever. Not like you were planning on going to jail.”

“Holding, technically,” he corrected. Though, the way things were going, come morning he’d probably be getting a nice view of the detention center from the other side of the glass.

“Potato, Potahto.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s a cage, isn’t it?”

Again, if he wanted to be technical, the proper term was ‘cell’, though as someone who lived life as a bird, there was probably a deeper significance to his word choice.

“No wonder you’re so worked up,” Miles said, realizing he must have stumbled upon the real reason behind his grievances. Phoenix tilted his head to one side. “You’re quite literally a ‘caged bird’ right now.”

Phoenix gaped dumbly at him for a moment. “Are you se- no, wait.” He brought a hand up, muttering into his palm. “That’s a stupid question, you’re always serious.”

“Pardon?”

With a resigned sigh, the symbiont crossed his arms, looking away. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d rather be anywhere than holding, but…” He flicked his eyes up, meeting Miles’. “I'm more worried about you right now.”

Miles was taken aback. “Me? Whatever for?”

“Because you’re not acting like yourself! You haven’t been thinking through your decisions and you’re taking all this abuse from the police lying down.”

“Actually, I think the officers have been quite cordial, all things considered.”

“You know what I meant,” Phoenix huffed, frustrated. “They’ve thrown all these accusations at you, and yet you haven’t said a single word in your defense. You’re not guilty of anything, why are you acting like you are?!”

Miles folded his own arms, mirroring his posture. “I’m exercising my right to remain silent.”

Phoenix made a noise of disgust and threw his hands into the air. “Ugh, you’re impossible, do you know that?” 

“I’ve been called worse.”

Groaning heavily, Phoenix walked over to one of the lobby benches and slumped into it. After a moment’s hesitation, Miles took a seat on the opposite end. 

“I was really scared. Ever since you got that letter,” he said suddenly. “Two people meeting at night, alone, with that incident connecting them? It put bad memories of Mia in my head.” He looked sidelong at Phoenix, who was staring down at his hands in his lap, nervously twiddling his fingers. “I was afraid I might lose you, just like I did her.”

‘I couldn’t just sit there and let it happen again!’ 

His earlier words suddenly made more sense. Phoenix had been present that night after all, and even confronted the murderer, though his valiant efforts had not spared Ms. Fey from her fate. Miles of all people should have recognized the signs of survivor’s guilt.

The prosecutor returned to staring at the wall ahead. “I was only a child at the time, and Hammond and I’d barely interacted during the trial. I had every reason to believe I would be in no danger.” In fact, he was the one with more motive, Hammond having acquitted his father’s murderer.

“He pulled a gun on you,” Phoenix pointed out.

“Yes, well…” He still didn’t have an explanation for that. None of Hammond’s actions had made much sense.

The symbiont made a thoughtful noise. “He said it was revenge. Why would he want revenge on a kid who’d just lost their father? That seems needlessly cruel.”

“I testified against his client - that was the extent of our interaction,” Miles offered, grimacing. “Perhaps he’d become unhinged in his old age.”

“He didn’t sound unhinged,” Phoenix muttered, not catching that the prosecutor had meant that to be facetious. “Plus he won, so why even go after a witness… wait? You were a witness?!” Phoenix’s hands flew up to cover his mouth, sympathy creeping into his eyes. “Oh Miles…”

“I barely remember it,” Miles said as he turned away, wanting none of his pity. “Besides, I thought you knew about DL-6.”

“I know the overview, which I don’t think mentions any witnesses. Besides, Mia had already figured out Grossberg was the leak before I met her, so it was really just… context for what she was doing. I never had a reason to think about it, before I met you,” he explained. Out of the corner of his eye, Miles caught him leaning in closer. “So you… you were there? And he still got the not-guilty?”

When Miles made a quiet, pained noise, Phoenix seemed to remember that boundaries existed and backed away.

“Sorry, I’m prying again, aren’t I?”

“Nngh, it’s only fair you know, since I’m afraid the reason is why you’re stuck in this cell with me.” He turned back, watching his companion’s odd eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. Miles continued. “I testified against that bailiff because he was the only person who could have done it, but my testimony was thrown out when I couldn’t recall the actual incident. When we got trapped in the elevator, our air supply was cut off. I blacked out from oxygen deprivation and subsequently lost most of my memories of the event.” Memories that, to this day, still alluded him. His subconscious had certainly tried to recreate that moment, but nightmares did not equal the truth. “I had hoped that perhaps Hammond had known something of those lost moments - something his client had confided in him.”

“The letter did imply that,” Phoenix agreed.

“I should have known it to be too good to be true,” he scoffed. “And now, despite my best efforts, I’ve dragged you into this mess.”

“Objection!” Phoenix snapped, startling Miles with his sudden volume. The firebird spent far too much time around lawyers. “You didn’t drag me into anything, okay? I could’ve gone back with Maya, but I didn’t. I chose to stay with you. Because you’re my friend.” Miles opened his mouth to protest, but Phoenix cut him off with a pair of hands on his shoulders, forcing him to look him head on. “No. I can already tell what you’re thinking. This isn’t out of some kind of obligation. I didn’t do this because you saved me, or because you put White in jail, or whatever. I did it because I care about you, Miles. Why is that so hard for you to believe?”

Miles tensed briefly at the contact. Phoenix was always touching him in some manner, but there was something infinitely different when it was fingers pressed against his arms rather than talons. With a sigh of resignation, he dropped his head. "I do believe you. Sometimes I think you care too much.”

Phoenix’s lips quirked up into a smirk. “Is that a bad thing?”

“When it lands you in situations like this?” Miles looked up, staring at him pointedly. “Yes.”

Shaking his head, Phoenix gave Miles’ forearms a firm pat before taking his hands away. “If you’re trying to make me regret my decision, it won’t work. I’m stubborn like that.”

He snorted. “If you weren’t, you would have actually stayed with Ms. Fey when I wanted you to.”

Phoenix laughed and bumped their shoulders. “You can’t get rid of me that easily, Miles.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow. “Even when you were actually planning to depart for Kurain with her?”

He flinched, face turning flushed. “I-I still am! This just… it was more urgent. And she’s not ready to leave either!”

“Keep it up, and the two of you never will,” Miles commented.

“I wouldn’t mind that,” Phoenix said quietly. Miles looked at him with questioning eyes, causing Phoenix to blush deeper. He probably hadn’t meant to say that. “I-I mean… well… I did try to admit it last time…” His hand was in his hair again, creeping down to the back of his neck. “Don’t get me wrong, I love Maya, but aside from her there’s nothing for me in Kurain. And I’d be lying if I said there’s not a big part of me that just wants to stay here. With you. Helping out with cases, investigating, like I did with Mia.”

Miles stared. The two shared a far deeper history than he and Miles did, he’d just assumed he’d rather spend his time with Maya. He hadn’t for a second considered that Phoenix might not want to go to the Fey hometown. He didn’t know anything about Kurain aside from what Maya told him in her various rants about how ‘boring’ and ‘traditional’ it was, but he’d always taken those with a grain of salt. Maya got bored if anyone went over five minutes without speaking.

Before he could respond, however, the symbiont was waving it off with a nervous laugh. “That’s not fair to you, though. I’m sure you’re ready for your life to go back to normal.”

The prosecutor found a spot on the wall to stare at instead of his face. Not even for a second could he deny, not even to himself, how he’d grown fond of the strange camaraderie they’d found. The extra help around the office had also been appreciated. “I… don’t mind your company.”

“Wow. That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve said to me.” 

Miles blanched. Was… was it really?

Noticing his discomfort, Phoenix offered a soft smile. “It’s okay. It’s just nice to know you don’t completely hate having me around.” 

His tone was light, teasing. Miles couldn’t help but to smile back. When they woke, he’d have to deal with the aftermath of the night’s events, but for now, sitting here in this empty courthouse of his dreams alongside Phoenix, he allowed himself to let those troubles drift away.

 


 

“Merry Christmas, Worthy! Although, I guess it’s not that merry for you. Have you been swimming lately?”

Miles glared at the table between them, wondering why the Chief of Police was the one interrogating him and wishing it was anyone but.

The morning had gone just about as he’d expected. The investigative team found Hammond’s body (although, according to them, the victim was still unidentified) washed up on the shore. A bullet was found in his chest, its ballistic markings matching that of the gun found last night. Miles was formally arrested as a suspect and transferred to the detention center. He’d barely gotten the chance to adjust to his new cell before he was whisked away for even more questioning.

“No, I suppose you’ve been busy as usual, right?” Gant continued when it became obvious he’d get no response. “Apparently not too busy to take a trip up to Gourd Lake in the middle of the night. Care to explain what you were doing?”

No he didn’t, actually. Miles’ actions were suspicious enough on their own, but as long as Hammond remained unidentified, they couldn’t pin a motive on him, and he wasn’t about to provide them with that information unless he absolutely had to.

That’s what he told himself anyway. There was this little nagging voice that he couldn’t quite shake (One that didn’t belong to Phoenix surprisingly, who at least understood the logic behind the decision, even if he didn’t like it). Something telling him there was more to this vow of silence that he’d yet to realize for himself.

Gant leaned forward, adjusting his glasses. “Come now, we’re old friends, aren’t we? If you tell me what’s going on I'm sure I could help you.”

Miles kept his eyes trained down so as not to roll them. He could call Gant many a thing. Friend was not one of them.

Can… can he really? Phoenix asked, bewildered. Reasonably so, since the Chief of Police had just blatantly offered to abuse his position for his sake. It almost sounds too good to be true.

It is, he flatly replied, not trusting those words for a second. Gant came off as warm and inviting, but, and Miles knew he was in the minority in this, something about the man had always rubbed him the wrong way.

“What do you, say, Worthy? Do we have a deal?” 

Miles grimaced. It was probably the nicknames. 

“I’m afraid I have to decline your offer, sir.”

Gant shook his head sadly. “It’s a shame. A mind as brilliant as yours should be out there prosecuting, not being prosecuted.” He pushed his chair away from the table with a noisy squeak. “It’s clear I won’t be getting anywhere with you, so let’s not waste any more of our time.”

Gant bid him farewell and exchanged places with one of the guards. Miles was brought out of questioning, but instead of heading to his cell, the guard faltered.

“Actually, there’s someone here requesting to see you.” 

Miles was reasonably confused. He hadn’t even gotten the chance to request his one phone call, who could possibly be here to see him already? Curious, he nodded and let the guard lead him to the visitors room.

“Mr. Edgeworth, what happened?!” a frenzied Maya yelled from the other side of the glass before he was even settled into the seat. “I kept calling and texting you, but you never answered. And then when I turned on the TV, your face was all over the news!”

The reporters worked fast, Miles noted with a touch of amusement. He’d barely been arrested an hour and already he was a trending topic.

“Obviously you already know, since you’re here.”

She looked a little put off by the sharpness of his tone, but otherwise undeterred. “But… but you didn’t do it… right? And what about Nick? Is he okay?!”

I fear the inevitable cramp I’m gonna get from being two-dimensional for so long.

“Frustrated, but fine.”

She sighed in relief, then went back on the attack. “You still didn’t answer me! Why are you being accused of murder? Why were you even out there last night?”

“I went to see Gourdy,” he answered flatly.

Oh come on, you’re not even gonna tell her? Phoenix complained, which he pointedly ignored.

Maya’s face only scrunched up in further confusion. “What’s Gourdy?” she gasped. “He’s not the victim, is he?!”

Miles rubbed the bridge of his nose. “No, Ms. Fey. Just… don’t worry about it.”

“Well I am worrying. Why won’t you give me a straight answer?!”

“I don’t see why I should,” he replied, crossing his arms. “You can’t do anything.”

“I could find someone to defend you! I’ll ask Mr. Grossberg to help, or… or channel Sis again!”

“No. I don’t want you getting involved in this case.” She was already too close to DL-6 as it was. The poor girl had just gotten closure for her sister’s death, it wouldn’t do to reopen any wounds from her mother’s disappearance.

“But, Mr. Edgeworth…” she whined, putting on her biggest pout.

“You heard the man. He doesn’t want any help.”

They all jumped, unaware that they had an audience. The man was propped up against the back wall, a black hat tilted down and obscuring most of his face.

“Not that I’m surprised. You never liked other people interfering,” he continued, lifting his head up. 

Miles’ eyes widened at the reveal of his face. “You!” His past was practically crawling out of the woodwork at this point. Who next, his one grade-school friend?

He brought his hands up, mimicking quotations with his fingers. “Right, Prosecutor Manfred von Karma?”

what?

Miles’ shock immediately turned into a deep scowl. So, he was still on that, was he?

Maya, just as perplexed as Phoenix, glanced anxiously between the men. “V-Von Karma? I think you have a wrong person, this is Mr. Edgeworth…”

“He knows what he’s doing,” Miles snapped.

“Oh, Prosecutor Edgeworth! I didn’t recognize you at first.” He threw his hands up in surprise, like he was trying to prove Miles wrong. “That scowl, those frills, can’t blame your Uncle Ray for making a mistake.”

“Mr. Shields, what do you want?”

Shields shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I was in the neighborhood visiting an old friend when I heard the news. Figured I’d stop by.”

“I’m so confused,” Maya said, as though to remind everyone that she was still there. “Are you actually Mr. Edgeworth’s uncle? No offense, but you don’t look related…”

This coming from the girl whose ‘brother’ was a bird?

“Oh, where are my manners.” He removed his hat, bowing to her. “I’m Ray Shields. Uncle Ray, for short.”

That’s not shorter… Phoenix pointed out.

“Maya Fey,” she greeted in turn, bowing a little herself.

“Fey… Fey… No relation to Mia Fey, perchance?”

She gasped audibly. “You knew my sister?!”

“Not personally,” he shrugged, “but she was a pretty big name in our community. I’m sure I lost a fair share of clients to her.”

“Mr. Shields is a former colleague of my father’s,” Miles explained, once it became quite clear he wasn’t going to.

And self-appointed uncle it seems.

To be fair, that’s not specific to me. Given time, he’d probably start doing it to Ms. Fey as well.    

“Are you a defense attorney?” she asked, piecing the clues together. “Are you here to defend Mr. Edgeworth?”

“It’s more likely that he’s here to gloat,” Miles scoffed. “Go on, laugh at the fallen attorney.”

“Mr. Edgeworth! You shouldn’t be so mean,” Maya chided. “What if he is here to help?”

“How sweet, standing up for Uncle Ray like that. How about a hug to show my appreciation?” He finally pushed off the wall, but only to open his arms in a welcoming gesture.

Maya eyed him over. “Uh… no, thank you.”

Phoenix bristled a little at the advance. Miles softly assured him that Shields was harmless. Strange, but harmless. No one ever took him up on his offers, anyway.

“Suit yourself.” The hands were back in his pockets. “But she’s got a point, you aren’t exactly popular with the other side of the courtroom. Although I suppose that’s just another part of the von Karma way.”

The scowl deepened. “If you’ve just come here to lecture me, I suggest you return to your ‘friend’. I do not require your approval… or your services.”

Miles!

“Mr. Edgeworth!”

Shields did not seem as distraught as the other two. In fact, he was likely expecting such a reaction. They had not been on good terms in years.

“Damn, and here I was hoping we could finally put aside our differences and hug it out. Looks like I was too optimistic.” He slouched slightly and turned to leave, sighing deeply. “Well, good luck out there, Prosecutor.”

“Mr. Shields, wai-!” Maya trie to call out, but he was already out the door before she could finish her sentence. With that distraction gone, her focus was back on Miles. “Why’d you do that? He could’ve defended you.”

“Mr. Shields has been quite vocal on his disapproval of me. I’m sure he just came to confirm the accuracy of the news report for himself. Is that not why you’re here?”

No,” she protested, cheeks puffing out. “I came to make sure you two were okay! He seems to know you, I bet he was doing the same.”

Honestly Miles, it kind of sounded like he wanted to help - before you chased him off, that is.

“I doubt he was serious. He rarely is,” he said in reply to both of them.

“Well… who are you going to get to defend you then? I can still ask Mr. Grossberg.”

He didn’t answer her right away. Shields was right about one thing, he wasn’t popular amongst defense attorneys. After years of utterly destroying their cases, he doubted anyone would leap at the chance to take him as a client.

“I’ll find someone.” Someone who, preferably, had zero connections to the DL-6 incident.

She didn’t look particularly happy with his answer. 

So that’s it, huh? You’re just going to leave it up to a stranger while you push the people who care about you away?

Phoenix… he warned.

No! he snapped, startling Miles with the sharpness of his tone. I can’t sit back and listen to this anymore. Why are you making this so difficult? You’ve got people out there who can help you, just let them!

It’s not that simple. I don’t want to drag anyone else down with this. He was gripping at his elbow again, causing Maya to make a noise of confusion and lean in closer to the glass. He shook his head.

How are you gonna drag them down when you’re innocent? Yeah, it’ll be hard to prove, but you’re only making it harder by not cooperating with anyone. You do realize that the second she leaves, Maya’s going to go down to Gourd Lake and investigate, with or without your approval.

Alarmed by the possibility, Miles jerked his head up to catch Maya’s eye. She still looked worried, and sad for him, but there was the distinct spark of determination hidden behind her expression.

“Ms. Fey, please tell me you weren’t planning on going to the crime scene.”

“Well, I was going to talk to Detective Gumshoe to see if he’ll help, but yeah. I’ve got to do something! You’ve helped me out so much, now it’s my chance to return the favor.”

“But you could get yourself into serious trouble!”

“It’s never stopped me before.” Emboldened, she stood up suddenly, sending the stool she’d been sitting on flying backwards. “I’m gonna find a way to prove your innocence!”

“Hold it!” he suddenly said, before she could make another move.

She paused, hands on the counter, and looked at him curiously. “You’re not gonna talk me out of it, you know.”

“Yes, I know.” She never listened to him much even when he was in a position to stop her. Phoenix was right; like it or not, she was going to end up at Gourd lake in the near future. “Just… hold on a moment.”

Even if she talked to Gumshoe, there was no guarantee the detective would be able to provide his assistance, his hands likely tied by the official investigation or connections to the suspect. He’d be lucky if they even allowed him on the case. Her best bet was getting a defense attorney, but Grossberg didn’t inspire much confidence in him and he still wasn’t convinced Shields was there for any reason other than to rub more salt in the wound.

Still, there was one way to ensure she wasn’t alone on this fool’s errand.

Although he hadn’t been there long, Miles brought forth a memory of the cell he’d been assigned and it’s layout. In theory… 

Phoenix, as long as my hand’s completely exposed you can emerge, correct?

Yeah… he answered, suspicious. Why?

I should be able to reach outside of my cell bars. Hopefully there aren’t any cameras pointed in that direction, but if you fly straight up over the building, you should be fine.

He made a noise of alarm. Miles! I’m not lea-

- not going to do me any good in detention, he interrupted. If you want to help, then help Maya investigate.

He was quiet for a long moment, likely thinking it over. Are you sure?

Not really, but he was better off out there, looking out for her. Especially should something go wrong on his end. Then Miles could at least be satisfied knowing they both were safe.

“Ms. Fey.” Asking Phoenix to shift his position, he held his arm up, drawing back his sleeve just enough to reveal an impatient swish of tail feathers. “Wait outside for a bit.”

Her eyes widened. “Are you guys sure?”

Miles nodded. “He’ll explain.”

They concluded their visit, Maya shooting one last look of concern over her shoulder before disappearing though the doorway. The guard brought him back to his cell and, once the sound of footsteps finally disappeared down the hall, the plan went into motion.

The barred window was slightly out of reach, but if he stood on the hard mattress, he could easily see out into what appeared to be a courtyard. He didn’t see any cameras around, though that did not mean they weren’t present. He just hoped they weren’t trained in a position to catch what was about to happen. 

Gripping onto the bars with one hand, he inserted the other into the small opening. His hand slipped through fairly easily if held flat, though the fit got snug at his wrist as he pushed further out. Thankfully, that was as much as he needed.

Go! he urged Phoenix, before anyone noticed what he was doing. 

The firebird quickly sprung into action, sliding up his arm until he got to the end, his head appearing on the back of Miles’ hand. Then, briefly, he hesitated, and Miles watched his eye, still locked in 2D form, move to meet his own.

We’re going to save you. I swear, he thought out before slipping past the bars and out into the open air, his tail disappearing past the window’s view.

Save him? Miles reflected as he sat down on the bed properly. Suddenly that nagging little voice was back.

Did he even deserve to be?

Chapter 13

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Maya dallied in front of the detention center, hoping nobody came out to yell at her for loitering.  She looked around for any sign of movement. Mr. Edgeworth’s instructions to wait had been pretty clear, but she wasn’t sure how exactly he intended to smuggle Nick outside, or how long it would take.

It was another minute or so before she caught a brief glimpse of something flying overhead, gone before she could get a good look at it.

“Psssst! Maya!”

A harsh whisper drew her attention elsewhere. She searched around until her sights fell on an old tree a little ways away from the entrance, where Nick was doing an honestly poor job of concealing himself amongst its leafless branches. It was fortunate that no one else happened to be around.

Maya sprinted over so she was beneath the tree, leaning nonchalantly against its trunk. Nick more or less dropped down from his perch onto her shoulders (he wasn’t that high up, thankfully), quickly disappearing underneath the folds of her robes.

“You know you’re heavier than you think you are,” she complained, rubbing at her shoulder. He hadn’t actually hurt her, but it was the principle of the issue.

Oh hush, you’re fine. And how many times do I have to remind you to think to me? People are gonna think you’re crazy.

Maybe I want them to think I’m crazy, she replied, conceding anyway. She got enough odd looks for her outfit as it was. Alright, so fill me in. What’s going on?

Nick quickly gave her the rundown. Everything had apparently started with a letter Mr. Edgeworth had received out of the blue - from one of her sister’s former co-workers no less - highlighting a particularly tragic event from his childhood. From there it was just a downward spiral culminating in last night’s tragedy and Mr. Edgeworth’s subsequent arrest.

Wow… poor Mr. Edgeworth. I can’t believe he went through all of that, she said once he was done with his recap. To lose his father like that and have the murder go unsolved on top of it? I guess if someone said they knew where my mother was, I might do something like that, too.

Funny you should bring up your mother, actually… Nick said in that ‘this will not remotely be funny’ tone. You know that case she was called in for?

She sort of knew about it, given she’d only been 2 at the time and no one ever wanted to discuss it with her. Actually Nick probably knew a lot more than she did, not that that explained why he’d choose to bring it up now.

Maya gasped loudly when it suddenly hit her. “It’s not…”

She felt him move slightly. Was he nodding? He was probably nodding. Hammond was the defense on that trial - and why Mia started working for Grossberg. I think that’s why Miles wasn’t too keen on us getting involved. Especially you.

Well… well that’s just dumb! We’re already involved, what’s pushing us away gonna do?

I don’t know, Phoenix answered, sadly. He’s been… off lately. More closed off than usual. Not thinking clearly. I’m scared of what all this might be doing to him.

Then that’s why we need to get out there and look for clues! If it was… if he really did shoot himself, then all we have to do is prove it and Mr. Edgeworth’ll be free.

Easier said than done, he sighed. Once again, I’m the only witness, and I technically didn’t see the crime happen. I don’t know how much help I’d be.

Nick! You’re not allowed to testify!

Yeah, yeah, I know. Government experiments, distracting from the crime, whatever. I just hate that I can’t do anything!

Oh poor Nick, she couldn’t imagine being in a situation like his. It must be so frustrating.

Hey, that’s not true, she reassured him. You know what happened and I… I can be visible and talk to people. We’re the perfect team!

Sure… he muttered.

Nick… Maya pouted. That wasn’t the response she was hoping for.

No, you’re right, Maya. I need to be positive. We’re the only ones who can save Miles!

Well… Maya’s eyes had drifted over to the front doors of the detention center, where a man had just emerged, fluffy hair poking out from underneath his hat. Maybe not the only ones.

“Mr. Shields!” she called out. 

He paused at the sound of his name, allowing her the chance to bound over. “Oh hey… Maya, was it? Did you change your mind about that hug? The offer’s still out there.”

Maya stopped just short of his outstretched arms and bowed deeply, hair bouncing. “Please! You have to defend Mr. Edgeworth!”

Mr. Shields stared for a long, confounded second before he gave his answer. “I don’t know, little lady. You were there, he was pretty clear that he didn’t want help, mine or yours.”

“So? He needs someone to defend him. Otherwise he’s gonna go to jail!” she pleaded.

“Who’s to say he doesn’t deserve it?” As Maya gaped in alarm, Mr. Shield’s relaxed expression suddenly turned serious. “Tell me, Maya? How well do you really know the Demon Prosecutor? He’s done some terrible things, maybe Karma’s finally catching up to him.”

That doesn’t make him a murderer! Nick growled. He shouldn’t have to suffer for something he didn’t do!

“Yeah!” she exclaimed, invigorated by his passion. “I don’t know him that well. I don’t know what he’s done in the past. But… he made sure the man who murdered my sister went to jail, and he’s been really nice to me, so if there’s anyway I can help him, then I’m gonna try!”

For a second, he almost looked… touched, then that roguish smile was back. He leaned forward, clapping his hands in a manner that was only slightly condescending. “Impressive speech, almost brought a tear to old Uncle Ray’s eye, but… that still doesn’t mean he’s innocent. You could be asking me to defend a murderer right now.”

“But he didn’t kill Mr. Hammond!” she protested, practically shouting. “I know he didn’t!”

That goofy, slack-jawed grin was instantly wiped from his face. “Did you say Hammond? As in Robert Hammond?”

“Y-yeah?” Maya gulped, worried she might have accidentally said too much.

“Of course it’s about that. The timing’s too big of a coincidence,” Mr. Shields muttered, mostly to himself. He pushed his hat down over his eyes. “Oh Miles, what have you gotten yourself into? Alright, let’s go.”

“Wha… huh?”

“Miles needs a defense attorney, and you obviously know more about this case than I do, so let’s go.”

“Wait, just like that? What about everything you said before?!”

Oh boy, this guy’s gonna be a handful, isn’t he? Nick complained, but Maya could hear the relief in his tone.

Mr. Shields sighed and removed his hat, pressing it to his chest. “If I’m being honest… I don’t think he did it either. Prosecutor von Karma may have turned him to the dark side, but… he wouldn’t fall that far. Not his son.”

Despite her elation that they’d gotten him on their side, something he said was bothering her. “You keep mentioning that name - von Karma. Who is that?”

“He’s never told you?” Mr. Shields looked surprised as he returned his hat to its rightful place. “You really haven’t known him long. Manfred von Karma is a ruthless prosecutor with a perfect win record to match. He’ll do anything to win; lie, cheat, manipulate evidence. And, he just so happens to be Prosecutor Edgeworth’s mentor. If Miles Edgeworth is the Demon Prosecutor, then Manfred von Karma is the Devil himself.”

“H-he can’t be that bad…” she blanched.

He is, Phoenix interjected. Miles had a meeting with him right after the Powers trial and he spent the whole time insulting and belittling Miles for losing. And he just took it. Even said his mentor was right for doing it.

“But -“ she started, before remembering herself. But Mr. Powers was innocent! His mentor must have seen that!

I don’t think he cared.

Maya frowned. That didn’t sound right. How could anyone be disappointed that he didn’t let someone be falsely accused?

“Hey, let’s not talk about Prosecutor von Karma, he’s pretty good at bringing down the mood. We’ve got investigating to do, don’t we?”

“Right… Right!” She perked back up. “Oh, but I wanted to talk to Detective Gumshoe, too…”

He said he was heading this investigation this morning, so he should be down at the park.

“He might be at the crime scene. Let’s go!” She started off in a direction then stopped, turning back to Mr. Shields. “Uh, which way is the crime scene?”

 


 

“So, this is where it happened?” Maya wondered aloud.

“Ahh, good old Gourd Lake. I haven’t been out here in years,” Mr. Shields said, taking an appreciative sweep of the humble, well-trodden path they stood upon, its borders lined with deciduous trees that were still hanging on to their last few fall-reddened leaves. “The lake itself’s a bit further in.”

As they ventured further inward, the police presence in the park became evident, walking back and forth on the hunt for clues. Maya quickly spotted the person she’d been hoping to run into, his large, baggy coat in stark contrast to the uniformed officers surrounding him.

“Detective Gumshoe!” she yelled. He paused from barking orders to search for the source. As soon as he spotted her, he pardoned himself from the man he’d been yelling at (who, grateful for the distraction, quickly made his retreat) and jogged over.

“Maya!” he greeted, trying to put on a smile for the young woman, but only managing a strained grimace. “What are you doing here, pal? Something tells me it’s not to wish me ‘Merry Christmas’.”

“We’re investigating!” Maya announced, holding up her fists in determination. “But, oh, uh… Merry Christmas, too, I guess.” The sentiment felt a little out of place even as it rolled off her tongue.

“We?” Detective Gumshoe looked over at the man standing nearby, seeming to just now realize he was accompanying Maya and not just a nosy bystander. “Uh… who are you, pal?”

He took his hat off in greeting once again. “Ray Shields. You could say that I’m an ace attorney.” Though as he said that, he’d replaced his hat in order to do finger quotes.

“Right…” the detective said slowly, sizing him up.

“He’s gonna defend Mr. Edgeworth!” 

“Not that he’s asked me to,” Mr. Shields pointed out. “In fact, he was quite insistent that he didn’t want my help.”

“Y-you don’t say…” Detective Gumshoe stammered, shoulders slumping. “I hope you do, pal. I’m worried he’s gonna have trouble finding someone to take his case.”

“Why? Mr. Edgeworth’s great.”

“I know, that’s the problem,” he sighed. “He’s a bit of a celebrity and the case against him is… it’s pretty solid. If you defended him and lost, your reputation’d suffer for sure.”

“How solid?” Mr. Shields asked.

“There’s a witness. Says they saw everything.”

“What?!” Maya exclaimed. “Someone else was out here?”

That’s impossible, Nick protested. It was so foggy last night, they would’ve had to be right next to us to see anything!

“Any chance you might tell us who this witness is?” Mr. Shields inquired, leaning in.

Detective Gumshoe slouched. “Sorry, pal. It’s confidential. You’ll have to wait for the trial tomorrow to find out.”

“Oh well, I tried.”

He didn’t try very hard…

“Please, Detective. Can’t you tell us anything?”

He glanced over to the police officers, who looked like they were milling about rather than investigating, then bent down to her level so he could whisper. “Listen, pal, we’re fighting an uphill battle. With the evidence and the witness, the police are pretty convinced Mr. Edgeworth did it. No one’s taking this investigation seriously.”

“But… you don’t believe that, right?”

“Of course not!” he practically shouted, then remembered his volume. “So, you got my full permission to look around the park. And I’ll be here if you need to talk to me. Unless I’m not here. Then I’ll probably be down at the precinct. Er… you know how to get there, right?”

“Don’t worry, Uncle Ray knows his way around.”

The detective gave him another dubious look, but he was offering to help, so… “Alright pals, good luck. Don’t let Mr. Edgeworth down!”

With a bright grin and two thumbs up, Maya bid the detective farewell and bounded off deeper into the park, Mr. Shields following at a more relaxed pace.

They soon a hit a beach area, giving them a clear view of the park’s namesake. “Wowsers! This is Gourd Lake?” The fog that Nick had described was long gone, giving them a clear view of the lake’s cool, still waters.

Dunno if I’d say ‘wowsers’, but hey, I didn’t see much last night.

Maya got the distinct feeling she was being mocked. Well, maybe not, but look! There’s a snack stand!

The bright red stand had caught her eye as she scanned the area, festive decorations hanging from it. The large banner just beside it caught her eye even more.

Samurai Dogs?!” she gasped. “Oh my gosh, I want one. I bet they’re great!”

Gee, with a name like that, how could they not be? Nick dryly remarked.

The sarcasm was entirely missed on her. “It’s a bit out dated, though. ‘The Pink Princess’ is all the rage with the kids these days, y’know?”

Unfortunately… since you barely watch anything else…

Mr. Shields chuckled quietly. “I don’t know how people would feel about ‘Princess Dogs’. Too bad the vendor’s not around, you could ask them.”

“I’ll just do it when they come back.”

Need I remind you we’re here to investigate a murder?

“Yeah, yeah, I’m investigating,” she griped back at him, earning a confused look from Mr. Shields. She quickly scanned the immediate area for anything that seemed out of place and found it on one of the park benches. “See? I foooound…” She bounded over to scoop up the abandoned object and held it up. “This!”

Ah yes. ‘This’. This most important clue that I can totally see right now.

Mr. Shields, unbeknownst to himself, supplied the answer. “Is that a party popper?”

“Maybe it’s a clue,” she proposed.

Except Miles definitely didn’t bring a popper to their secret meeting and I really doubt … it’s already in your pocket, isn’t it?

Maya grinned to herself, tucking the last bit of string away. In her defense, someone had to have left it behind. Someone who was probably there late yesterday, otherwise it would have been thrown away or taken by someone already. It could be related. But mostly, she just wanted to pop it.

With the snack stand yielding no further clues, and no vendors to sell her Samurai Dogs, they moved on, following a sign directing them towards the boat dock. Despite the circumstances of the visit, Maya was finding that she actually liked Gourd Lake. Sure, it wasn’t as impressive as the mountains and waterfalls of her hometown, but there was a certain charm to it, and it was only winter - imagine what it must look like in spring! Maybe, once this was all over they could come back on better terms. If Nick and Mr. Edgeworth weren’t too traumatized by the experience, that is.

“Hey, what’s that over there?” Maya asked as a building came into view.

“Must be the boat rental shop,” Mr. Shields answered, which was shortly confirmed as they neared, putting the large sign on the roof at a proper angle to read. “Hmm, looks pretty closed.”

They’re probably closed cause of Christmas… or cause one of the boats was part of a crime.

Maya eyed the boats lined up on the dock. The idea of a boat ride had been put in her head, she’d never been on one after all, but now she was having second thoughts.

“You know, I don’t think we’re gonna find much here besides boats and forest,” Mr. Shields pointed out, already examining one more closely. “Shall we check elsewhere?”

What do you think, Nick?

The firebird thought about it. Nothing really happened at the dock. We got on the boat. We got off it. The crime scene’s out there, after all.

Maya looked out across the water, but it did not surrender its secrets. “Alright, let’s go somewhere else.”

That somewhere ended up being on the other side of the beach from the rental shop. With no real direction in mind, they’d settled for circling the perimeter of the lake, leading to the edge of the woods where someone had parked their SUV. That alone was enough to warrant a closer look.

“Someone’s got a campsite set up!” Maya exclaimed.

“Right next to the ‘no camping’ sign, no less. How bold.”

“What if they were here last night? They might know something about the murder!”

I guess it’s possible. Maybe this is our ‘witness’.

Mr. Shields shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt to check.”

Now, while Mr. Shields started to head towards the SUV to see if they were perhaps inside, escaping the cold, Maya’s interests were instead on a rather elaborate camera setup pointed towards the lake. Unfortunately, she knew little of cameras aside from the one built into her phone.

“Hey, Mr. Shields! Check this out!”

Steps away from reaching the door, he stopped to entertain her request.

“The camera?” He bent down to get a closer look. “It’s got some sort of mic attached. Probably sound triggered.”

“Cool! Let’s try it out!” 

Maya! Don’t go messing with other people’s stuff. You’re gonna break it.

Oh when have I ever broken anything?

You want a list?

She decided to ignore him, clearing her throat. “Hello!” she shouted cheerfully into the mic. Nothing happened. Maya frowned. “Am I not loud enough? HELLO! CAN YOU HEAR ME?”

The camera sat, impassive. She kicked at it.

“Now, now, I don’t think that’s gonna help,” Mr. Shields said, chuckling. “It’s probably programed not to pick up voices.”

No voices, huh? An idea formed in her head and she rummaged through her pockets until she retrieved the desired item. “What about this, then?”

“The popper?”

Grinning, she pulled the string and a loud, resounding BANG shot out into the empty park.

The camera reacted immediately, snapping shot after shot at a rapid fire pace.

Maya smiled smugly. “Yep. It worked.”

The victory, however, was short lived. With a mighty roar, the door to the SUV slammed open, revealing a young woman who looked less than pleased with the scene playing out before her. 

“Hey, you! Git yer hands offa that!” A puff of curly red hair bounced on her head as she charged over, teeth gritted. Maya couldn’t help but let out a small shriek at the sight.

She bypassed them at first, headed straight for the camera to survey the aftermath of Maya’s experiment. While the camera was presumedly undamaged, it was now covered in colorful confetti. “What in the Sam Hill…?!” She rounded on them, pointing an accusatory finger. “Look what ya done did! That’s a whole roll of film gone!”

I told you to leave it alone!

“W-wha…? I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, shell-shocked by everything that was happening.

“Sorry’s nice, but it don’t pay my bills! Y’all know how much film costs?”

“I-I’ll pay you back!” she offered.

The strange woman didn’t seem to be listening, “What were ya’ll thinking anyway, settin’ off a party popper like that?” Maya opened her mouth to explain herself, but she was cut off. “'N don’t try to play stupid with me just cause y’all think I’m some country bumpkin! Yeah, I know how y'all Yanks think! ‘I say, those southern folks talk with that exaggerated drawl, why they must be dumb!’ Well let me tell you, just because I might be dumb don't mean we all are!”

Maya slunk over to Mr. Shields, tagging him in. “Help…” she pleaded weakly.

She didn’t seem deterred by the change in opponent, staring defiantly up at him. “And who are you, now? Her chaperone?”

Mr. Shields was taking the whole situation in with stride, his only reaction a casual shrug. “Attorney… chaperone. Given the some of the clients I’ve had, they feel like the same job sometimes.”

The woman recoiled defensively. “Attorney?! Y’all aren’t gonna try ’n pull one o’ them lawsuits on me now? Cause I'll have you know I'm a fighter and I wrassled meaner looking' things'n you!” When she put up her fists, it was Mr. Shield’s turn to take a step back.

“Whoa now, Tiger, Uncle Ray wasn’t thinking of doing anything of the sort. We’re just here investigating a shooting.”

“A shooting?” The prospect of violent crime seemed to cool her temper. She immediately adopted a more relaxed posture, grinning earnestly. “Well, why didn’t y'all say so in the first place! Ask me anything ya like! You too, now.” She leaned over to where Maya had taken refuge behind the box that was set up beside the camera. “Y’all can come out of hiding, I won’t bite. Hard.”

Cautiously, Maya emerged from her cover and stepped back into the open, head bowed apologetically. “Sorry… I got a little overwhelmed. The culture gap and all…”

“Oh, never you mind, hun. I kin’ talk yank for ya if…” She paused to clear her throat “I mean, if it pleases you?” The southern drawl was was still there, but so severely repressed it was almost scary.

Maya shook her head. “Thanks, but I think I’ll be okay.

Hey, if things go any further south you can always use Shields here as a… shield, Nick suggested, chuckling at his own awful joke.

“Great!” She immediately dropped the phony ‘yank’ accent. “The name’s Lotta. Lotta Hart, but y’all can just call me Lotta. I’m out here photographing meteor showers for a research project.”

“Oh, research project? Are you a student?” Maya asked.

Lotta’s hand disappeared in her afro as she laughed nervously. “Y’all really wanna hear about that? I go to Country U., in the heart of the heartland.”

“Wow, Country U.! That sounds far,” Maya said, though she had to admit that she wasn’t quite sure where the ‘heart of the heartland’ was supposed to be exactly.

“And you came way out here for ‘shooting stars’?” Mr. Shields asked, eyeing her camera setup.

“Y-yup! Been out here photographin’ for a good three days now.”

So she was here last night…but I don’t think she knows anything.

“Oh! Right,” Maya exclaimed, having nearly forgotten the entire reason they’d taken this detour. “A man was shot last night, on one of the boats. Did you see anything?”

“A boat, huh?” she pondered it for a moment. “I gotta say, I’ve watched so many boats go back and forth on this here lake that it’s hard to remember which I seen when. Sorry y’all.”

“I thought you were here for shooting stars,” Mr. Shields pointed out, tilting his head curiously.

Lotta made a jerking motion, eyes wide “Y-yeah, well! Meteor showers are only visible at night, so I gotta have sumtin’ to look at during the day, right?”

Mr. Shields shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets. “That makes sense.”

“Oh, so you photograph boats during the day!” Maya decided. “Is that what that device is for?”

Lotta looked confused. “Uh, device?”

“Yeah, that thing attached to it. It started moving when I fired the party popper.” 

“Oh, that? That just triggers the shutter when it detects certain sounds. It’s programmed to pick up loud noises right now.”

“Oh. Neat!”

Nick made a sharp sound of alarm.

I don’t think the camera’ll pick that up, Nick. It didn’t even respond to my yelling, she told him.

That’s not - she said it’s triggered by loud noises, right? Loud noises like… a gunshot perhaps?

Oh? Oh!

“Oh! Lotta!” The young woman jumped at the sudden outburst. “Is it possible you got a picture of the murder? The victim was shot with a gun.”

The lightbulb went off in her head. “Hey, y’all are pretty bright.”

“Nice going, Maya,” Mr. Shields praised.

“I checked 'em once, don't remember if there was anything on 'em though,” Lotta admitted. “But what if I got sumtin'! I could be witness to a genuine murder! Yeehaw! I'll go check that film. Y'all come back now, y’hear?” And with that she dashed away before either of them to respond, disappearing into her SUV with a resounding slam.

“… I guess that means we have to come back later,” Maya said.

As they turned back, something had changed at the crossroads. The abandoned hotdog stand was no longer abandoned, now watched by a man in a very recognizable red and white suit.

“I didn’t know Santa sold hotdogs. Is this what he does after all the presents are delivered?”

Mr. Shields laughed. “I don’t think that’s the real Santa. But, hey, you can ask about those Samurai Dogs.”

“Oh yeah!” She’d nearly forgotten about that.

As she stepped up to the stand, the vendor immediately perked up. “Whoa, cute!” Whatever he had tried to say after that was cut off when he began sputtering over a few stray hairs from the beard. After several failed attempts to rid his mouth of the obstruction, he removed the beard entirely, hat coming off with it to reveal a spiky column of brown hair and matching goatee underneath. “As I was saying, you guys interested in one of our Samurai Dogs?”

Nick groaned. Oh no…

Maya was about to answer the vendor when she paused. What? Do you know him?

He’s one of Mia’s clients.

So what’s the problem? Sis only took on clients she believed in, right?

Well, yeah, obviously he was innocent if he’s here, but-

Then he’s fine!

Alright. Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you.

“Um, actually,” she said to the man in the Santa suit. “I wanted to know why they’re Samurai Dogs.” Though for a different reason than she’d originally intended. Now that he was here and the product on display, it looked… interesting. “They kind of look gourd-shaped.”

“Oh, well originally, they were Gourd Dogs! Y'know, like ‘guard dogs’?” Maya winced at the pun. “The Samurai thing was Kiyance's idea. Oh, she's my woman, y'know. She was all ‘change the name and you go girlfriend!’ She even made me that banner! Man, the kids can't get enough of those Samurai Dogs, and we’ve been selling even more now thanks to the big news!”

“The ‘big news’…?” Maya asked.

“Yeah! Gourdy!” he excitedly answered.

“Gourdy…?” Actually, come to think of it, Mr. Edgeworth had said something about Gourdy too, though Nick had explained he was just being difficult with that remark.

“And what, exactly, is this Gourdy?” Mr. Shields asked.

“You mean you don’t know?!” He reached down under his stand, pulling out a folded newspaper. “It’s a giant, mysterious monster. Right here, in this very lake. Gourdy!”

“A… monster?” Maya questioned as he handed over the article.

You would know if you actually watched the news for once, instead of reruns of kids’ shows. They were talking about it all day yesterday.

Hey, I watched it this morning, didn’t I? she snapped back at him, skimming the article. Included was a photo of a couple posed in front the lake, a long, serpentine form emerging from the water behind them.

“Wow, a real life monster!” she exclaimed, handing it over so Mr. Shields could look.

You know, as someone who can channel spirits and deals with me, I would think you’d be less impressed by this sort of thing.

Neither of those things are lake monsters, Nick. Oh, I wish I could’ve seen it!

“You can keep it, by the way,” the man said. “That’ll be one million dollars, though!”

“O-one million?!”

“Yeah, I’ll get back to you on that,” Mr. Shields said, though he slipped the article into his pocket anyway. “Anyway, we’ve got something to ask you about, Mr….?”

He stared blankly for a moment. “Oh! Just call me Larry. Larry Butz.”

“Okay, Larry. I’m Ray Shields.”

“And I’m Maya Fey!”

“There was a murder here last night. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that?”

Larry went on the defensive. “You’re not accusing me are you?!” he yelled. “Cause I didn’t do it! I don’t know anything!”

“Hey, whoa nobody’s accusing you of anything. Besides, there’s already a suspect in custody. A prosecutor named Edgeworth.”

He sighed in relief. “Oh good. I do not want to get arrested again. What would Kiyance say? Wait… did you say Edgeworth?”

“I did. Now, what was that about being arrested again…”

“Not, Miles Edgeworth. Old Edgey?”

“You know him?” Maya asked.

“Of course! We were in the same class in grade school. We used to hang out all the time.”

“What? Really?!”

…huh, Nick muttered thoughtfully.

“Oh lovely!” Mr. Shields exclaimed. “His old man was always worried about him not being able to make friends.”

“Yeah,”  Larry continued, “we were best friends back in the day. Practically inseparable! I haven’t seen him since then, though.” Larry scratched thoughtfully at his beard. 

Hey, Nick, has Mr. Edgeworth ever mentioned this guy?

No, but, even if Miles liked talking about his childhood, I think he’d still leave this guy out…

“Sorry I can’t help Edgey. I didn’t even know there was a murder here. Actually, you think that might bring in more customers? I need money for dates, you know? My girl Kiyance deserves the best!”

“Oh yeah, last night was Christmas Eve,” Maya observed. “You were probably out with Kiyance anyway, not out here in the cold.” When Larry winced, she frowned in confusion. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Ah, Uncle Ray knows that look well,” Mr. Shields said, guiding her away. “Come on Maya, I think that’s all we’re going to learn here. Bye Larry, good luck with your Samurai Dogs.”

He snapped out of his funk. “Oh, yeah! Good luck with your murder!” he shouted back. Thankfully no one was around to hear it.

They weren’t far along in their trek when they were met with another distraction in the form of thunderous footsteps approaching from the rear.

“Hey y’all, wait up!” Lotta was approaching at high speeds, skidding only at the last possible second to avoid barreling into them. She stopped with her hands on her knees, pausing to catch her breath before she explained herself. “I was hopin’ y’all hadn’t wandered too far yet. Check it out, we hit bingo!”

“Bingo?”

From her pocket, Lotta produced two printed photographs, holding them up like a poker hand. “My automatic camera took two pictures last night!”

Of the two photos, one was muggy and grey, displaying little at all, but the second. Mr. Shields plucked that one from her hand to get a closer look at the image. Floating in an abyss of fog were two figures standing up in a boat, one dark silhouette holding their arm up in the direction of the other.

“See? See?” she said excitedly, jabbing at the picture so hard it was nearly ripped from Mr. Shield’s grip. “He’s shooting him with that pistol!”

Mr. Shields squinted, holding it a little closer to his face. “Well, someone’s doing something alright.”

Huh… I wonder if she got a photo of the first shot.

…first shot?

Yeah. There were two gunshots last night. Did… did I forget to mention that?

“Yes!” she snapped at him. Mr. Shields and Lotta both snapped their heads toward her, alarmed.  “Uh, I mean, you can’t really tell who’s shooting.”

“Yeah, well there was enough fog out there last night t' strangle a bullfrog,” Lotta shrugged, crossing her arms. “But, y'know... Seeing these photos reminded me of something.”

That didn’t sound good. “What…?” Maya asked with trepidation.

“I saw the murder happen. I'm a witness!” They all let out out various exclamations of shock and alarm as Lotta continued to grin about her revelation. “Y’all reckon I should tell the cops? Oh, who am I kidding, course I’m gonna tell the cops! Keep the photo, I’ll see y’all later!”

“Wait! What did you see?!” Maya asked.

She paused, casting an annoyed look over her shoulder? “What? Y’all think I was born yesterday?  I'm a witness, and that means I'm on the side of justice, and that means the cops! I'd sooner eat the south side of a north-bound skunk than tell you!”

“Lotta…” she started.

Oh, just let her go, Maya.

But…she watched that afro disappear into the distance, cheering about her prospects of being allowed to testify, what if she really did see something?

What, exactly? You heard her, ‘there was enough fog t' strangle a bullfrog’. His impression of the accent was surprisingly accurate. We could barely see the shore where we were.

“Well, looks like we’ve got another witness,” Mr. Shields said. “Guess we’ll find out what she saw tomorrow.”

If anything. Nick seemed adamant on this belief. Though, what’s up with her ‘just remembering’ she’s a witness? How do you forget something like that?

It was so traumatic she blocked it out? Maya offered.

Nick snorted in response. With this witness? Yeah, Maya didn’t really believe that either.

 


 

With the points of interest at the lake exhausted, they decided to report back to Detective Gumshoe to see if he had any news he might be able to part with. The entrance to the park was devoid of officers, so they must have concluded their investigation as well.

Before heading to the precinct, they took a detour at the detention center to check on Mr. Edgeworth. Despite conducting an extensive investigation for his sake, they still weren’t officially his defense team yet. Hopefully that would be amended by the end of this visit.

“So, you’ve returned,” Mr. Edgeworth said in his ‘you interrupted my paperwork’ voice. “And you actually managed to convince Mr. Shields to accompany you. I suppose he had nothing better to do.”

Mr. Shields responded with a lopsided smile and a lazy shrug. “How’s the defense search going?”

His glare was as good an answer as any.

“Mr. Edgeworth, just let us defend you! You’ve even got Detective Gumshoe worried!”

Mr. Edgeworth winced at his mention, looking only the slightest bit sorry. He still didn’t respond.

“You know, we found another witness down at the lake. Even gave us this.” From his pocket, Mr. Shields produced the photograph received from Lotta, presenting it to the prosecutor.

Mr. Edgeworth’s brows shot up in surprise, then furrowed in concentration. “I see… Who would have thought there'd be a photo?”

“I gotta say, it’s gonna be pretty hard to prove you didn't shoot Robert Hammond with this.”

He looked away. “I suppose she’s told you, then.”

“Just a bit.” He put the picture away again.

“Sorry Mr. Edgeworth, it just sorta slipped out.”

He shook his head. “I… suppose it’s fine. This affects him too, after all.”

“Just tell your Uncle Ray one thing; the statute of limitations on that case, it’s about to run out, isn’t it?”

“In three days, yes,” he sighed.

“Um… what does that mean?” Maya asked.

“It means once those three days are up, legally, DL-6 never happened. The case’ll be closed forever.”

“Did you at least get something out of Hammond?” Mr. Shields asked.

“No… he didn’t tell me anything. Not before…” He cut himself off, gritting his teeth.

What he did say didn’t even make sense. All this talk of revenge and suffering. You’d think he was the suspect or something.

“Oh, wait, what about the suspect?” Maya asked, his remark reminding her. “The one who got off innocent?”

“He will remain innocent,” Mr. Edgeworth replied. “Not that anyone knows where he is… or even if he’s still alive. He disappeared from public view soon after the trial.”

It would have been hard for him to live a normal life after being a suspect in such a big case.

I guess so. It was staggering to Maya the chain of events this one event had set off; how many lives were tangled up in its web.

Mr. Edgeworth sighed, glaring pointedly at the bottom corner of the glass that separated them. “It pains me to ask this now…”

Maya bounced in her stool. “Are you finally gonna let us defend you?!”

“…yes. Will you?”

“As much as I don’t like this path you’re on, I’d be letting your old man down if I just turned my back on you.” Mr. Shields smiled - a genuine one - and bowed. “I’d be honored to defend you.”

They got the paperwork sorted out and were just ready to leave when the ground started shaking beneath their feet. Maya shrieked in alarm and leapt from the stool to press herself against the wall as the tremors nearly toppled it from underneath her. As it fell over, the earthquake continued to bounce it against the ground, filling the room with loud, metallic rattling.

It raged for only a few seconds before dying down and fading away entirely - hopefully leaving no damage in its wake.

“Are you alright, Maya?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said after catching her breath. “Whew, that was scary!”

Is Miles okay? Nick asked, worry spiking in his tone.

“Yeah, he’s -“ She stopped short when she actually looked over and the prosecutor was nowhere in sight. The guard, however, was crouched down near the window. Inching forward yielded the answer. “He’s on the floor in a ball, shivering…” The sight wrenched at her heart.

“There was an earthquake that day too,” Mr. Shields noted, shaking his head. “Poor kid.”

Miles…

“The guards should be able to take care of him. Come on, Maya, we’ve got a letter of request to deliver.”

But - Nick started to protest.

Nick, he’s right. The only thing we can do for him right now is give Detective Gumshoe the letter.

They didn’t speak much more of the earthquake on the way to the precinct. Nick admitted he hadn’t known Mr. Edgeworth would respond in that manner - there hadn’t been any quakes in the time they’d been living together. What he had been, with everything that’d happened, was scared that the prosecutor was going to have a break down from the weight of it all.

Apparently he’d held it all together pretty well until the ground decided he wasn’t shaken up enough.

Soon they reached the police department, where they waited a couple minutes for someone to fetch the detective for them. The expression on his face when he greeted them was not reassuring.

“We just finished up the strategy meeting, for better or worse, and then this wild lady comes barging in!” he said, explaining his demeanor. “Says she had to come see us after talking to ‘those two attorneys in the park’.”

“She thinks I’m an attorney too?”

“Why are you going around finding more witnesses!? You want to give Mr. Edgeworth the death sentence, pal?!”

“In our defense, she seemed really excited about testifying,” Mr. Shields pointed out. “I don't think she would’ve listened even if we told her not to.”

“Besides, how much did she really witness?” Maya said, recalling Nick’s earlier insistence.

“She said she saw Mr. Edgeworth fire the pistol. Even had a photograph to prove it.”

“Yeah, we saw that picture too.” Mr. Shields shield patted his pocket where he was storing that particular piece of evidence. "It's not very good.”

“That's why she said she's going to enlarge the photo.” His shoulders hunched in defeat. “She said 'it'll drop the quality a mite, but should let us see who's who!’”

“She… she can do that?”

No, that’s great! Nick exclaimed. It’ll show that Hammond was the one with the gun!

If you say so…

“In any case,” the detective continued, “she’s going to be the one testifying tomorrow.”

“Really? What about your witness who ‘saw everything’?” Mr. Shields asked.

“Well…” He scratched at the back of his neck. “Apparently there was a cancellation.”

“Weird. Anyway, that’s not why we’re here.” Reaching into his other coat pocket, Mr. Shields produced the letter of request from Mr. Edgeworth, handing it over.

“Oh good, I don’t have to fill out those papers now. Actually, I’ve got something for you guys, too.”

Mr. Shields accepted it. “A copy of the autopsy report? Aw, Detective, you shouldn’t have.” They scanned it over. Besides a picture of Robert Hammond (vaguely familiar to Maya from the one time they’d met several years ago), the information wasn’t exactly new. Though, it would still be useful for the trial. 

“Um, Detective. What ‘papers’ were you talking about?”

“Oh, just the forms for a public attorney. But now that you guys are on the case, I can start drawing up papers for you instead!”

“P-public attorney?” Maya sputtered. “Were you really that worried?”

Detective Gumshoe sighed. “It’s been rough for Mr. Edgeworth. Speaking of which, did you guys feel that earthquake a little while back? I was worried.”

“Aw, don’t be worried. We’re fine!”

“That’s great and all, pal, but I was more worried about Mr. Edgeworth.”

“Oh…” Maya frowned, “yeah, he didn’t handle it too well…”

“I thought so,” he sniffed. “I'm going to go check on him. You two go eat and get your rest for tomorrow's trial. Later!”

“Bye, Detective!” 

“See ya.”

They waved him off. With their options for the day all but dried up, all they could do was wait for tomorrow’s trial.

 


 

“Nick.”

Maya watched the firebird start his 50th lap around the living room - or was it 40th? She’d honestly lost count - casually munching away on a bag of chips. At first it was kind of amusing, but now it’d been going on far too long. And how was he not dizzy?!

“Nick! Stop flying in circles, you’re gonna make me anxious!”

“Sorry.” Curving around, he swooped down to the couch and landed, still fidgeting. “I just keep thinking about Miles… alone in the cell. I mean, what’s he thinking? Is he scared? Is he worried? How’s he faring after that earthquake?”

“Oh come here, you mother hen.” Reaching over, she grabbed the symbiont and hugged him close to her chest. He squirmed a bit at first, but eventually relinquished himself to her hold. Maya placed her chin atop his head. “I know you’re worried, but he’s going to be fine. We’ll get him out of there.”

“But what if he’s not fine now?” Nick sighed. “Oh, maybe I should’ve just stayed - ”

Nick…” She squeezed him a little tighter, cutting him off before the whirlpool of worry spiraled any deeper. “I’m sure you would’ve made a great distraction, but I think you were better off helping us with the investigation. You’re the only other person who knows what happened, after all.”

“You could’ve just as easily gotten that information from Miles…” he muttered.

“Could we?”

He actually thought it over. “No… probably not.” He groaned in frustration. “Ugh, why does he have to be so difficult? He wouldn’t even tell Gumshoe what happened!”

“Really? Wow, no wonder he looked so stressed out.” She’d just assumed the detective had been sworn to silence by his superiors. “Good thing we had you, huh?”

“Yeah, maybe. Still wish I was with him now.”

“Sorry Nick, but I don’t think we could’ve smuggled you back into prison.”

“I know…”

Okay, this was getting ridiculous now. “You’re allowed to worry, I think we all are, but you sound like you’re pining over some long distance lover.” She moved one of her arms so she could poke his feathery face. “Do we need to give you two some alone time in the lobby tomorrow?”

He reacted a bit more strongly than she would have expected from just a bit of light teasing, breaking free of her hold to glare indignantly from the coffee table.

“I am not pining!” he protested, fluffed up to his full potential. “I’m just… I…”

Now, Maya was still pretty new to this empathy link business. Her sister had explained it in the past, something about the mental aspect of the bond, but she and Nick were on pretty similar wavelengths most of the time so it was hard to discern what she was picking up from him (unless he was exasperated, but his tone usually gave that away), if anything.

Just now, her remark had set off some pretty intense emotions, and she was reading them loud and clear.

After sitting in stunned silence for a moment, she let out a loud, dramatic gasp, startling Nick in the process.

“You like him!”

“W-what?! No I don’t!” He was curling in on himself, actively avoiding her eye.

“Yes you do! Oh wow, I was just teasing before, but you’re actually pining over him.”

“You dropped your chips.”

Maya looked down. At some point in their struggle the chips had gone from the couch to the floor, spilling out onto the carpet.

“I’ll clean it up later. And don’t try to change the subject!”

“I’m just… concerned. Can’t a guy be concerned over his friend?” Even he didn’t sound particularly convinced by his own argument.

“Oh, you’re allowed to be concerned. You’re also allowed to have a crush on him.” She tapped him on the beak, grinning. “He’s a good looking guy, Nick, I’m not judging you.”

“You probably should be…” he mumbled, just loud enough to hear.

“Huh? Why?”

Head tilted down, he sighed. “Maya, I’ve never mentioned it, but I had a bit of a crush on your sister at first.”

She snorted. “Well, duh. That was hardly a secret.”

Nick stepped back in surprise. “You knew? Wait, did she know?!”

“Empathy link,” Maya pointed out, giggling at the look of dread on his face. “For the record, she thought it was adorable.” 

“Great…” He’d resorted to hiding his face under his wing.

“I don’t get what’s the big deal; Beautiful mystery woman appears from nowhere, sweeps you off your claws and whisks you away to safety. I’d swoon a little too if something like that happened to me.”

His face emerged only to glare at her. “Please refrain from making my life sound like a fairytale.”

“Nick, how is your life not a fairytale?”

He searched for a counter argument for a minute then, finding none, continued. “A-anyway. My point was, what do Mia and Miles have in common?”

“…they’re lawyers? The letter ‘M’?” she said, tapping her chin thoughtfully.

“I was bonded to them! Those feelings don’t mean much, not when it’s just because I’m like this.”

Maya frowned. It seemed pretty genuine to her. “But you don’t have a crush on me… do you?”

“Well, no, but… I dunno. Maybe you’re too young.”

“I’m 17.”

“Like I said; Young.”

She bit her tongue. That wasn’t the thing that needed arguing right now. “Nick. Buddy. It’s not the curse.”

“But Mia…”

“…Sis and Mr. Edgeworth are both ridiculously attractive people. Hell, I’d have a crush on him if he wasn’t so old and stuffy.”

“…he’s 24.”

“Like I said; Old. And you didn’t deny the stuffy part.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “It’s 2016 and he wears a cravat regularly, of course he’s stuffy.”

She crossed her arms. “I still say it’s got nothing to do with your curse.”

The warmth she’d felt from his feelings (and his embarrassment) was cooling into something bitter. “It’s… whatever. We’re leaving anyway. I got over my crush on Mia. After I’ve been up there a while, this’ll pass too.” Stretching down, he snapped up the now mostly empty chip bag and flew away to dispose of it.

Well, that was the end of that discussion. Maya scooped a few of the larger chips off the floor so as not the step on them, watching him retreat. Poor Nick…

She finished cleaning up the crumbs before deciding to seek him out. Naturally he hadn’t gotten far, poking about in Mia’s study. She peeked in, hesitating over what she should say.

He beat her to it. “I’m not mad at you. Just… emotional? I guess.”

Maya smiled softly, stepping fully into the room. “You’ve had a rough couple of days, huh? I was just sitting around, excited to spend Christmas with you two.”

“You know, Miles never got a chance to open your present.”

“He better not have, I told him to wait!” she roared, causing Nick to finally, finally laugh. “Guess we better hurry up and prove his innocence so he can see what it is.”

Nick beamed back at her. “I guess so.”

Notes:

My text document has hit the 200 page mark - not counting stuff written for future chapters. This is practically a book.

Chapter 14

Notes:

People keep drawing fanart and I am blown away each and every time! This time we have:

kohlegeschmier with a beautiful scene from Chpt 11 https://s15.directupload.net/images/181125/l2peaqxv.jpg

whatblackpigeon with an absolutely adorable Phoenix (+ Miles) https://whatblackpigeon.tumblr.com/post/180580943928/symbiosis-from-dei-ryuu-is-a-really-great-work-i

and Bumblevi who drew a really sweet moment between the two here https://twitter.com/icecreamvi/status/1070467174895157248?s=21

Chapter Text

There was no getting around it. He was doomed.

Out of all of his colleagues at the prosecutor’s office, he’d never expected von Karma to be the one taking his case. He supposed it was only fitting - who better to take down the Demon Prosecutor than the man who taught him all his tricks?

Maya, poor naive Maya, had shown optimism at first - perhaps he was looking to help his protégé out, like Miles had done during the Will Powers trial. Mr. Shields had been the one to shoot down that particular flight of fancy.

And yet, he himself did not outwardly show any trepidation towards his appointed opponent.

“Should have worn my lucky coat,” was his only response when questioned on his feelings on the matter and suddenly the bailiff was summoning them into the courtroom.

Detective Gumshoe was the first witness summoned to the stand after a terse opening statement from von Karma. He looked even more awkward up there than he normally did, trying to catch Miles’ eye and looking away guiltily each time.

He laid out the scene as the police had come to understand it; he and Hammond were out on the middle of the lake late Christmas Eve. Around 12:10 AM, the witness (who was camping by the lake’s shore for reasons he could not fathom) heard the two gunshots, then the boat began to leave, where it would eventually be found back at the rental shop.

The murder weapon was presented after Gumshoe had, reluctantly, gone over the details of his arrest (and a few presses from Mr. Shields), at which point his mentor had taken reign of the trial away from the judge, as he often did, asserting his position. From an outside perspective, it was all fairly decisive - the bullets found in the body matched the ballistic markings of the pistol, which the police had discovered alongside him. The judge seemed to agree as well, though Mr. Shields had that curious smirk on his face the whole time.

“I have a quick question for the witness,” he said, once von Karma was done with his spiel. “Were the defendant’s fingerprints found on the weapon?”

Gumshoe thought it over. “Well, no, pal, now that you mention it…”

An objection came from the prosecution’s side, as well as a glare. Gumshoe probably been instructed not to mention that. “The lack of fingerprints means nothing. Perhaps he was wearing gloves at the time, or wiped the weapon of his prints,” von Karma expertly countered.

“Hey Detective, was the defendant wearing gloves when he was arrested?”

“No, sir. Actually, I just remembered, we did find his prints, but they were only on the oars.”

Von Karma made a loud noise by hitting the bench. Gumshoe definitely wasn’t intended to mention that. “This still fails to disprove the fact that he could have wiped the prints.”

“Very true, Prosecutor, but you’re missing something yourself; why bother when he could’ve just disposed of the gun? Specially if those oars were just gonna prove he was on the boat anyway. There was a nice, big lake - seems like the perfect place for a pistol to get lost in.”

“Obviously the defendant wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“If he wasn’t thinking clearly, then there should be prints on the gun!”

“Order! Order!” the judge called, banging his gavel. “The defense does raise a good point.” Von Karma shot him one of his more vicious glares, causing His Honor to cower slightly. “H-however… there is still the manner of the witness.”

Von Karma grunted, crossing his arms. “Very well. I am somewhat fatigued, and so I will take a brief break. I will call my witness after the recess. Which will last ten minutes. Judge!”

Taking over the trial, he more or less ordered the judge to dismiss court for a ten minute recess, during which Miles reconvened with Maya and Mr. Shields.

“Well, looks like we won’t be arguing that you weren’t on that boat.”

Miles shook his head. It hadn’t even crossed his mind that his prints would have been on the oars after rowing back, not that there was much that could have been done about that. “Von Karma was correct in saying I wasn’t thinking clearly that night.”

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up! Who would be thinking straight after that?” Maya reassured him.

“…I can think of someone,” he said, looking at her pointedly, or, rather, at the firebird concealed somewhere on her person. The very someone who’d prevented his prints from getting on the gun in the first place.

“Oh yeah!” Maya said after a significant pause. “Lotta’s supposed to have that enhanced photo, so it probably would have shown you anyway. But it should show that Hammond was the one holding the gun too!”

“If it does, then there’s no way von Karma would allow her to present it.”

Mr. Shields grinned. “Guess I’ll just have to drag it out of her then.”

When court reconvened, Miles was finally introduced to the supposed witness who’d taken the photograph - an odd young woman who seemed more interested in mugging at the gallery than her introduction. Von Karma put a stop to that fairly quickly.

After telling her brief story of hearing the gunshots and seeing him and Robert Hammond out on the water, Hart was actually allowed to present her enhanced photo of the crime. It was… certainly enhanced. Enough that one could tell it was two people in coats, one holding a gun, and not much else. Still, the judge seemed to find it decisive enough, ready to call the verdict then and there.

Mr. Shields quickly swooped in, demanding his right to cross-examine. While von Karma argued it was unnecessary due to overwhelming photographic proof, the defense attorney pointed out there was still a contradiction with their earlier fingerprint debacle. He was allowed his cross-examination, though not without the threat of being held in contempt should it prove fruitless.

He pressed her a few times, being intercepted by von Karma at each turn for ‘trivial prattle’. Miles knew this tactic well, von Karma wasn’t going to let Mr. Shields get a word in edgewise. He was clearly dealing with a less than stellar witness.

And yet, Mr. Shields did not let this discourage him. He continued to poke at Hart’s testimony, expressing his doubt in her claims, and when von Karma tried to step in, Hart was just a little bit faster.

“Now hold on just a minute!” she snapped, fuming. “What’s your problem, huh? I saw him, clear as day! It was Edgeworth!”

And… there it was. Mr. Shields leaned back, chuckling to himself. Hart claimed she’d seen him quite clearly. That, despite the fog, she’d been able to easily identify a man she’d never seen before. Von Karma protested it, of course, but Mr. Shield’s had secured another testimony from the witness.

The second was even worse than the first. Miles tried not to groan as the woman prattled on about cameras and binoculars and meteor showers - none of which seemed to hold any logical connection to each other. This too was broken down and her lie eventually revealed. Though Hart claimed to have been photographing meteor showers, her true motive, and the entire reason that photograph had been taken, was a fool’s errand looking for that lake monster.

Miles could almost laugh at the absurdity of it all.

The judge was just about to grant another cross-examination when - 

“OBJECTION!” All eyes were on von Karma as the man crossed his arms pensively. “The witness's testimony is unchanged from before! Whether she is a research student or a photographer has no bearing on this case! There is no need to waste more of our time with another pointless cross-examination!”

“What’s the hurry, Prosecutor von Karma? You got a date?” he smirked, then put his hands in his pockets. “Fine. Maybe I don’t need to cross-examine her, but I do need to ask one question first.”

“Erm…” the judge glanced between the two attorneys, but curiosity won him over. “What question is that?”

“Why, Your Honor, was the witness looking at the boat?”

He scratched his beard. “Well, because she heard the gunshot, right?”

“Which we know now, but at the time, she was looking for a lake monster. A lake monster that, might I remind the court, that was believed to make a loud noise before it appeared. I don’t think Ms. Hart was watching the boat at all.”

“Well…” Hart made a nervous gesture with her hands. “Now that y'all mention it... I did sort of take my binoculars and kind of scan the lake a bit... I mean, Gourdy might be out there, n' all…”

The judge stammered in surprise. “Ms. Hart! Are you saying you were not watching the boat, then?”

“... S-sorry, y'all. I wasn't fibbing, really. I was, just... I thought y'know, I could be witness to a murder n' all! I kinda got excited. I was sure I was watching that boat... till now.” She looked abashed for all the hoops she’d just made the court leap through, though Miles didn’t feel particularly sympathetic given how earnestly she’d just accused him.

Hart was excused from the witness stand, the judge shaking his head as she left. “I’m… not entirely sure where this leaves us.”

“You still have the photograph,” von Karma said. “Even if the witness was delusional, she at least managed to provide us that.”

“You mean that photograph that, alongside the investigation’s findings, doesn’t prove my client ever held that gun?” Mr. Shields questioned. “Maybe it’s the victim in the photo. Maybe he shot himself.”

The judge looked to him in surprise. “Are you suggesting the victim committed suicide?”

“It’s a possibility,” Mr. Shields shrugged.

“Objection! I’m so very, very sorry, Mr. Shields, but suicide is out of the question.”

“Oh is it now?” he countered looking mildly amused, though even he could not mask his surprise. Maya, who was quietly offering her support as co-counsel, let out a loud ‘What?!’, then immediately regretted the outburst as attention was suddenly on her.

“You see, I had already considered the possibility of suicide, so I had the victim’s wound examined. It revealed that he was shot from a distance further than a meter away! I had the autopsy report updated to reflect this.” The prosecutor then presented said report, having the judge evaluate its data.

Mr. Shields narrowed his eyes. “Still at your old tricks, eh, von Karma?” 

He was not dignified with a response.

The judge finished his review. “Well, it feels like we’ve learned a lot during this trial, and yet nothing at all at the same time. Therefore, I’m suspending proceedings until tomorrow. In the meantime, I want the defense and prosecution to further investigate this mater. Understood?”

Mr. Shields removed his hat, giving the judge a graceful bow while von Karma chose to remain silent. With another strike of his gavel, court was adjourned.

 


 

“Well, there goes our suicide theory,” Maya announced, falling onto the lobby couch with a heavy flop. After a second or so she bolted upright. “You don’t think von Karma’s lying about the autopsy report, do you?”

“With the stuff he’s pulled before, I wouldn’t put it past him,” Mr. Shields answered, grimacing. “But unless we find proof that he did, let’s just assume it’s right for now.”

Normally, Miles would rush to his mentor’s defense - yes, he was aware his methods may be underhanded at times, but they always remained within the realms of legality! However, he was feeling a bit less supportive of the senior prosecutor at the moment.

“So, now what?”

“Keep looking,” Mr. Shields simply responded. “Maybe track down that other witness.”

“Right! Uh…” Maya paused. “Hey, um, do you mind if I talked to Mr. Edgeworth alone for a bit?”

He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment any further than a shrug. “Alright you kids. Uncle Ray’s gonna track down someone who can get a transcript of Lotta’s testimony. I have a feeling there’s a clue in there somewhere…”

Mr. Shields was only out of the room for a second and the next moment Phoenix was settling on his shoulder.

“Miss me?” he asked, a grin in his eyes as he gently nudged Miles with his wing.

He took to examining a painting on the wall, feigning disinterest. “The inside of my head has been significantly quieter lately. I can actually hear my own thoughts.”

“You missed me,” Phoenix decided, and yes, Miles had missed his silly companion. “How are you holding up?”

If he was being honest, he wasn’t sure. The trial itself was a wonder to behold, his mentor dominating in court as always (and Mr. Shields actually being able to keep up with and deflect his arguments, no less!), but having that ruthless ambition turned against him left his stomach churning.

“… I’ll survive,” he eventually said. Phoenix nodded in understanding, opting not to push the matter. He gave Miles’ bangs an affectionate nip before flying over and resettling on Maya’s shoulder. “I do have to thank you, from preventing me from touching the murder weapon. I suppose it would have been… problematic had my fingerprints been on it.”

“Well…” he looked a little bashful. “Maybe we would’ve lucked out somehow. Maybe your prints wouldn’t have matched up with how the gun was held in the photo.”

“Phoenix, don’t downplay your contributions. I’m sure you’ve been a valuable asset to the investigation.”

“Super valuable!” Maya chimed in. “He’s been really helpful, a lot more than you have, by the way.” She puffed out her cheeks, frowning at him.

Miles pinched at his sleeve, wincing at the truth in her words. “I… apologize. Much of this is difficult for me to discuss.”

“Apology accepted!” Maya said, giving him a surprisingly hard pat on the shoulder. “Just as long as there’s nothing else you aren’t telling us.”

“Nothing that is relevant to the case,” he assured her. “I’m afraid I’m just as in the dark as you now.”

“We’d better get back to investigating, then,” Phoenix said. He met Miles’ eye for a long, meaningful stare (though what that meaning was, he couldn’t be sure), then was gone as swiftly as he appeared. Maya waited around, chatting aimlessly about their escapades yesterday (and complaining about Phoenix’s general sass now that he couldn’t verbally defend himself) until Mr. Shields returned.

As Miles left with the bailiff, he reflected on the morning’s events. Today’s trial was a bit of a fiasco, casting so much doubt on the facts of the case that not even Miles was sure what had happened that night. Plus, now denied the swift victory he’d likely hoped for, von Karma was only going to double-down on his tactics tomorrow in retaliation. 

Miles looked back at the people he was leaving his fate to. He hoped they were up to the challenge.

 


 

First stop of the day for the defense team was the park, for whatever clues they could dig up. A few cops were hanging about the entrance, though not nearly as many as yesterday.

Also near the gate was a familiar face with an equally familiar hairstyle.

“Ah, our favorite witness,” Mr. Shield said in that slightly mocking tone of his.

Lotta frowned, shoulders slouched. “Y’all don’t hafta rub it in. I did some reflectin’ after the trial. To be honest, I was doin' it half just to say I'd been a witness... Even though I didn't really see anything. I kinda convinced myself I had though…”

“Well,” Maya said thoughtfully, “memory is a tricky, vague little thing.”

“Sure is! So, I been thinkin’, and I want to make it up to y’all. For causing so much trouble.”

“How so?” Mr. Shields asked.

“Well, ya see… I got a bit of information for you… Sumtin’ that von Karma didn’t want me saying nothin’ about!”

“What? What is it?!” Maya asked excitedly, scooting a little closer to the university student.

“Now hold your horses,” she said, giving Maya a light pat on the shoulder. “I reckoned we might be able to do ourselves a little ‘exchange’.”

Mr. Shields sighed, adjusting his hat. “There’s always a catch, isn’t there? Alright Lotta, tell old Uncle Ray what kind of ‘exchange’ we’re talking. I don’t suppose I hug would suffice?”

She recoiled at the offer. “What? You think southern girls are easy enough to fall for something like that? No! What I want is information! Information on Gourdy.”

Maya shared a brief look with Mr. Shields. Even Nick expressed his shock at her terms.

“Oh, sure! Let me just call him up on the cryptid hotline.” Mr. Shields went as far as to actually drag his cell phone from his pocket and put it up to his ear.

“Mock me all you like, but y’all don’t get your scoop ‘till I get proof. Even if it’s proof that he don’t exist.

“Okay! Let’s get hunting, then!” Maya announced, pumping her fist in the air.

Eh?! But what about Miles?!

We’re searching for Gourdy for him, Nick.

Mr. Shields sighed. “Any leads better than nothing, I guess.”

“I’ll be waitin’ in my car, stop by if you find anything.”

Since Gourdy’s habitat and the crime scene were one and the same, it wasn’t too big an inconvenience to tack monster hunting onto the to-do list. They started their investigation at the beach area, where something was new at the hotdog stand yet again.

“Is that a…?”

“Th-the Steel Samurai!” Maya gasped.

“I was gonna say ‘a giant weeble’ but that probably makes more sense.”

Do… do I even want to know?

“Yo, Maya! You’re back!”

Nevermind, I definitely don’t want to know.

Larry grinned, leaning across his stand as the two approached him. He’d retired the Santa suit, likely because it was no longer Christmas, though a new distraction had appeared in the form of a giant inflatable Steel Samurai, fronted by a row of international flags strung between two trees.

“You know, as much as I love the Steel Samurai, this just isn’t doing it for me.”

“You like it?” he asked, the last part of her sentence evidently not registering at all, “It was my girl Kiyance's idea... She was all 'if you like, put this here, it would be, like, really cool!’ Dude, she gave it to me along with the banner!”

“Inspired,” Mr. Shields said.

“Yeah, plus since the show’s done and all, she can get this stuff for free. Connections and all.”

“Interesting,” Maya said, scanning it up and down as her mind tried to settle on exactly what rubbed her wrong about the display, until a large device hooked up to the inflatable caught her eye. “What’s this thing?”

Larry poked his head out to see what she was looking at. “That? That’s just the compressor. I use it to fill up the balloon.”

“Huh. Neat!”

Don’t touch it, Nick warned.

“I wasn’t going to…” she mumbled, though her twitchy fingers said otherwise.

“Just got it repaired yesterday, too. Man, that was a drag!”

“That why it wasn’t up yesterday?” Mr. Shields asked. “What happened?”

Larry waved his hands dramatically. “I-it was busted, that’s all. Nothing interesting. By the way, what happened with Edgey?”

“We bought him another day at least, though I’ve got no clue how tomorrow’s going to go.”

“Ah, that sucks, dude. Wish I could do something to help.”

“If you’ve got any info on Gourdy, that would help,” Maya said.

“Nope, can’t say that I do. Other than the fact he’s been great for business!” he replied cheerfully. “You guys sure you don’t want any Samurai Dogs?”

After bidding Larry goodbye, they made rounds of the lake again, unfortunately finding nothing new of note. The boathouse was as abandoned as ever and checking around the campsite only got them pestered by Lotta on their progress.

Eventually they decided to go to Detective Gumshoe. Their only other lead so far was the original witness mentioned before Lotta got involved. If they prodded enough, he might just let the information slip.

Detective Gumshoe only shook his head when they asked. “Sorry, pals, it’s confidential.” 

“Oh come on!” Maya whined. “Don’t you want to help Mr. Edgeworth?”

“Of course I do! It’s just…” Nervously, he glanced over to where the chief detective was seated. “Look, I’ll help you out with anything else I can.”

“Oh! Can you help us with Gourdy?”

The detective scratched at his head, confused. “The, uh, the lake monster?”

“Yeah, we’re looking for him.”

“What!?” Detective Gumshoe shouted, startling Maya. “Why are you out on a wild monster chase at a time like this?”

“We made a deal with a certain southern belle,” Mr. Shield explained. “In exchange for the truth about our friend in the lake, she’s got some information old von Karma doesn’t want to her spilling.”

He nodded his head. “I see… Sorry for shouting at you, pal. Okay! I, Detective Gumshoe, will aid in your search for Gourdy!”

“Great!” Maya clapped her hands together, then paused. “Uh… how?”

“I’ll loan you one of our newest secret weapons for finding evidence.” Gesturing them to follow, he led them over to what was presumably his workspace - a messy desk littered with papers and a few empty instant noodle cups.

“Alright,” Maya said, rubbing her hands together, “Give us the goods!”

“Hold on, pal. You don’t even know what they are yet!”

He proceeded to introduce these ‘secret weapons’ one by one; a little Shiba Inu by the name of Missile training to be a police dog, a fishing pole that looked like it’d seen far better days, and finally a metal detector. While Maya was cooing over Missile, Mr. Shields made an executive decision and soon they were leaving the precinct with the metal detector in tow.

 


 

“I’m still not sure what we’re looking for,” Maya mumbled as they walked the perimeter of the lake, making their way back over to the boat rental shop. The chances of the metal detector helping them with the hunt for Gourdy seemed slim, but maybe it could dig up some clues related to the case. In any event, it seemed more useful than the fishing pole, and less cumbersome to tote around than Missile.

They jumped when the detector, currently slung over Mr. Shields’ shoulder, suddenly started to beep.

“Looks like we’re about to find out,” the attorney replied, sweeping the device around to see where the sound was at its loudest. It settled on a group of bushes just before the border of the woods. “Hey Maya, you mind checking that out for your old Uncle Ray?”

“Why do I have to?” she murmured, already in motion. She waded into the foliage and would’ve stubbed her toe on the source of the beeping had she not peeled back the branches in time. “Whoa! Mr. Shields, look!”

He stepped up, leaning over her shoulder. “An air tank? Hmm… looks busted. The owner must have ditched it.”

“Aww, I thought it was Gourdy…” she said sadly.

Maya, there’s so many things wrong with the statement, I don’t know where to begin.

Mr. Shields at least found her comment a little more amusing, laughing as he dragged it out into the open. “Good guess, kid.” Now laying on the shore, they could see that the tank itself was actually tangled up in a string of small flags, each belonging to a different country. Mr. Shields set about separating the two items.

“Are we taking it with us?” Maya asked, curious.

“The tank’s a bit too heavy for that, but I think I have a use for these,” he said, waving the now freed string of flags.

“Huh? Really?”

Mr. Shields switched the instrument off, its job now done, and slung it over his shoulders. “How about we pay that hotdog vendor another visit?”

Said hotdog vendor didn’t seem too fazed by their return, not even when Mr. Shields began leaning on the corner of the stand, causing the old wood to creak under his weight.

“So, we meet again.” He put the metal detector down, leaning it against the sign.

“What’s up, dude? You change your mind?”

“Not quite.” He retrieved the flags, holding them at length so Larry could get a good look. “These look familiar? They were wrapped around a broken air tank.”

Larry’s eye visibly twitched. “Nope! Never seen them before in my life.”

“Really? Pretty sure you’ve got a matching set right up there.”

His gaze followed the finger Mr. Shields had pointed upwards, where his own set of flags fluttered innocently in the slight breeze. “M-must be a coincidence! There's strings of flags everywhere these days! L-like elementary schools! A-and used car dealerships!” He paused, realizing he was on a tangent. “B-besides! You said they were on a tank. Why would I need a tank?”

“Hmm, I don’t know.” Mr. Shields rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I doubt you were scuba diving, so it was probably to inflate something. You see anything around that might need inflating, Maya?”

She looked around in earnest before finding the solution. “Oh! Oh! It’s that Steel Samurai, isn’t it?”

“Excellent deduction, Maya! Any more objections, Mr. Butz?”

Pressed into a corner, Larry was forced to explain himself. After his compressor broke half a week ago, he tried using that air tank to fill the large balloon. Unfortunately, the air tank, unbeknownst to him, was also broken, the valve bursting with a loud noise and launching itself and the Steel Samurai straight into the lake like a rocket.

“I finally got it back the night before last,” he explained. “Took me four whole days to find it!”

“So you were…” Mr. Shields began.

“Yeah, I was here the night of the murder. Sorry I didn’t tell you guys, but I was gone before midnight.”

“Then, you really don’t know anything?” Maya said, disappointed.

“Nope.”

“Oh well.” Mr. Shields shoved his hands in his pockets. “Least we solved one of our problems.”

“… we did?”

He gave her a mysterious smirk. “You’ll see.”

 


 

Lotta was not entirely pleased to hear that her lake monster was actually a giant deflated balloon, but the signs matched up - the loud bang from the air tank bursting, the silhouette of the Steel Samurai descending into the lake, and the date of the incident.

“Well, a deal’s a deal,” she said, sighing in defeat. “That witness for tomorrow is the caretaker of the boat rental place up the path here.”

“Eh?! I thought that place was deserted!”

It certainly seemed that way, Nick agreed.

“Nah, there’s an old guy up there, living my himself. Y’all should go check it out.”

“We will,” Maya said, nodding. “Thank’s Lotta!”

Before they could turn to leave however, Lotta was calling them back. “Hold on.”

“You got another lead for us?”

“Sorta… The night of the murder, my camera clicked twice, you know.”

“Wait… So you have another photo?!”

“Oh yeah, I remember that,” Mr. Shields said. “Wasn't there nothing in it?”

“Yeah. I figured it wouldn’t be helpful, so I didn’t show the police but…” She fished out the photo from her pocket, handing it over. “Here, take it.”

They reviewed the photograph again, but, just as yesterday, it only featured the lake and fog. Mr. Shields tucked it away.

“Take care, y’all. I gotta pack up n’ leave. Kinda hard to be an investigative photographer if ya got nothing to investigate.”

“Bye, Lotta!” Maya said, waving goodbye as they left to clean up her campsite in peace. “I feel kind of bad for her…”

Well, when something smells, it’s usually the Butz.

Maya almost stopped dead in her tracks. That certainly came straight out of left field. 

What?

Nick backtracked. Oh! It… uh… it was something he mentioned when he was Mia’s client. Things tend to go wrong when he’s around, so people came up with that saying.

Maya scrunched up her nose. Weird. Maybe someone needs to whip that Butz into shape, then.

Nick laughed. Mia almost did. There were a couple of time I thought she was literally going to slap some sense into him.

That bad, huh? Mia was generally a fairly composed person, so it usually took a special kind of person to aggravate her. Though Larry did seem the type from their brief interactions.

We’ll have to find a recording of that trial so you can see for yourself.

I don’t think I want to…Talking to him in a casual setting was already a test in patience, she didn’t need to see how he’d behave under the pressures of court.

Mr. Shields cleared his throat, calling her attention. “As amusing as that journey your facial expressions are going on is, we’re here.”

The rental shop still looked abandoned and knocking on the door yielded no results. However, when they tested the doorknob, they found it to be unlocked. Shrugging - it was for the investigation after all - they let themselves in.

“Meg! Is that you?!” Someone snapped the moment they crossed the threshold.

Alarmed, Maya shrieked and went to hide behind Mr. Shields, nearly banging her head on the metal detector he was still carrying, as an old man seemed to teleport into her peripheral vision.

“Hey, is that Keith with you?!” he said, leaning in to examine Mr. Shields. “Where have you two been! I've been worried sick.”

“Mr. Shields, what do we do?”

“For now, I think we play along, ‘Meg’.”

“Meg!” the old man called.

Maya snapped to attention at her new name. “Y-yes?”

“Finally made up your mind, have you?”

“M-my mind?” she stammered, side-eying Mr. Shields in vain hopes that he’d bail her out of this interaction.

“You'll run the pasta shop when I'm gone?”

Maya blinked. “P-pasta?” She looked around the small cabin. There was little to actually see (though that lockbox atop the television certainly caught her eye), but no signs of noodles anywhere.

“Glad to hear it, glad to hear it!” he continued. “You make your old man proud. When you kids left the house, I didn't know what to think. How'm I supposed to keep this place running, an old man like me? Polly! The kids are home!”

“Hello! Hello!” A voice squawked from somewhere, startling Maya again.

“W-what was that?!”

“A parrot.” Mr. Shields inclined his head towards the back of the room. Maya wasn’t sure how she’d overlooked looked it given how vivid its plumage was - perhaps because it was barely moving - but on a perch near the wall indeed sat a parrot.

“Oh, there is a parrot! A red parrot…” she observed.

Don’t even start, Nick snapped.

Maya pouted. Nick was no fun sometimes.

“There you go with the expressions again…” Mr. Shields said, shaking his head.

“Keith!” the caretaker bellowed, as if he was the one who’d been addressed.

“Yeah?” he answered in a lazy drawl.

"I leave the ‘Wet Noodle’ in your capable hands, sonny.”

“I thought you were leaving it to ‘Meg’.”

“Wh… what’s the ‘Wet Noodle’?” Maya asked.

“Probably this pasta shop,” he said, switching the bulky device over to his other hand.

“That’s a relief, isn’t it, Polly?” the old man said, making no indication he’d heard them. Polly squawked her affirmation.

“Y’know, I can’t help but feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before…” Mr. Shields commented, giving the strange man a once-over.

“Ayup…” was his only reply, head nodding as he swayed back and forth. Eventually, his lidded eyes closed the rest of the way and gentle snores began to slip past his lips.

“He fell asleep…” Maya said in disbelief. “Mr. Shields, do you actually know this guy?”

“Not personally, his face is just vaguely familiar for some reason.” The attorney scratched at his head. “Though for the life of me, I can’t place it.”

Actually, his voice is familiar to me, Nick said.

Wait, really Nick?

Yeah… see if you can get him talking again. I should be able to remember.

“Okay… so… uh, I like your bird!” The caretaker responded only with snores. “Um…about the boat rentals?” More snores. “Wet Noodle?… nothing’s working.”

Mr. Shields sighed. “I suppose it can’t be helped.” From the pocket of his dress shirt where he usually stored his notepad, he produced a small, golden badge - identical to the one Maya had seen pinned on the lapel of his sister’s jacket.

For the first time, the old man seemed alert. “That a lawyer’s badge?” he asked.

“Ah, so you recognize it old timer.” Satisfied, Mr. Shields put it away again.

“I get it now… You’re not Keith!” he accusingly, pointing a finger.

“He can be taught!”

“I’m not Meg, either!”

The man was silent, watching them both warily.

“We’re investigating a case from the other night. The murder on the lake.”

“A lawyer, huh… Alright, I’ll help. But, on one condition.”

“What is it?” Maya asked, eager.

“When this case is over and done... You'll run the ‘Wet Noodle’!”

Mr. Shields pondered it for a moment, before shrugging. “Alright. We promise."

“M-Mr. Shields!” Maya stammered. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, why not. Uncle Ray could use a change of pace.”

“Atta boy, Keith! You make your old man proud.”

He rolled his eyes. “…or he could just not remember in a week. As long as we get what we need.”

“If you say so…” It was a little dubious, but if they could learn something to help Mr. Edgeworth…

The old man chuckled. “You bring a tear to your old man's eye, you know. Now, what was that you wanted to know? Speak up, Polly!” The parrot squawked a greeting again.

“So the police say you were a witness that night,” he asked, ignoring the continued antics with the bird. “Mind telling us what you told them?”

“Well… since you’re taking over the shop and all… alright. I forget the time, but it was dark, so, probably night.”

“Probably,” Mr. Shields agreed.

“I heard this ‘bang’! So I looked outside, and then there was another one. Bang! I keep watching, trying to figure out what’s going on, when this boat comes back. A young man walked past my window, muttering something to himself.”

“What’d he say?” Maya asked.

“…Ayup… I forgot,” he answered, much to their dismay. “I’ll remember tomorrow by court time.”

Convenient, Nick griped.

You figure it out yet, Nick?

Ugh… I swear it’s someone we encountered recently. Keep asking him stuff, I’ll get it.

“Um….” she looked around the room for a new topic. “About Polly.”

“Old Polly here’s been keeping track of all my important information, since my memory’s gotten worse of late.”

“You don’t say,” Mr. Shields said in mock disbelief.

“Important, huh…” Maya’s eyes were instantly drawn back to that safe. Nick, probably sensing her devious intentions, made a noise of warning that was not heeded. “Polly! What’s the number to the safe?!”

“…1228!” she happily squawked in reply, causing Maya to cheer in delight over her cunning plan.

“H-hey! Polly! Watch it, will ya!” the old man admonished.

Mr. Shields gave her a look somewhere between impressed and concerned. “Uncle Ray’s not gonna have to defend you on theft charges, am I?”

“Not if I don’t get caught. Hey, hand me that notepad, I need to write those numbers down.”

He did not hand her the notepad. “Maybe we should go before you get yourself into trouble.”

“Wait! I had one more question to ask.” She turned away to address the back of the room. “Polly! Polly! Have we forgotten anything?”

She flapped her wings. “Don’t forget DL-6!”

A chill fell across the room.

Mr. Shields rounded on the old man. “Hey! What’s the meaning of this?!” he demanded, his goofy pretenses gone. If Maya wasn’t already reeling from Polly’s revelation, seeing him legitimately distraught would have done the job as well.

But the caretaker only nodded off again, snoring indifferently to the distress of his visitors.

“Damn…” Mr. Shields grumbled. “Come on, Maya. We’re done here.”

“Y-yeah…" she stammered, hesitating for a second to watch the sleeping old man before following him out.

“Why would the bird know about that…?” Mr. Shields said once they were back on the dock, mostly to himself.

DL-6, huh… wait… WAIT. Maya flinched at the sudden intensity of the voice in her head. Hammond! That old man is Robert Hammond!

“WHAT?!” Maya yelled, startling Mr. Shields.

Inside voice, Maya.

Sorry, but Hammond? He looks nothing like him. Plus he’s… y’know… alive.

I know, but… maybe he’s not really Hammond, but that’s definitely the guy who Miles met with that night. I know it.

Maya frowned, aware that she was being watched curiously now. Should we tell Mr. Shields?

Not yet… you’ll just have to explain how you figured that out. Ah, he had a point. We need to talk to Miles first.

 


 

When a trip to the detention center was suggested, Mr. Shields surprised them with a plan of his own.

“Actually, there’s something I need to get from the office. How about I meet you there?”

They agreed to part ways for the time being, much to Maya’s benefit, since she could openly discuss Nick without him around.

She had to wait a little while for Mr. Edgeworth to be brought out, but he arrived a few minutes later, looking mildly less stressed than he had that morning. Only mildly though.

“Let me guess, you’ve hit a roadblock in the investigation? And where is Mr. Shields?”

“He needed to pick something up,” Maya explained, rocking in her stool. “And… not exactly. We actually found tomorrow’s witness. It’s the old man who runs the boat rental shop. He’s the one who called the police, apparently.”

Mr. Edgeworth’s brows shot up. “Someone was actually in that abandoned looking building?”

“Maybe? That’s why we’re here. Nick thinks he was the one you met with that night, not Mr. Hammond.”

Not Hammond?” He brought a hand to his face, thinking it over.

“He’s like… really old. Mustache, goatee, fully grey - uh, no offense.”

He didn’t show any signs of acknowledging her slip. “I’ll admit that it was quite dark out, Ms. Fey. I didn’t get a good look at his face.”

“Ah…” she looked a little crestfallen. “So there’s no way to be sure then?"

“No, Phoenix is very good at recognizing voices. It’s his only manner of identifying most people. If he says that was the man on the boat… then I believe it.”

Miles… Nick sounded touched.

“This is quite concerning, however. Even if I never met with him, Hammond ended up murdered that night - that much is still true. Yet, the bullets fired from the boat were too far to do so…”

He has to be the murderer, though! The ballistic markings match the weapon! 

Maya passed this on and Mr. Edgeworth nodded.

“I concur, though the question is how… or perhaps why? Why go to such extremes?”

“Maybe he’s someone you got declared guilty come back for revenge,” Maya suggested.

Revenge… Nick murmured, but slipped into his own thoughts before Maya could hear where he was going with that line of thought.

“It’s… a possibility,” Mr. Edgeworth said, though his tone sounded skeptic. “A taste of my own medicine? I suppose that's a reason to drag Hammond and DL-6 into it.”

“Did somebody say ‘DL-6’?” Mr. Shields announced as he made his grand entrance, a binder in his hand. “I swung by the police station to give the good detective his metal detector back. Apparently they don’t know who that old man is either.”

“Metal detector?” Mr. Edgeworth asked.

“It’s a long story…” Maya explained.

“I did, however, grab this from the office.” He turned the binder so they both could see DL-6 printed neatly on the cover. “I managed to get a complete copy of the case file years ago. Thought maybe I could figure it out.” He shook his head. “Youthful optimism.”

“Mr. Shields?” the prosecutor questioned, gaping in surprise.

“You’re not the only person his death affected, you know,” he said. “Now, what were you kids discussing without me?”

“Oh! Ni… I mean, Mr. Edgeworth thinks the old man might’ve been the one on the boat with him, not Hammond.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“It’s a theory,” Mr. Edgeworth replied. “Though that does not reveal his identity… unless…” He paused, thoughts racing behind grey eyes slowly growing wider. “He couldn’t be Yogi, could he?

“Yogi?”

“Yanni Yogi. The suspect in that incident,” Mr. Shields said for her clarification. “He’s the only other person who’s connected to it.”

“But, why would he want revenge if he was found innocent?”

“Innocent on an insanity plea,” Mr. Shields clarified, opening up his binder and flipping forward a few pages. “His life went pretty downhill after the trial, up until he disappeared; Lost his job, fiancé committed suicide… huh, her name was Polly? Interesting…”

That’s too big of a coincidence. It has to be him!

“But…” Maya still had her concerns. “I still don’t get the revenge on Mr. Edgeworth! I mean, you were just a kid, right?” When she looked back, however, something had changed in his expression. “Mr. Edgeworth?”

“There was something that has been troubling me these past few days…”

“What?! I thought you said you told us everything!” Maya protested.

“Everything relevant to the case,” he stressed. “At the time, I didn’t believe it to be… now I’m not so sure.”

“Well, what is it?” She leaned in closer to the glass.

Mr. Edgeworth shook his head. “It still may be nothing, but… if this old man truly proves to be Yogi, then I’ll tell you.”

Maya frowned. Nick, do you know what he’s talking about?

Maybe… but, I think I’d rather hear it from him.

“Soooo, back to the boathouse, then?” she asked aloud. “Let’s get that old man to talk!”

“Whoa, I don’t know about you, but Uncle Ray’s not down to go confront a potential murderer. He’ll be in court tomorrow, let’s see if we can get it out of him then.”

Conceding that his was probably the better of the two plans, all they could do now was wait and plan their strategy. The pieces were finally falling into place - hopefully tomorrow would reveal the whole board.

Chapter 15

Notes:

Starting off with more fan art once again! (You all are spoiling me) whatblackpigeon here:https://whatblackpigeon.tumblr.com/post/180860964468/dont-have-much-time-drawing-so-just-a-sketch-for

and Vi here: https://twitter.com/icecreamvi/status/1072936099432022016

Chapter Text

Miles narrowed his eyes at the old man who wobbled onto the witness stand. He didn’t look familiar, but, again, it was dark and foggy that night. Even with the lantern light they’d briefly had, his face had been deeply cast in shadow. 

Still, if Phoenix was confident he recognized the voice, then they had indeed met that fateful night - and perhaps several years prior should his own theory prove correct.

He hoped it didn’t.

Furthering his fears was the old man’s lack of an introduction. Von Karma claimed he didn’t remember, but the senior prosecutor would never put a witness on stand without a thorough background check. He should be able to state exactly who this old man was, but was allowing his anonymity regardless. It was a tactic only to be pulled if the witness’s identity should prove… inconvenient for the prosecution, muddling what would otherwise be a straightforward trial.

This man had a connection to something, either Hammond, Miles himself, or both, and that last possibility is what scared him the most.

At some point the cross-examination had begun, but the trial had become nothing more than a hollow echo in his ear. It didn’t make sense for Yogi to crawl out of his hole after 15 years just to seek revenge against the testimony of a nine-year-old with memory loss. A testimony that had been thrown out no less.

Unless… there was something else he’d done back then.

A loud interjection from the defense’s side startled him and brought him back to the present.

“Prosecutor von Karma, I’m surprised at you,” Mr. Shields said. “I thought you were bringing us a decisive witness.”

“I beg your pardon!” the prosecutor snapped. “There is nothing wrong with this witness, everything in his testimony is true!”

“You sure? He saw ‘a man’. In that fog? Could’ve been anyone. Could’ve even been the victim. I mean, do we really know he was shot on that boat?”

“Objection!” Von Karma shouted. “The murder weapon was clearly found in the boat.”

“You mean the murder weapon that still doesn’t have any fingerprints on it? Noticed your witness didn’t have an answer for that either.”

Miles watched in surprise as said witness seemed to doze off right there at the stand, while the two lawyers continued their debate from yesterday on the significance of the lack of fingerprints, until the judge intervened.

“Order! Order! Witness, do you have anything else to add to this matter?”

He dozed for a second or two more before jolting awake. “Well, I don’t know much about weapons, and the fog was pretty darn thick last night, but he was right there in front of me. The defendant. He was sorta talking to himself… something about ‘calling someone’ and ‘not believing he was dead’.”

It felt like ice was running down his spine. He’d actually been talking to Phoenix at the time, but they had indeed said things along those lines upon disembarking. Whatever inkling of doubt he might’ve had left was now gone - the old man had definitely been there.

“Witness! Are you sure that the person you saw was Miles Edgeworth?!” von Karma demanded.

He nodded. “It was him! That Edgeworth boy!”

“That does sound like decisive evidence to me,” the judge said, starting to raise his gavel.

“Objection! We said the same thing about Ms. Hart’s testimony yesterday, and we all know how well that turned out.” Mr. Shields called out, hitting the desk.

The judge hesitated. “Do you really have a problem with this witness’s testimony?”

Mr. Shields leaned to his side, where Maya was whispering something to him, and nodded. “Well, nobody’s bothered to answer my earlier suggestion yet. Do we really know the victim was on that boat?”

“Oh what utter nonsense is this? Of course he was on the boat!” Von Karma was flexing his fingers impatiently. Both witnesses heard the gunshots coming from the boat, and we have photographic proof there were two people out on the lake!”

“Ah, thank you, Prosecutor von Karma, I knew there was something else bothering me. There was only one bullet in the victim right, but two gunshots? I mean, who misses from a meter away?”

“Bah! This is nothing but baseless conjecture! Judge! Dismiss the witness at once, we’re done here!”

“O-oh, yes, of course! The witness may leave the stand.”

Tottering like an old drunkard, the man wandered, half asleep, off the podium.

“Hey! I wasn’t done with the cross-examination!” Mr. Shields protested.

The judge shook his head. “I’m sorry, but the prosecution has a point. Unless you can provide evidence supporting your claim, I see no reason to further prolong the trial.” 

Mr. Shields gritted his teeth, a panicked Maya at his side. “Come on, Mr. Shields, there’s gotta be something!” she said, but he remained silent, glaring across the room at his opponent. Von Karma tsk’ed back at him, waggling a finger.

Miles sighed to himself. He really had been doomed the second his mentor had been assigned to prosecute. Why did he ever believe that a 40-year win streak would suddenly come to an end?

“I see. Then, the case has been made clear. This court finds the defendant - “

“Waaaaait!”

Miles, ready to submit to his fate, blinked and looked up at the loud interruption. An orange blur in the shape of a man quite literally leapt from the gallery, stumbling upon impact.

“W-what is the meaning of this?!” the judge demanded as stunned onlookers watched him catch his balance and then rush to the witness stand.

“Larry?!” Maya loudly exclaimed.

Wait… Larry?

Looking closer, he quickly associated the name and face to a rather troublesome boy from fourth grade who’d assigned himself the position of Miles’ ‘best friend’. He hadn’t seen him since then, but Larry was impossible to forget, just for all the wrong reasons.

“Listen! Y-you gotta listen to me!” He was hunched over the stand, tripping over his words. “I… I was... I was there, in the park, the night of the murder! I... I wasn't sure about it until just yesterday. B-but today I remembered it!”

His Honor, still processing the sudden turn of events, leaned towards this impromptu witness. “R-remembered what?”

“The gunshot!” he exclaimed. “I heard it too!”

And suddenly the courthouse was in an uproar. After taking a second to calm everyone down, the judge, despite protests from von Karma as they’d been seconds away from the verdict, let him speak.

It should have been too late for new witnesses, especially ones who revealed themselves in such a manner, but Miles didn’t expect anything less from Larry Butz, who immediately pleaded for his testimony to be heard.

No, what surprised him was the fact the judge was allowing it.

He adjourned, alongside his defense team, to the lobby for a brief recess so everyone could regroup after Larry’s bombshell.

“So, that was close,” Mr. Shields admitted once they were behind closed doors.

Close?! I thought we were done for!” Maya blurted out. “I tried calling my sis to help, but…” She touched the golden gem that hung from her neck, frowning. “No luck. I haven’t been training much lately.”

“Your… sister…” Mr. Shields echoed, assessing her. The nature of Maya’s family and their abilities must not have come up, nor her own connections to the events of the DL-6 case.

Connections that, honestly, were the beginning of his troubling thoughts. Because now he knew the spirit channeling probably wasn’t the fraud he’d convinced himself it was. Because Yanni Yogi might have a legitimate motive for revenge if that was truly him. Because his nightmare…

“Mr. Edgeworth?” Maya questioned, concern in her tone, causing him to realize he must have zoned out.

“…huh? Did you say something?”

Her frown deepened. “Nick was right about you being out of it…”

Ah. Of course the firebird was still worrying over his emotional state, even when they weren’t connected. “It’s… it’s nothing,” he said, clearing his throat. “In any event we may actually have a chance now.” He didn’t really want to get his hopes up, not again, but in light of the change of circumstances…

“Nice to know how much faith you have in your defense team, Miles.”

Miles ignored him. “Von Karma has only ever run perfect trials.”

Mr. Shields snorted. “Oh, believe me, I know. That’s why I’ve been trying to give him as much grief as possible.”

“Indeed… however, I’m not sure how familiar either of you are with Larry Butz, but he is the human equivalent of a natural disaster. Not only has von Karma been presented a witness he’s not had the chance to speak to, but it’s Larry. His testimony is bound to be full of holes.

“Holes that we can exploit,” Mr. Shields finished, catching on to what Miles was implying. “Honestly, if he can get us out of this little pickle, I’ll gladly buy all the Samurai Dogs his stand has to offer.”

Miles decided, for the sake of his sanity, not to question what a ‘Samurai Dog’ was.

 


 

Larry’s testimony was every bit the disaster he’d expected it to be. He was very vague on the actual reason he was out on the lake at midnight of Christmas Eve (though, knowing Larry, the truth was bound to be something idiotic), but the important thing was his insistence that he’d only heard one gunshot, as opposed to the two there definitely had been. They were too close together for him to have gotten out of earshot of the second in time, especially on a boat.

And then he admitted he’d been listening to the radio… with headphones in…

Miles tried very hard not to groan into his hands.

Von Karma was ready to call off the testimony then and there, and honestly Miles didn’t blame him, but Mr. Shields was allowed to charge forward with the cross-examination. Apparently he had a trump card - a second photograph from Lotta Hart. One with a timestamp nearly half an hour before his fateful meeting. If Larry was claiming to have been out on the lake before midnight, which he was, then whatever sound had triggered that automatic camera very well could have been his singular gunshot.

And then Mr. Shields presented another piece of evidence. One he had not been aware of before that moment. The murder weapon had been fired three times. Three gunshots. Three bullets.

Two fired into the lake and the last (or first rather) into Robert Hammond’s heart.

Miles listened numbly as Mr. Shields worked out the case, aligning it with his own memory of the events. Hammond had been dead before Miles had even arrived at the boat shop, possibly lured there by a similar letter. Larry, despite his headphones, had heard the fatal shot due to the sheer dumb luck of being nearby the shack at that exact moment.

Then the old man, whether Yogi or someone else, had assumed his identity, relying on the darkness of night and the 15-year gap between their interactions to aid in his disguise. They’d gone out to the center of the lake and the man he’d believed to be Hammond had fired those two shots - intentionally missed shots. He lived in that park, he knew there were other people hanging about that night who could become witnesses if he drew their attention to a lone boat drifting on the lake. Then he left from the boat himself and swam back to the shop under the cover of the fog to set the scene for Miles’ arrest.

Miles held back a bitter laugh. Phoenix’s off-the-wall theory of him jumping overboard had been right.

As the judge demanded for the old caretaker’s presence, Miles was brought back to the stand to confirm the intent of his visit to Gourd Lake. He finally admitted to the court that he had been summoned there by ‘Robert Hammond’, though he still wished to keep the topic they were to discuss to himself. Whether the judge were to remain content with his confidentiality, he would never know, as the bailiff came charging in, interrupting proceedings to become the bearer of bad news.

The old man had vanished.

 


 

It was straight to the investigation after the trial. Mr. Edgeworth still seemed out of sorts, so they didn’t exchange many words before he had to go back to detention, but they made a note to check on him later in the day.

Larry hung around for a little while, fishing for compliments on his ‘heroic performance’ in court, but went on his own way before he could be roped into helping with the case. Nick assured her that it was for the best.

With no particular leads to chase, they headed towards Gourd Lake once again. Along the way, they ran into Detective Gumshoe, but outside of warning them not to go to the woods (apparently Lotta had incurred the wrath of the park ranger by violating the no camping rule) he was set on tracking down the caretaker by tomorrow and didn’t have time to spare for a chat.

In fact, no one seemed to be around. Larry hadn’t returned to his hotdog stand and Lotta was nowhere to be seen, potentially banned from the entire park depending on just how cross the ranger was with her. They didn’t run into another soul until they reached the boathouse, and it was someone no one could have predicted.

“Mr. Grossberg? What are you doing here?” Maya asked. She hadn’t seen him since Will Powers’ trial and this was an exceptionally odd place to run into her sister’s former boss.

The attorney cleared his throat. “Ah yes, hello. Out for a stroll are we?” he commented, ignoring Maya’s question. “And you’re Edgeworth’s defense attorney. Raymond Shields, was it?”

“At your service,” he said, bowing his head.

“Quite the performance in court today. I haven’t seen Manfred von Karma that upset in… well 15 years to be quite frank!”

“You must be referring to that trial,” Mr. Shields said, dipping his hat a little. “Glad I’m keeping up my mentor’s example.”

“Huh? What trial? What happened?” 

“Well, Edgeworth’s father, Gregory Edgeworth, dealt a massive blow to von Karma’s perfect record. He accused him of faulty evidence and, while von Karma still got his ‘guilty’ verdict, the accusation stood. It remains the only penalty he’s ever received in his career.”

Maya whistled appreciatively. “Wow.”

“Yeah… he was something else…” Mr. Shields said with a fond, nostalgic, smile.

“It was certainly a shock for von Karma. He took a vacation for several months after that, you see. The first, and the last one he’s taken in his many years prosecuting.”

“What?! Who doesn't take vacations?!”

Nick scoffed. I’d believe it.

“I didn't actually know that,” Mr. Shields said, a surprised look on his face. “Though I admit with everything that happened after that trial, von Karma was the last thing on my mind.”

“Wait, what happened after?” Maya asked.

“DL-6…” he replied in a hushed tone.

Mr. Grossberg nodded solemnly. “In any case... That was the only time he took a vacation from work. I believe the penalty upset him quite a lot.” 

Odd… Nick said, but didn’t elaborate any further.

Mr. Grossberg loudly cleared his throat again. “Well, if you need anything, you know where my office is.” He bid the two goodbye and wandered away.

“I wonder why Mr. Grossberg was here anyway?” Maya asked once he was gone.

Who knows…

“Taking a stroll, apparently.” Mr. Shields shrugged disinterestedly. “Hope he got the message about those woods.”

Maya glanced over to the boat shop, which was probably as empty as it looked this time. “You don’t think he was looking for the caretaker, do you?”

“Grossberg? No offense, but he doesn’t really seem the type. Besides, that old man would have to be crazy to come back here.”

“Maybe he’d figured no one would think to look for him here?” Although Maya was inclined to agree with him. The caretaker must have run for the hills, though it was still worth checking out his home.

The front door was still unlocked - Maya wondered if that was due to his sudden departure or he just never bothered with security - so they entered, finding it more or less the same as yesterday.

“Nobody’s home,” Maya observed. No one, that was, except for Polly, who immediately greeted her visitors. “Aww, Polly! Did your owner leave you to fend for yourself?” She quickly crossed the room, reaching up to give the parrot a few comforting scratches under the chin - the kind that Nick was too proud to admit he liked. “You poor thing.”

Wow. It’s almost like he’s a criminal or something…

You know what, Nick, you should be more like Polly. At least she’s not mean! Polly squawked out another pair of ‘hellos’, as if proving Maya’s point.

What are you talking about? I’m delightful.

Maya resented her current inability to stick her tongue out at him.

Mr. Shields looked around. “Well, we’re probably not gonna find anything around here.”

“Maybe…” Maya said, still focused on Polly. A clever thought then crossed her mind. “Mr. Shields? Can you stand outside and be lookout?”

He adopted a curious expression. “Alright, but don’t steal anything. Uncle Ray’s heart can’t take the stress of another trial so soon after this one.”

Maya rolled her eyes as, with a slight flourish, Mr. Shields slipped out the door to humor her request. She waited a second, just to be sure he wouldn’t poke his head back in.

“Nick. Hey Nick, you should try to talk to Polly.”

What? Do I look like I speak parrot? No, wait. Don’t answer that.

“Niiiiiick,” Maya whined. “Maybe she knows where her owner went!”

Fine, the symbiont grumbled, releasing himself. He fluttered over to the kotatsu in the center of the room, making a show of kicking at the bowl of fruit in the center. It wobbled slightly, but its contents remained in place.

Polly’s reaction was immediate, leaving her perch to scope out this new bird. Nick shuffled awkwardly as the parrot alighted across from him, tilting her head as she examined him.

“Uhhhh, hi, Polly…”

“Hello. Hello,” she squawked in response, making a few clicking and whistling noises that Nick showed no signs of understanding.

“So, uh… your owner disappeared from court today. Any idea where he might be hiding?” She tilted her head in the other direction, then took a few steps closer. Nick turned back to Maya with an exasperated groan. “Maya, this is stupid.”

“Aww, don’t be like that, Nick,” she said, just as he made a strangled noise of alarm. Polly had suddenly scooted right next to him, completely invading his personal space. “Look! She likes you! I bet she thinks you’re a big handsome parrot.”

“Great,” he grumbled, leaning away as she started to nip at the feathers around his neck. "Just what I’ve always wanted.”

“Still, I guess she can’t tell us where he went…” Maya muttered, glancing about for her next bout of inspiration. Her eyes then drifted to the locked box set atop the television. “Hey Nick, Polly knows the number to this safe, right?”

“Yes…” he said slowly, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

“Polly, what’s the number to the safe?”

“1228” she diligently squawked in reply, attention still on an increasingly uncomfortable firebird. Maya set to inputting the code.

“I doubt there’s any money in there,” he said, though didn’t put forth much effort to stop her.

“Hey, he keeps it locked. There’s gotta be something valuable in here,” she replied, inputting the final number. The safe unlocked with a satisfying click. “Alright, let’s see what we’ve got here,” she said, rubbing her hands together. She opened the lid and peeked inside, but instead of cool gadgets or valuable treasures, all she found inside was disappointment in the form of a single leaf of paper. “Aww man, it’s just a letter.”

“A letter?” He was holding Polly away at wing’s length now. “Let me see.”

Maya pulled out the paper, holding it up so he could read.

“It’s not addressed to anyone…” he muttered, leaning in a little closer. “Let’s see… ‘Get your revenge on Miles Edge- wait, what?!”

“What?!” Maya echoed, quickly spinning the letter around to confirm for herself. There it was, just as he’d read, handwritten in ink. Nick quickly scrambled up to her shoulder so he could finish reading it.

“This is it…” he whispered, eyes flying over the words. “This is the entire murder, just like we hashed out in court today! The boat… the two gunshots. Everything’s here!”

“What does it mean?” Maya asked.

“It looks like… these are instructions. That old man didn’t come up with the plan.”

“But then, who did?”

Nick shook his head. “I don’t know, but you’d better show this to Shields.”

Maya nodded, giving him the chance to slip onto her back before she burst out of the shack, waving the paper in the air. “Mr. Shields! Look what w- I found in the safe!”

The attorney looked startled for the briefest of seconds, then gave her a weary look. “I didn’t think you were actually serious about that,” he said. His tune quickly changed once Maya had handed over the letter. “Maya! This is exactly the sort of evidence we need. See that ‘this is your last chance’? The statute of limitations runs out tomorrow. I think this confirms that old man is actually Yogi.”

“So we can definitely prove Mr. Edgeworth’s innocent?” she asked, and grinned when he nodded. “Still, we don’t know who wrote the letter, do we?”

“That’s true. We could… no, that won’t work.”

Maya tilted her head. “What won’t?”

“The police could run a handwriting analysis, but I don’t want to risk von Karma finding out about this letter. This is going to destroy his entire case, he’d do anything to make sure we couldn’t present it. Unless we did it mid trial…” he trailed off, running through the options in his head. “We’ll worry about that later. I want to talk to Miles first. He might tell us what was worrying him now.”

 


 

Mr. Edgeworth’s face when presented the letter was… troubled, to say the very least.

“And… you found this in the caretaker’s shack?” he asked with trepidation.

“Locked in the safe,” Maya confirmed.

“Then, there can be no doubt. That old man is truly Yanni Yogi.” He dipped his head, letting out a shuddering breath. “And he does seek revenge upon me for what happened that day.”

“But why?!” Maya demanded. “You were a victim, not him!”

Mr. Edgeworth shook his head. “There’s something that’s been troubling for a while… I… I think it’s time to get it off my chest.” He hesitated, a stricken look crossing his usually composed features. Maya was quiet, leaning forward in her seat to encourage him to continue. After a second or so, he took in a breath. “It’s… it’s a nightmare. A memory of a crime… that I committed.”

“A… crime?”

He nodded, his mouth set into a grim frown. “A murder. I’ve had this same dream almost every night for the last 15 years. I wake up in a fearful sweat, every time.”

He’s woken me up several times, Nick confirmed. It’s… scary.

“And… the dream’s about a murder?” Maya asked, cold dread seeping into her skin. She exchanged a brief glance with Mr. Shields, who looked to share her unease.

“It’s dark, but… we’re in that elevator. Trapped. My father and the bailiff, Yogi, are fighting. He’s attacking my father, screaming about the lack of oxygen.” He paused for a second, gathering his thoughts. His audience waits with baited breath. “Then I see the pistol lying by my feet. I don't know if it was evidence from that day in court, or the bailiff's... In a daze, I pick up the pistol... and I throw it. It fires, someone screams, and with that scream... I wake. It's a bone-chilling scream. A scream that has rung in my ears for the past 15 years.”

Maya is quiet at first, letting it all sink in. “... B-but... That's just a dream, right?” She looked at Mr. Shields. “Right?”

“That thought is the only thing that was kept me sane for the last 15 years. But what if I'm wrong? What if it's real? They say that sometimes people shut out memories in self-defense. Maybe it was I who killed my father!”

“What?!”

He pressed on, undeterred by their shock. “If you think about it that way, this letter makes sense. ‘Get your revenge on Miles Edgeworth.’ Think about it. Yogi was really innocent. That's why he wanted revenge against me!”

“But… Miles, it had to have been Yogi,” Mr. Shields said. “There just wasn’t any evidence to prove it.”

“And what about my mother’s channeling?” Maya added. “He was definitely named as the murderer!”

“The channeling… I’d also found comfort in telling myself it had all been a fraud, until I met you…” Sadly, he met Maya’s eyes. “There was a case I’d taken recently, where the suspect had actually confessed to the crime. I later discovered it was a false confession, done in the hopes of sparing her son from a conviction. I wonder if, 15 years ago, my father’s spirit had the same idea.”

“Mr. Edgeworth-!”

“There can be no other answer. I was the true criminal of DL-6. I shot my father!”

“Mr. Edgeworth! You can’t…” Maya pleaded again, hands shaking. This… this wasn’t happening, was it? Could he have really…?

The prosecutor shook his head again. “I… I’m sorry.” He pushed away from the window suddenly, startling the guard who stood vigil at the door. “I need to go.”

“Wait-!” Maya called out, but he was already at the door, asking to be escorted back to his cell. “Mr. Shields! What do we do?”

“I… I don’t know,” he said, struggling for words. “I really hate to admit it, but everything he said makes sense. After all these years, nobody even considered…

No! I don’t believe it! Nick yelled. He wouldn’t do it!

But, Nick… he admitted it himself. And if it was an accident…

I don’t care! I… I know he’s not guilty. I just… I don’t know how, but he is!

Maya sighed. She wanted to believe it too, but Mr. Edgeworth sounded so confident in his confession, and it explained the old man’s motive.

“Is there a chance that maybe it really is just a dream?”

“I really don’t know what to tell you, Maya. There’s a reason DL-6 has gone unsolved for so long.”

Maya frowned. So Mr. Edgeworth’s word was all they had to go on. Outside of another channeling, which, even if she was confident in her abilities (she was having enough difficulties summoning her recently departed sister as it was, she couldn’t imagine calling back a spirit from so long ago), it was too touchy a subject regarding that case.

Something in her expression must’ve gotten to Mr. Shields. He groaned quietly, removing his hat in order to scratch at the top of his head. “Tell you what, the police still have all the evidence on file. Maybe looking at that will at least prove Miles’ innocence.” He didn’t sound all too confident in this plan, but Maya could appreciate that he was at least putting forth the effort to raise their hopes.

She bowed her head politely. “Thank you, Mr. Shields.”

Smiling, he returned the gesture.

 


 

Maya hung back, checking out the police station while Mr. Shields chatted up one of the officers that was apparently a friend of his - or at least on good enough terms with him. 

She hadn’t gotten much of a chance to look around during her past visits due to the urgency of them. Not that the current circumstances weren’t urgent, she just didn’t have anything to contribute at the time being. The building was nearly empty, but it’d been explained that most of the officers - Detective Gumshoe included - were still off on that manhunt.

She was midway through trying to discern the strange blue creature near the chief’s desk when Mr. Shields came to collect her. The expression on his face was less than pleased, and Maya quickly assumed the worse. 

“What’s wrong? Are they not going to let us in?”

“Oh no, I got us permission. The problem is the records room is currently occupied. By von Karma.”

“What? What’s von Karma doing here?”

“I don’t know, but it’s leaving a bad taste in Uncle Ray’s mouth. We’d better hurry along.”

The records room was a little ways down the hall and around a few corners, but they found it easily enough. Maya’s first impression was that she’d never seen so much dust before in her life, and she expressed as much.

Mr. Shields laughed. “Hey, the dust is part of the records too!”

Maya scrunched her nose. Records of what, how infrequently people came in here? “Let's find that DL-6 stuff quick!”

“You’re the boss,” he shrugged. “Hmm… I don’t see von Karma around anywhere. Hopefully he left.”

No… he’s somewhere… Nick said. I can hear his cane.

As long as somewhere wasn’t where they were, Maya didn’t particularly care. “Hey, one of the drawers is open over here,” Maya noted as she was looking around, drawing closer to investigate properly. “The label says, ‘Unsolved Cases: Evidence’.”

“And that’s the drawer we’re looking for…”

Maya quickly rummaged through to the ‘D’ section, gaping at what she discovered. Or, rather, what she didn’t discover. “Mr. Shields! The file for DL-6… it’s completely empty!”

He cursed under his breath. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

“What are you doing in here?!”

With a shriek, Maya slammed the drawer shut in alarm, sending a resounding echo through the records room. “V-von Karma!” she stammered as the prosecutor lurked in from around the corner, ever present scowl upon his face.

He stared blankly at the two, looking surprisingly… surprised. “…how do you know my name? Have we met?”

Mr. Shields groaned softly, shaking his head, but Maya could only gape in bafflement. “What are you saying, we see each other every day, don’t we?! We’re Mr. Edgeworth’s defense team!”

“It’s not worth it, Maya,” Mr. Shields warned her.

“Defense team?” Von Karma looked them head to toe, sneering. “I beg your pardon, you see, I rarely remember defense attorneys. They are like bugs to me. Needless things, to be crushed.”

Maya felt her face heating up. What a creep!

“Oh, but I’m sure you remember at least one defense attorney. Gregory Edgeworth, perhaps?”

Von Karma turned on him with a vicious glare, but Mr. Shields continued to lean defiantly against the cabinets, hands shoved deep in his pockets. The prosecutor scoffed. “A second rate amateur at best. His son is no better, either.”

“An amateur who still managed to ruin your perfect record. Isn’t that more of a reflection on you, than him?”

Angrily, Von Karma clacked the end of his cane against the floor. The motion drew Maya’s attention to his hand, where a plastic bag was hanging.

“Huh? What’s that?” Maya asked, though von Karma made no signs of acknowledging her question - or her presence for that matter. Regardless, Maya was beginning to form her own assumptions based on the state they’d discovered the evidence drawer in.

Nick, who’d probably caught on to the shift in her emotions, was halfway through a warning when Maya made a grab for whatever von Karma was holding, hoping the prosecutor was too distracted by his staring contest with Mr. Shields to notice her.

Unfortunately, von Karma did notice. With reflexes he did not look like he should have, he pulled something out of his pocket with his free hand and thrust it towards Maya. A sharp pain suddenly coursed through her body and she felt herself falling, control of her functionality lost. She might’ve screamed. She wasn’t sure.

Distantly, she might’ve heard Mr. Shields calling out to her in fear, but all Maya knew was the world faded to black before she ever hit the ground.

She awoke to two voices calling her name, one in her head, one outside of it.

Groaning, Maya pushed herself off the cold floor, rubbing at her sore shoulder. It must’ve taken the brunt of the fall. Slowly, she opened her eyes, blinking as everything came into focus. They were still in the records room, Mr. Shields crouched before her with a look of relief on his face. Von Karma didn’t seem to be anywhere in sight.

“Oh good, you’re okay,” he said, leaning back to give her some space. “You had Uncle Ray worried there!”

“I…” She shuddered, still feeling the side effects in a light buzzing that ran throughout her body. The feeling was starting to come back, in that she could feel Nick’s anxious pacing on her back. “Nick!” She realized if that jolt had run straight through her, it might’ve gotten him too. “Nick are you alright?”

“Wow, he must’ve gotten you good,” Mr. Shields remarked.

Ugh… I’m fine. Just don’t do that again, for both of our sakes!

I’m so sorry! I didn’t know he had a… whatever that was.

From the feel of it, a stun gun. And don’t apologize to me, it’s not your fault he’s a bastard.

“Hey, Maya, what’s in your hand?”

“Huh?” Maya looked down, unaware that, this whole time her fist had been clenched around something. She opened it, revealing a small plastic evidence bag containing an even smaller metal object. “A… bullet?”

Mr. Shields took it from her. “Well… we’ve got one piece of DL-6 evidence.”

Maya dipped her head down. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop him from taking the rest.”

“What! Maya, if you hadn’t pulled that stunt we wouldn’t have any evidence. Just… how about you give old Uncle Ray a head’s up before you try something like that again?”

What! Don’t encourage her! Nick futilely protested.

Maya glanced up at him through her bangs, nodding. With a smile, he stood up, holding out a hand to help her to her feet. She took the offer and he pulled her up, but not without receiving a jolt of his own. He jerked back, almost yanking her forward in the process.

“Well! Looks like I won’t be getting hugs from you anytime soon, little miss. Unless I need some electrotherapy.”  

Maya still felt a little guilty over the recent events, but she couldn’t help but giggle at his shocked expression.

Deciding that she needed to recover after that encounter, Mr. Shields escorted Maya home, promising that he wouldn’t forget about the case without her there to focus him.

“Before I leave you, von Karma said some interesting things while you were out. Seems like he’s pretty confident Miles is gonna confess his guilt tomorrow. His guilt of DL-6, rather.”

“What! How does he even know about that?”

Nightmares, Nick supplied. He took Miles in, he probably found out about them at some point.

Mr. Shields shook his head. “I’m not sure, but, more importantly, I think I know exactly who wrote that letter now.”

“You mean… von Karma?!”

“I’m gonna check some old documents at the office - see if anything’s got his writing on it to confirm, but I’m pretty confident. Von Karma’s still got a pretty big grudge on that man and, now that he’s gone, poor Miles is his only outlet.”

“Oh Mr. Edgeworth…” Maya murmured, covering her mouth with her hand. Just a few days ago, she had no idea how much suffering he’s had to deal with. And now Prosecutor von Karma only wanted to pile even more on. It was terrible!

Mr. Shields started to reach out to give her a pat on the shoulder, then thought better of it given the last time they’d exchanged physical contact.

“Time to put on your battle armor, kiddo, we’ve got a rough fight ahead of us.”

Chapter 16

Notes:

Yes I am posting this on Dec 28th.

Chapter Text

This was it. The final countdown. Judgement day. Actually… it was quite literally judgement day, wasn’t it?

Maya bounced from her place at the defense’s bench, full of pent up, anxious energy. Or perhaps it was the residual charge from her unfortunate brush with a stun gun, courtesy of Prosecutor von Karma. Nick, the lucky jerk, had already lost his charge, though as a result he’d already lost count on how many times Maya had shocked him that morning.

Mr. Shields was keeping a respectful distance between them after having witnessed both Mr. Edgeworth and Detective Gumshoe receive a surprise jolt from her. Today he’d added a large trench coat to his ensemble, which he’d introduced as his ‘lucky coat’ when asked about it.

Judging from the way Mr. Edgeworth reacted to it, there was some history behind the garment. In fact, it was just about the only thing he’d reacted to all morning. The electric shock from the encouraging pat on the back she’d tried to give him had garnered a startled yelp and nothing further. Even now, as she cast a glance to the defendant’s seat, he sat with a distance look in his usually sharp eyes, as though numb to the proceedings. He barely even batted an eye when the old caretaker, tracked down through Detective Gumshoe’s valiant efforts, was brought forth to explain himself.

His testimony was brief, claiming his disappearance was due to a need to buy Polly food and an assumption he was no longer needed, nor involved, with the trial. His admission that he lacked a motive was all the opening Mr. Shields needed.

“If it pleases the court,” he said after his objection to the testimony, “I have some evidence to present. A letter found in this witness’s shack that clearly establishes a motive.”

The judge’s face went through an entire emotional journey as he read through the letter. “Why this-! This is the entire murder just as the defense proposed yesterday!”

“Objection!” Von Karma snapped. If he had any concerns towards this new evidence, it wasn’t showing. “There is no evidence this letter was in the witness’s possession. The defense could have just as easily had this forged.”

“Ah, you would know all about that, wouldn’t you, Prosecutor?” Mr. Shields commented as von Karma’s scowl deepened. “Let’s ask the witness, then. Do you recognize this letter?”

“Preposterous! Judge, dismiss this evidence at once! There is…”

“No… it’s okay. I’ve accomplished what I wanted to do. I’m done.”

At first, Maya had thought someone else had interrupted the trial, until she glanced back over to the witness stand. The old man was no longer slouched forward, teetering on the verge of passing out where he stood. Now he stood tall, with his back straight and a serious expression on his face. It was like he’d transformed into a completely different person!

This is the man I heard on the boat, Nick said. The real man behind the senile boat caretaker had finally appeared.

The judge banged his gavel to regather the attention of the court (and possibly his own thoughts as well). “W-well! Witness, does this letter belong to you?”

He nodded. “My name… is Yanni Yogi. 15 years ago, I served as a bailiff in this very court.”

“Yanni Yogi… why, you were the bailiff in the DL-6 case! Are… are you admitting that you killed Robert Hammond? And tried to frame Miles Edgeworth for his death?”

Again the old man, Yogi, nodded, and confessed everything. His bitterness towards Robert Hammond for not believing his innocence. For having him plead mentally unsound to escape a guilty verdict and how it destroyed his life. Then, how he had anonymously received the letter alongside a pistol - the chance for a revenge 15 years in the making.

“I’m not sure why I didn’t burn the letter, like instructed,” he concluded. “Maybe it was because, after all these years, someone had finally acknowledged my suffering. I didn't want to let that go.”

“I can somewhat understand your feeling towards Robert Hammond, but why did you seek revenge against Miles Edgeworth?” the judge asked.

“I'm not at liberty to speak on that matter. Why don't you ask Mr. Edgeworth yourself?” And, on that note, he allowed himself to be taken under arrest, the prosecution finding no faults in the confession.

“This raises a more troubling issue. Mr. Yogi clearly had an accomplice. One he knows nothing about.”

“Nothing a handwriting analysis won’t clear up,” Mr. Shields pointed out.

“Indeed. Bailiff! Have this letter sent to the lab immediately. In the mean time…”

Mr. Edgeworth was called back to the stand, the same grim, distant look on his face despite the good news the judge was imparting on him. He was cleared was all suspicion, he’d gotten that coveted ‘Not Guilty’ verdict! Why wasn’t he happy about it?

In the wake of his silence, the judge carried on, ready to adjourn court when…

“OBJECTION!”

Everyone had been expecting the prosecution to speak up at some point, to pull out all the stops in order to maintain that decades old win record of his.

If only the objection had come from him.

Miles…

“What’s the meaning of this?!” The judge demanded, staring in bewilderment at the defendant.

“Your Honor, I object to your verdict. I’m not innocent at all! As we have heard, Yanni Yogi killed Robert Hammond in revenge. But, revenge for what?”

“Miles!” Mr. Shields called out, hitting the desk. “You don’t have to do this!”

“Yes. Yes I do,” he answered, entreating them with a sad, but fiercely determined look.

“Mr. Shields, are you sure?” Maya asked once she noticed him backing off.

“No, but… I think he needs to. For his own sake,” he answered. He then removed his hat and pressed it to his chest, whispering, “Please help him,” so softly Maya almost didn’t catch it.

The go ahead given, Mr. Edgeworth told the court of his nightmare and the awful reality this case had revealed to him. He confessed his guilt as the culprit of the DL-6 incident.

Just as von Karma had likely planned. He pounced on the admission, calling for a new trial. The judge, however, needed a little more time to process, and adjourned proceedings for a brief recess.

Mr. Edgeworth hung by the door of the defendant lobby, visible tension in his features. “I’m… sorry. I’ve just wasted all of your effort.”

Mr. Shields was silent at first, then took a step towards him. He gently laid a hand on his shoulder. “Are you absolutely sure about this?”

“I… yes. Accidental or not, I’m still culpable for my father’s death. I deserve to be punished.”

“This is crazy!” exclaimed Detective Gumshoe, who had tagged along with them, distraught over the sudden confession. “Just crazy!”

Maya looked between the assembled men, one hand clutching her magatama for comfort. Could they really try him for something he’d never intended to cause, especially at such a young age? Wasn’t the loss of his father punishment enough?

Maya.

She started, not expected Nick to speak up so suddenly. Huh?

I need you to pass along a message for me. As he began to speak, Maya nodding in understanding.

“You’re not a murderer!” Maya called out and suddenly all eyes were on her. “Your nightmare’s just that - a nightmare. I don’t believe it and neither should you!”

His eyes widened a fraction. “Wh-what?!”

“The truth isn’t in your dreams, it’s in the court record. And…” Maya paused as Nick took a moment to gather his thoughts “And we’re gonna prove it somehow. We’re going to prove that you’re innocent.”

“Yeah!” Detective Gumshoe cheered, roused by the short speech. “There’s no way Mr. Edgeworth could’ve killed his dad!”

Mr. Shields sniffled dramatically, rubbing his eye as though wiping away a sentimental tear. “I always hoped I could solve DL-6. Today is as good a day as any to make that dream a reality.”

“You all…” Mr. Edgeworth looked to everyone in the room in turn, speechless for once. He lingered on Maya in particular, probably realizing exactly whose thoughts she’d been voicing.

Mr. Shields threw an arm around his shoulder. “Let’s see how von Karma feels about having two losses in one day.”

 


 

Despite their pep talk, Mr. Edgeworth seemed just as lost as before, eyes open, yet unfocused.

He’s getting worse… Nick remarked as Mr. Edgeworth took the stand to testify about his memories. It’s like all his emotions have been replaced with despair.

Huh? You can still pick up his feelings? Maya asked, surprised. She was barely listening to the testimony, as it was nearly identical to the nightmare he spoke of in the detention center.

A little… if I focus and he’s nearby. The link must linger or something. I… didn’t quite realize it until Yogi started coming up…

Which was when he decided the story he was currently recounting was the incontrovertible truth. Maya watched his face, noting the subtle shifts of sorrow as he described throwing the gun. Maya knew the pain of losing a loved one - that wound was still very fresh for her - but somehow she doubted that could even compare to whatever Mr. Edgeworth must be feeling right now on that stand.

“The defendant has already professed his guilt in this incident. There should be no need for any further deliberation in this courtroom!” von Karma said once Mr. Edgeworth had wrapped up his testimony.

“He’s trying to get that verdict as quickly as possible,” Mr. Shields muttered,

“H-huh?”

Subtly, he nodded his head towards the opposite side of the room. “I’m sure he wants to intercept that letter before they can get the analysis done, so he’s trying to rush along the trial.”

“Then we’ve gotta drag it out!” Maya said. There was no way they could let him get away with instigating this entire event.

“Way ahead of you,“ he replied, pushing his hat down. “Hold it now, doesn’t the defense get any say in this? I think I have a right to cross-examine my own client.”

The judge granted him as much which, based on the loud groan von Karma let out, was not received well by the prosecution. Just to add insult to injury, Mr. Shields took his time pressing each and every statement offered in the testimony. Mr. Edgeworth looked a little uncomfortable with the scrutiny, but he faithfully expanded as much as he could on his memories.

Once he was satisfied there was no more information to be gathered, Mr. Shields presented his argument. 

“There’s something that’s always bothered me about this case. The defendant brought it up just now in his testimony. He only heard one gunshot, and it’s true that Gregory Edgeworth was killed by a single bullet, but the murder weapon, on record, was said to be fired twice.”

“Objection!” von Karma snapped. “The evidence is dated, by 15 years, as I’m sure everyone is aware. We do not know when the second shot was fired. It could have been fired earlier that day, or the day before. There is no proof that the second shot had anything to do with this incident!”

“Ah yes, Prosecutor, but that leads me to the other thing that bothers me about this. Something that may prove the second shot’s relevance.”

“What?! Impossible!” von Karma spat.

“Mr. Shields, what this is proof you speak of?” the judge asked.

“If I could draw the court’s attention to the photo of the crime scene. See, I’ve poured over this image a million times hoping to find something new, but I always find my eyes drawn to this little peculiar spot here.”

The judge peered closer to where he was indicating. “Is that… a bullet hole in the door?”

“Why, it is! I wonder how that got there… Maybe from a misfired pistol thrown by a frightened child?”

“Mr. Shields, what exactly are you driving at?”

He shrugged. “I’m just saying… what if the shot the defendant remembers hit the door instead? He lost consciousness right after that, right? So somebody other than Miles Edgeworth must have fired that second, fatal shot!”

“Bah!” Von Karma grumbled. “If you’ve truly gone over this case a million times as you’ve proposed, then you must know that no clues were found on the scene of the crime. If that pistol was fired twice then the police would have discovered the bullet at the crime scene!”

The judge nodded. “He does have a point.”

“That second bullet has never been found! Why? Because the second bullet does not exist! The bullet that claimed Gregory Edgeworth's life was the one fired by his own son! That is the truth of this matter. The whole truth. It was undoubtedly something else that made that bullet hole in the door.”

The judge called for order. “Mr. Shields has proven one thing to us quite clearly... That the murder weapon was fired twice at the time of the incident. However! As Mr. von Karma says, the second bullet was not found. It is highly unlikely that the police merely overlooked this second bullet. So, all we have is the single bullet fired. I'm afraid I have to discount the defense's claim.”

Mr. Shields gritted his teeth and Maya glanced over at him. “What’s wrong?!” she asked, distressed.

“This is the same issue I came up with during my own research,” he said in a low voice, so as not to carry to unwelcome ears. “There just… wasn’t anything to explain the missing bullet or the hole in the door. I always thought that, if Yogi had fired two shots, then maybe the insanity plea wouldn’t hold up anymore. But there was never proof there’d been two shots in that elevator.”

“B-but, there has to be something!”

He chuckled bitterly. “In the past 15 years, I’ve never been able to figure out what really happened that day. I don’t want to believe it, but maybe I really have been on the wrong track this entire time. Maybe Miles is the answer…”

“No…” she whispered, hands covering her mouth.

The bullet does exist… someone took it… Nick suddenly uttered.

Maya let her hands slip from her face, confused. “Someone took the bullet?” she questioned aloud.

Mr. Shields blinked, a questioning expression on his face. “That’s… one explanation… I guess.”

“If the defense is done mumbling amongst themselves, I think it’s time I pronounce my verdict. The statute of limitations on the murder of Gregory Edgeworth runs out today, I cannot afford to waste anymore time…”

“Hold it, Your Honor, the defense still has something to say!”

Von Karma tsk’ed at them. “Are you finally ready to admit defeat? The case against the defendant is perfect, there can be no room for doubt of his guilt!”

Mr. Shields shot her a look as if to ask if she was certain of this new theory. Maya threw her hands up in defense. It wasn’t her idea after all, not that she could explain that.

With that amazing vote of confidence, he dove in. “There is a way for the second bullet to exist - if someone had removed it from the scene before police had arrived.”

“Who?! Why?” the judge demanded. “Stray bullets aren’t exactly easy to find, you know.”

“Bah! The defense simply doesn’t want to admit defeat. No one took the bullet because there was no bullet! Even if there was, there wold be no reason for anyone to take it!”

“Well, the murderer might have a reason,” Mr. Shields said mostly to himself. “But… no, there’s still problems with that.”

They had to take it?

Nick sounded confused by his own words, but Maya relayed this next thought anyway. Mr. Shields rolled with it.

“There is one person who might have cause to take it, though I’m sure no self respecting murderer would sit around fishing for a stray bullet - especially if they were just going to leave its twin and the gun behind. Unless…” His eyes suddenly went wide. “They didn’t have to take it because it was evidence of their crime, they took it because they didn’t have the option not to. Because they’d been hit with it!”

The gallery was in whispers. Von Karma stood silently behind his bench, tensing his fingers against his crossed arms as the judge pondered over this new theory.

“Let me get this straight, are you suggesting the murderer was shot? And he took the bullet with him when he fled the scene?”

“Pretty much.”

“But, Miles Edgeworth and Yanni Yogi were both uninjured upon being rescued! That would mean…”

“There’s a third person in this incident. Someone who was outside of the elevator. When the defendant threw that gun, it went through the door and struck whoever was standing outside.”

“That’s… hmm…” The judge stroked his beard. “It feels like you’re grasping, but I cannot deny there’s a slight possibility…”

Von Karma immediately objected. “What?! Deny it! Deny it! No one involved in the incident was injured!”

“Which is why it has to be an unknown party!” Mr. Shields argued back. “…I just don’t know who that could be…”

Even Maya couldn’t help but think it sounded like a stretch. If the culprit really was shot… that seems like something that’d be pretty hard to cover up. They’d have to have a really good doctor to treat the wound in secret… or go away somewhere for a long time and…

Maya blinked. Nick, I… I just thought of something weird. That vacation von Karma took?

Huh?

You know, remember Mr. Grossberg told us? After he got that penalty, he took his only vacation. What if he didn’t take it out of shock…

… but because he was injured! Nick finished, gasping. Oh my…. Maya! Quick, tell that to Shields!

When she finished repeating her thoughts to him, Mr. Shields was visibly gaping. “Oh you have got to be kidding me…”

“Is everything okay with the defense?” the judge asked.

“Actually, Your Honor, the defense may just know who our mystery murderer is.”

“Well then! Do tell, Mr. Shields. Who is your suspect?”

Slamming a hand against the desk, Mr. Shields pointed forcefully at the man standing across from him. “Prosecutor von Karma!”

The courtroom was silent as it sunk in that he wasn’t calling for his opponent’s attention.

“W-what?! You can’t possibly mean that von Karma? Standing right there?” He dignified the accusation with a scoff, only furthering the judge’s alarm. “You… you don’t object?”

“I see no need. Why honor this ridiculous outburst with my objection?”

“Then maybe you’d like to honor us with an explanation of why you took a vacation for several months right after the incident occurred? Awful strange for someone who values their perfect record so much.”

“So you're claiming that I took a vacation to heal my ‘injury' from the incident? Fascinating! Prove it. I would have needed surgery, no? Where did I go under the knife at, Mr. Shields?! Bring the doctor that operated on me! Have him testify!”

Can we find out who his doctor is?” Maya asked earnestly. Maybe they finally had a chance.

“It’s no use.” Mr. Edgeworth suddenly spoke out, startling everyone. “I know von Karma. Perhaps too well. He's perfect. He wouldn't leave clues. He probably didn't undergo surgery. That would leave a doctor as a witness.” The despair had finally left his tone, replaced by something that, according to Nick, seemed more along the lines of unease and uncertainty.

“So… what? He pulled the bullet out himself?! That’s insane!” She’d be impressed if it wasn’t von Karma they were discussing.

“No, that’s… not a thing people can just do. And if a doctor didn’t, then…” His eyes widened. “Hey, Gumshoe!” he suddenly called out, scanning the audience for their detective friend. “You still got that ‘secret weapon’ you let us borrow?”

The detective snapped to attention, popping up in his seat. “Sure, pal! It’s actually in my car right now. Give me five minutes to go fetch it.” Enthusiastically, he rushed to the courtroom’s exit.

“Um… secret weapon?” the judge asked. “Mr. Shields, do we need to be concerned?”

“Not unless you’ve got a fear of metal detectors,” he replied.

“Metal detector?”

“You see, if there’s one thing von Karma cares about, it’s perfection. And leaving a doctor behind as a witness… not so perfect. But, you know, I really doubt he performed the surgery on himself either. So where does that leave us on the location of the bullet?”

The judge looked alarmed, scanning over von Karma. “Y-you don't mean! For all these years?!”

“Well, our good detective’s handy little detector should be able to tell us that.”

“OBJECTION!” von Karma yelled, looking, for the first time, distressed. “I… refuse!”

“But… if you refuse then…” The judge’s browed furrowed. “You acknowledge that the bullet is still inside of you?” The gallery went wild, forcing him to call them to order once again.

“Sounds like even more of a reason to use the metal detector,” Shields said.

He objected again. “Judge! I call for a suspension of this trial! This is an invasion of privacy!”

“What was it you said before the defendant’s testimony? We had to try him now, didn’t we? Because the statute of limitations runs out today.”

Von Karma couldn’t even manage an objection.

Detective Gumshoe returned, metal detector in hand, and the judge forced von Karma to submit to the examination. Scanning downwards, it didn’t take long for the device to go wild as it neared his right shoulder.

“And there it is…” Mr. Shields stated.

Mr. Edgeworth hit the witness stand, staring in utter disbelief. “You! It was you!”

Von Karma crossed his arms. “… I was afraid this would happen. And so, I remained silent. Indeed, there is a bullet in my shoulder. However... it has nothing to do with this incident!”

“What! Are you going to claim it’s an old war injury?!” Mr. Shields shouted.

He glared at him. “I was shot in the shoulder long before the DL-6 Incident! I claim that the bullet in my shoulder has no relation to DL-6!”

“But… can you prove that?” the judge asked.

“I am under no obligation to prove anything! Mr. Shields was the one who chose to accuse me.”

Stricken, the judge turned to the defense. “M-Mr. Shields, can you prove it?”

“Of course he can’t!” von Karma answered. “He has no evidence from DL-6!”

Stomach dropping, Maya realized exactly why they’d run into the prosecutor in the records room. He really was perfect…

“You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you?” Mr. Shields said, confidence unwavering. From his collection of evidence, he pulled out a small bag - one that took Maya a second to recognize.

“Hey, that’s…”

“Is that a bullet?” the judge asked.

“The very one taken from the heart of my late mentor.”

“Where did you get that?!” von Karma demanded.

“It’s in pretty good shape, too,” he continued, ignoring the question. “I bet if we analyzed the ballistic markings and compared it to that bullet in your shoulder, we might just get a perfect match. What do you say, Prosecutor von Karma?” He smirked as the glare being tossed across the room at him turned murderous. “Ready to finally get that chunk of metal out of your shoulder?”

He was silent at first, content to express his loathing through expression alone.

Then he began to scream, clutching at his shoulder. It was a terrible, blood-curdling scream, rendering everyone else in the room silent in its wake.

Except for Mr. Edgeworth. 

”That scream… I’ve heard that scream before…” he said, eyes growing wide. “It's that scream I heard in the elevator! Fifteen years ago... von Karma! It was you who screamed!”

Von Karma was nearly incoherent at this point, muttering ‘Edgeworth’ again and again as he stared down the defendant. “Only you… would dare defy me!”

Mr. Edgeworth’s face set into a grim frown. “So, it was you…”

“You and your father are my curse! Your father shamed me with a penalty on my record! And you... you left a scar on my shoulder that would never fade! I…” Aggressively, he slammed both fists against the prosecutor’s bench, his eyes bulging and teeth bared. “I'll bury you! I'll bury you with my bare hands! Death! Death!”

In the midst of the chaos of fear and shock that permeated the courtroom, von Karma managed to regain his composure. He demanded for the end of the trial and allowed the bailiff to take him away with no further outbursts. With a few soft words of reassurance, the judge finally, finally, passed his verdict.

Miles Edgeworth was not guilty.

 


 

Miles allowed himself to be ushered into the defendant lobby by his elated defense team. Maya was jumping up and down as she cheered on their unprecedented victory.

“We did it! Did you see his face?! Von Karma looked even paler than usual! He's pretending to be all cool, but inside you crushed him!”

Mr. Shields gave one of his crooked grins. “It was quite the trial. I think I deserve a congratulatory hug for that performance,” he said in his usual joking manner, only to be genuinely surprised when he found himself with an armful of Maya seconds later. Eventually he returned the hug.

“Come on, Miles, join in.”

Awkwardly he turned away, rubbing at his arm. “I’ll… pass.”

Mr. Shields gave him a disappointed pout, but didn’t force it. He waited for Maya to let go, before approaching and resting a hand on his shoulder. “How ya feeling?” he asked.

Miles blinked, staring at the hand. How was he feeling? Relieved at his innocence? Betrayed by von Karma? Angry at himself for being deceived for so many years?

“Better,” is what he decided on.

“Well, better is… better,” he replied with a touch of amusement in his tone.

“…I… I’m not sure what to say…” Miles admitted.

“Ooh, I know!” Maya cut in. “Try ‘thank you’.”

“I… I see…” He cleared his throat, feeling a light flush on his cheeks. “Th-thank you. All of you.”

Mr. Shields smiled. “You’re welcome, Miles.”

“Eh, we’ll work on it,” Maya said, shrugging.

Gumshoe chose about now to make an appearance, bursting into the lobby with a loud, celebratory ’Whooooooooooop!’

“Amazing, pal! You pulled through just like I thought you would!” He clamped down on both of Mr. Shield’s shoulders, teary eyed. “I’ll never forget this! I owe you one, pal. And tonight, let's party! Dinner's on me! Yeah, my salary went down again a bit this month... But who cares!”

“See, Mr. Edgeworth? That’s how you say ‘thank you’!”

Miles pursed his lips. “I… I see.” He supposed he could give it a try. He cleared his throat and “Whoooooooop!” Silence descended. He could feel the awkwardness sinking in its claws. “I feel foolish.”

“Don’t worry,” Maya assured him. “You’ll get it eventually.”

Miles wasn’t sure if he wanted to ‘get it’.

Another head poked its way into the lobby, their entrance far more subdued than the detective, who still hadn’t released his hold on Mr. Shields.

“Hey, y’all!” greeted the witness from the other day, whose name Miles had already forgotten. He didn’t know why she’d chosen to be here.

“Lotta!” Maya greeted in turn, sounding surprised, but not unwelcoming to her presence.

“Y’all were great in there!” she praised. Mr. Shields, who’d finally managed to wriggle free from Gumshoe, turned his head away with a bashful wave of his hand. She then set her sights on Miles. “Congrats, Edgeworth! I knew you were innocent from the start, of course. Just look at you! You wouldn't stick your hand in the cookie jar even if no one was there!”

An odd metaphor. Miles furrowed his brow. “You… testified against me on the first day, did you not?”

“Psssh.” She made a dismissive gesture. “Let’s let bygones be bygones, eh?” She paused suddenly, glancing at the door behind her then quickly scooting away before it flew open for a third time.

“It’s over! My life is over!” Larry was practically sobbing as he entered the room. Miles rolled his eyes. At least the others had the decency of a greeting.

“Wh-what’s wrong?” Maya asked.

“It's Kiyance! Sh-she's goin' to live in Paris! Paris, Maya! She's leaving me behind!!!”

“I’m… sorry?” she offered.

Evidently his sorrow over whomever this ‘Kiyance’ was was not long lived, bouncing back to normal the moment he noticed Miles. “Yo, Edgey! There you are!”

“Erm, yes. Here I am.” What did you even say to someone you haven’t seen in 15 years? Especially this particular someone.

“Congrats, man! I wish I’d brought a celebratory present or something.”

“If you did, I’d have been most surprised,” Miles replied.

“Harry Butz!” Gumshoe exclaimed and Miles shot him a quizzical look for the slip. “You can tag along with us tonight. My treat!”

“Uh… thanks! Looking forward to it!” Larry replied, not remotely looking excited about the invitation. He leaned towards Mr. Shields, who happened to be the closest to him and whispered something. He rolled his eyes in response and gave the younger man a slight pat on the head.

“I still can’t believe you two used to be friends.”

“Ehhh, what are you talking about, Maya? We’re still totally best buds!” Larry moved closer to Miles in order to toss an arm around his shoulder. “Right Edgey?”

“…sure.” He did help them win the trial, in his own strange way. Miles could stand to humor him for a bit.

“How did that even happened?” she asked.

“I haven’t the faintest,” Miles answered. “He just came up to me in class one day, announced he was going to be my friend, and refused to leave me alone from that point on.”

“Edgeeeyyyyy…” Larry whined. “Admit it, you were totally lonely before I came around!” Miles scoffed. “He never talked to anyone, always reading these boring looking books that didn’t even have pictures in them! So I went ‘Hey, I could be his friend!’.”

“Aww, that was sweet of you, Larry,” Maya said. Miles resisted rolling his eyes again for fear of straining them.

He chuckled. “Wasn’t it? Plus, this guy? Total chick magnet, even back then. Figured I could get some girls to talk to me too if I stuck close to him.”

Miles groaned softly. He wasn’t sure what he was referring to, but leave it to Larry to have an ulterior motive.

“You’ll have to tell Uncle Ray these stories of your shared childhood one day,” Mr. Shields said. 

Larry looked quite willing to fulfill the request right then and there, but thankfully they were spared any further embarrassment.

“Alright, y’all!” The red-haired witness (Lotta?) called, gesturing for everyone’s attention. At some point she’d pulled out a camera, presumably out of her pocket. “Line up, I’ll take a photo!”

After some scrambling around to get a good position, Miles found himself standing between Mr. Shields and Detective Gumshoe. The former had settled for a simple grin, holding up to fingers in a ‘v’ shape while the latter had produced a bowl of confetti that he was proceeding to toss upon the group. While Larry stood awkwardly towards the back, Maya was up front, holding out a sign reading ‘Victory!’, also provided by Gumshoe in anticipation of a favorable verdict.

With their picture taken, Gumshoe was all ready to go for their victory meal. Unfortunately, even with the verdict handed, Miles wasn’t quite free to go. He had to sort out his affairs at the detention center before he was officially a free man and, thus, would not be able to join them. He assured everyone this was fine and to enjoy themselves anyway. Honestly it was a bit a relief having an excuse not to go, the growing crowd was getting to be a bit overwhelming.

Maya lingered for a second as they all piled out of the room. To his surprise, she lifted his hand, placing her free one atop it. He looked down at their point of contact, watching a red blur suddenly travel between them, dashing up his arm.

“I’ll see you later,” Maya said, giving his hand a quick pat before joining the others.

So, Phoenix said once he was settled.

So… Miles repeated.

It’s finally over.

Miles closed his eyes, letting the faintest of sighs pass his lips.

So it was.

 


 

Miles groaned heavily as the sound of his ringtone woke him from a rare, dreamless sleep. By the time the detention center saw fit to release him back into the public, night had stretched into those hours that some people would refer to as ‘ungodly’. By the time he crossed the threshold of his home, it was even later and all Miles wanted to do was, for once in his life, sleep in. Head Prosecutor Skye had already given him her blessing to take a few days for himself before returning to work, he was going to use at least one of them.

The ringing persisted. Evidently, life had other plans.

Groping blindly for the nightstand, he felt around for his phone, looking only long enough to register the caller ID before answering.

“Ms. Fey,” he greeted as cordially as he could in his current state.

“Hey!” she answered cheerily. “Answer your door, I’m outside!”

“Why-“ ‘are you here?’, is what he tried to ask, but she had hung up before the question had the chance to get out. He pulled the phone away, catching a time past 5 AM before the screen went dark.

As he forced himself up, Miles jumped in surprise when a flash of nearby movement caught in his peripheral vision, relaxing when he registered that it was just Phoenix, likely roused by the voices. In an attempt to help ease his restless mind, the firebird had taken up a spot on the usually unoccupied pillow beside Miles’s head, softly rambling about whatever topic popped into his head. He must have lulled himself to sleep in the process.

Miles swung out of bed, padding over to the closet. He didn’t want to make Maya wait outside any longer than necessary, so he threw a robe on over his sleepwear and tried to make his hair look a little less slept in on the way to the door. After fully rousing himself, Phoenix trailed along after him, landing on a table near the entryway as Miles opened the door to their guest.

“Took you long enough,” Maya said, inviting herself in. “I rang the doorbell like five times before I called!”

Miles watched her go past, noting the luggage she was toting behind. “Are you moving in?”

“Huh?” She paused, looking at the large suitcase she’d just rolled up to the couch. “Oh, no. I just needed to stop by before going back to Kurain.”

“What?!” Phoenix exclaimed, flapping over to land on the suitcase’s handle, which slowly sank into its casing under his weight. “You never said we were leaving today!”

“Relax, Nick,” she said, giving him a pat on the head. “Hey Mr. Edgeworth, where’s the gift I gave you?”

In the wake everything that’d happened, Miles had completely forgotten about the small parcel Maya had left for him. It took him a moment to remember where he’d even placed it, but soon he returned to the den, present now in hand.

Maya watched expectantly from the couch as he took his own seat in the armchair, removing from the bag a thin, rectangular item covered in particularly tacky holiday wrapping paper. He glanced at her one last time before fully unwrapping it.

In his hands was a notebook, the cover depicting a starry, moonlit sky. Front and center was the Pink Princess, leaping across the cover, haloed by the crescent moon.

“I couldn’t find any Steel Samurai ones,” Maya admitted.

“It’s quite nice,” he told her, and he wasn’t just saying that to spare her feelings. Pink Princess had its merits as part of the franchise and the notebook itself was of a good quality - actually bound in hardcover rather than flimsy cardboard. He could definitely find a use for it.

As he examined it further, the notebook fell open to the middle, where a folded piece of paper was shoved between the pages. Gingerly, he picked it up, questioning gaze set on Maya. “What’s this?”

“I stuck it in there before the lady at the store wrapped it,” Maya explained. “Go on, read it.”

“Wait, did you write a note?” Phoenix asked. “How come I didn’t know about this?”

“Go look for yourself,” she said, spurring the firebird to switch perches so he was behind Miles’ head now. He waited for him to get settled before unfolding the paper and beginning to read.

 

Mr. Edgeworth,

I know I’ve probably said it a million times by now, but I really can’t thank you enough. For everything, really. I know I can be a bit much sometimes, but you let me tag along with you anyway. I wish we could’ve met for a happier reason, but I still enjoyed my time here. I got to go on investigations! See new parts of the town. Meet the STEEL SAMURAI! (Also, that director guy should totally give me royalties for inspiring the Pink Princess). Anyway, what I’m really trying to say is… you’ve been a great friend to me and I really appreciate everything you’ve done.

So, it feels a little selfish of me, but I have to ask you for one more thing…

Take care of Nick for me?’

 

Miles was still muddling over the letter, so Phoenix was the one to react first.

“Maya! What-“

“Nick,” she said softly, cutting him off. “Just… hear me out first, okay? I’ve been thinking about this a lot and, as long as Mr. Edgeworth doesn’t mind, I really think you’d be better off staying here.”

“But!” He was off the armchair and next to her now. “But we’re supposed to look out for each other!”

“And that’s exactly what I’m doing. Unless you really want to come sit under freezing waterfalls with me that badly?” 

She giggled when he visibly shuddered at the thought.

“Nick,” she repeated, her tone taking a more serious note. “You’ll just be miserable in Kurain, we both know it. Best case scenario is you show yourself to the village and nobody freaks out, but then what? Yeah you won’t have to be stuck on me 24/7, but there’s still nothing for you there. You’ll get to watch me train, or play with Pearly, or… I don’t know… become the new mascot of Kurain village or something. Do you really want that?”

“But… what about you?” he asked softly.

“What about me? I may complain about it, but Kurain’s still my home. And, if I want to be a proper spirit medium, that’s where I need to be. But you… I think you need to be someplace where you can do what you’re good at, which is helping people. Cause I know for a fact Mr. Edgeworth would probably be in jail right now if it weren’t for you.”

Phoenix looked a little bashful. “I kind of had help towards the end there. I… I heard Mia’s voice. Right when it felt like it was all hopeless.”

Maya smiled fondly. “That’s my sister for you. And that’s even more reason why you should stay! To carry on what she’s taught you and help find the truth!”

Phoenix stared at her, eyes wide and searching. His beak opened a few times for presumably a counter argument, then clicked shut with a sigh of resignation. “I hate it when you make sense…”

Maya grinned, then turned to face him. “It is alright, isn’t it, Mr. Edgeworth? If Nick stays here?”

Miles let his gaze wander to anywhere but the direction of the sofa. Phoenix had become an important part of his life. Far more important than he ever could have imagined that fateful September night. Miles may have been the one to help him finish what Mia Fey had started, but Phoenix had helped him in ways the firebird probably didn’t even realize.

And, if Miles were willing to be completely honest with himself, he’d been a little lonely without him these past few days.

“I… do enjoy having a competent legal aid. Despite the fact that he can barely hold a pen.”

“H-hey…” he protested, albeit weakly.

“Then it’s settled!” Maya said, standing up abruptly. She was smiling, but there was something sad in her expression. “I should probably get going. Trains to the mountains don’t run all day, you know…”

“If you’ll allow me the time to get properly dressed,” Miles said, keenly aware he was still in his pajamas beneath that robe as he stood up, “I’ll drive you to the station.”

“Oh, you… you don’t have to…” she said, toeing at the area rug.

“I know I don’t,” he agreed. “I want to.” He dipped his head down in a graceful bow. “Might I be allowed to escort you, Ms. Fey?”

The look on her face was answer enough.

 


 

The drive over to the train station was, for the most part, quiet. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, as everyone in the car had a lot on their respective minds, but there was a sort of melancholy to it as well.

“Well, this is it…” Maya said as Miles pulled up to the drop-off section, holding a hesitant hand on the door handle. “Nick, I… you know I love you, right? And I’m going to miss you.”

“Y-yeah,” he stammered. “Me too. And, hey! It’s not like this is goodbye! You can always visit, or we could visit you! Right, Miles?”

“Of course,” he replied, but even he caught the look in Maya’s eye. He remembered her earlier worries - about needing to focus on her training and her family’s legacy now that she was the only heir. It might be quite some time before they saw each other again. “I’ll let you have a moment alone.”

Miles got out of the car to retrieve Maya’s luggage from the trunk, waiting on the sidewalk. He watched the vague shape of their silhouettes through his tinted mirrors before turning his sights to the other arrivals, all going about their business without sparing him a second glance.

Several long minutes later, Maya emerged from the passenger’s side of the car. There was a floodgate waiting to break just behind her eyes, but, aside from a small leak at her tear ducts, she was holding it back.

She smiled as he handed her the suitcase. “I really do keep saying it, but thank you.”

“I have quite a bit to thank you for as well,” he replied.

“Let’s just call it even, then.” She held out her hand to shake his, only to pull him in for a brief hug instead. “You two stay out out trouble now. I’d hate to have to come back to bail you out of jail again.”

Miles chuckled. “That shouldn’t be necessary, Ms. Fey…” He paused, shaking his head. “Maya. Take care.”

With a quiver of her lip, the dam finally burst. Smiling through the tears, Maya choked out one last goodbye as she slowly walked away, letting herself fall in with the rest of the early morning commuters. 

Miles watched until she was out of his sight before getting back in the car. Phoenix was doing his best to give off the impression that he wasn’t the sort of being who got overly emotional and utterly failing at it.

“You’re allowed to be emotional,” Miles told him, switching the ignition on.

Phoenix made an odd noise, something between a laugh and a sniffle. “That sounds like something I should be telling you.”

“Perhaps,” Miles said, checking his mirrors to make he wasn’t about to get sideswiped as he pulled away from the curb.

“So… I was thinking… “

“Oh dear,” Miles said, smirking at the glare he caught in the corner of his eye.

“Oh hush. I was thinking about these past couple of days and your past and… It sucks how it happened, but I’ve learned so much about you, while you still don’t really know anything about me.”

“That’s not something you have much say in, Phoenix,” he said, eyes focused on the road ahead.

“Yeah, but after everything, you probably deserve to know. And I know you’re curious.”

“I don’t deserve anything,” Miles said, not even bothering to deny the latter half. He was obviously curious to Phenix’s origins, but he knew it wasn’t his place to pry. Especially since it was bound to dredge up painful memories for the firebird.

“Okay, let’s put it this way. What if I want to you know? What if I’m ready for you to try and find the truth?”

“Well, then.” If he had the symbiont’s blessing, that certainly put matters into a different light. He’d need to gather what few leads he’d potentially uncovered to find a starting point, as well as whatever other clues he picked up from observing Phoenix’s behavior and reactions. “I just might have found a use for Maya’s present.”

Chapter Text

“Furthermore, the victim’s body was found in the storage room, which only the defendant had access to!”

“True, but that fact alone should bring their guilt into question. Wouldn’t you hide a body… I don’t know, literally anywhere else if you didn’t want to fall under suspicion?”

“Ah, but you’re assuming the body was intended to be found. The storage room was likely a temporary, well, storage location, until he could properly dispose of the evidence of his crime. The witness obviously foiled this.”

There was no murmur throughout the gallery, or bang of a gavel, just Phoenix and a scrunched expression of deep concentration.

“W-well… then maybe the storage room wasn’t planned at all!  Maybe the defendant found the body and panicked, so he hid it in there!”

Miles raised an eyebrow. “That’s the angle you’re going with?”

“Hey, you still don’t have a motive.”

“Yes, I’m aware. That is why we’re doing this exercise in the first place.” The case going to court tomorrow, which he’d been rather abruptly assigned, was fairly open and shut, though there were a few odd details he’d yet to piece together. Phoenix was standing in as the defense for a quick run-through, in the event that arguing it out might reveal something he’d overlooked.

“Oh. Right.” Phoenix hummed to himself, thinking.

“Well, Phoenix? Ready to admit your client is guilty?”

“Hold on, I’m still thinking.” He double-checked the case file, flipping through the evidence page. “I know everything points at this guy, but he just doesn’t have a motive. Like he hadn’t meant to kill him or something…”

“You mean, self-defense?” he suggested.

“That, or an accident all together. Either way, I really don’t think our defendant planned to kill anyone.”

“I… hadn’t actually considered the possibility,” Miles admitted. He was so used to assuming the worst of defendants, showing criminals no mercy.

Phoenix was giving him a look - that one that screamed how he wanted to wrap the prosecutor up in his wings, but refrained because he knew he’d be swatted away with a stack of paper for his troubles. “Hey, you’re unlearning 15 years of whatever von Karma drilled into your head.”

“I know…” Miles sighed. It’d been nearly a month since he’d found himself in the defendant’s chair and his mentor had been found guilty of his father’s murder. The incident had put a new perspective on how he’d come to view his role as a prosecutor. How many innocents had he convicted with his overconfidence and thirst for approval from a man undeserving of his admiration? How many could have been victims of a cruel plot, like himself? “I’ll look at it again from your position.”

He reached for the file, but Phoenix was quicker, shutting the folder with a flick of his head.

“Phoenix.”

“Or, you could take a break before you get in a weird state of mind. Again.”

“I’m fine,” Miles grumbled, though the firebird was, frustratingly, correct. His usual coping method, throwing himself headfirst into work, was slightly counterintuitive when doing his job was just another reminder. 

“You know what you need? A vacation. I bet Lana would give you one without much fuss. She already didn't approve of you coming back to the office so quickly.”

“I don’t need a vacation, I need something to occupy my thoughts.” He went for the file again only for Phoenix to snatch it up entirely, flying over to the couch. Uninterested in chasing the firebird around the room, he granted him this small victory. Instead, he opened the top drawer of his desk and retrieved the Pink Princess notebook he’d received from Maya. If the symbiont wished to divest him of his files, then he got the honor of being an outlet for his troubled thoughts instead. 

Even though he had full permission, Miles had not gotten as far as he would have liked into his research on Phoenix’s backstory. At the moment, the notebook contained mostly observances he’d gathered based on Phoenix’s overall behavior (he stopped just shy of adding ‘exasperating’ to this list), reactions to various topics, and the few clues left behind by Mia Fey. 

Oddly enough, Rowan Kipper continued to remain his biggest lead. Even though he’d been confirmed as a completely separate individual, there was still some underlying connection between Kipper and Phoenix that eluded the prosecutor. Or, perhaps not Kipper himself, but the trial in which he became Mia Fey’s client. The stipulations of the curse allowed Phoenix to at least confirm that it was during these events that he became bound to Ms. Fey, though all available clues led Miles to deduce that the murder itself had little to do with it. A catalyst perhaps, drawing Ms. Fey to a location where their paths would collide, but not the cause (unlike with his own fateful meeting with the firebird). Doug Swallow could be ruled out as a lead.

Which left Kipper (or Ias, as he was going by now) or Hawthorne. Kipper, as her client, would have had the best chances of the two to entrust Phoenix to Ms. Fey, though Hawthorne had been the one she’d been tracking for months, leaving potential for a link there as well. Provided it was either of them, and not some unknown party who didn’t appear in the court record, but still had some involvement with the case.

Phoenix was back, carefully alighting on the edge of the desk. “Got anything new?” he asked, a singular glance at the page enough for him to realize what Miles was working on.

“I have an idea, though I need to work out just how to go about executing it,” Miles answered, turning to a fresh page in the notebook. He wasn’t sure how deep the connection was, but his best bet right now was to talk with one of the leads and see if they had more information to provide. And while Kipper was no doubt off touring somewhere with his band, Hawthorne was not too far out of reach, safely locked away in one of the state’s prisons. Gaining audience with her would be easy enough with his connections, he just needed an excuse for the meeting to occur.

Phoenix watched as he made a list of the things he would need to do if he intended to chase this train of thought, head tilting.

“What about your first trial?”

Miles stopped mid-word. “What?”

“Your first trial. The one where Mia was the defense. It’s still unsolved, right, so technically she’s still a suspect.”

This was true. The one attorney who’d been pursuing the case found his efforts rewarded by a poisoned cup of coffee (Phoenix had informed him that this had been Ms. Fey’s boyfriend, explaining her almost obsessive interest in Hawthorne), and everyone else had probably let it go forgotten. Miles certainly had tried. Still, it was a good reason to request an interview with Hawthorne without revealing his true intent. His own involvement only made the front all the more plausible.

“I suppose it shouldn’t be too hard to bring the conversation to the Swallow murder from there,” Miles said, writing down his suggestion. “Unless you have any more ideas.”

“Hey, I can’t give you all the answers.” Miles exchanged a brief stare with him, but decided he didn’t need to interpret that particular statement as anything deeper than a ‘no’. There were vague, cryptic responses, and then there was Phoenix just being plain cheeky.

He wrote out a few scenarios, as well as a memo to have this meeting set up as soon as possible, which he let Phoenix read over, using the distraction to steal back his case file. The firebird didn’t fight him over this, though he did express his complaints to the houseplant (Miles refused to acknowledge its name) in the corner that he found himself roped into taking care of.

Leaving Phoenix to his antics, Miles resettled on the couch as he approached this case from a new angle.

 


 

As soon as possible ended up being a lot sooner than he’d actually predicted. About a week later, Miles found himself being led to the prison cell currently occupied by Dahlia Hawthorne. Phoenix hadn’t reacted much while they were planning, but as soon as this little rendezvous became set in stone, his mood had been noticeably affected - a sign that he was hopefully on to something. Phoenix definitely had some exposure to Hawthorne in the past, through Kipper’s trial or Ms. Fey’s records, but if he was reacting this strongly to the prospect of meeting with her…

The cell he was escorted to was separate from the other prisoners’ and more furnished than theirs as well. Seated at a vanity with her back to the bars, was Hawthorne. The guard excused himself, but made note that he wouldn’t stray too far, lest Miles require assistance. He made note of this, though doubted the situation would escalate to that point.

“So you’re the one asking about my dear sister’s murder after all these years,” Hawthorne said once they were alone, finally turning to face him. There was a sharp spike in Phoenix’s emotions as she spoke. “Awfully rude of you, dredging up those painful memories.”

Hawthorne had displayed two distinct personalities while on stand - the sweet, demure damsel who’d unwittingly become involved in a tragedy, and the far more sinister visage brought to light once she’d been pushed to her limits. Judging by the sneer in her tone, she wasn’t planning on wasting any energy on the facade this time.

“Somehow, I think you’ll be fine,” Miles said, tapping a finger against his arm.

Hawthorne smiled. “I remember you. You were the prosecutor from that trial. Is that why you're here, to make another deal with ‘Melissa Foster?’” The smile turned cunning. "I didn't think they wasted time prosecuting dead men.”

“No one’s being prosecuted. I merely seek closure,” he lied. Though he’d truly believed otherwise at the time, it was now all too clear who the true mastermind of that murder had been. No, he needed something else from Hawthorne.

“Is that all? A shame,” she said, though didn’t seem to suspect him of any ulterior motive. She moved from the chair to her cell’s cot, folding her hands daintily in her lap. “I’d hoped you’d be a bit more entertaining.”

“I didn’t come here for your amusement,” Miles dryly remarked.

“No, you came here for information,” Hawthorne said, leaning back to rest her weight on her palms. “Still, I get bored, so I’ll tell you what you want if you humor me for a while.”

“Very well,” he said. He needed to keep her talking anyway, if he wanted to open an opportunity to get the information he wanted. Miles glanced over to the vanity she’d just been sitting at, which was unusual enough in the first place without even mentioning the collection of books she had displayed. Inmates were usually granted a few comforts, but never that many. “Although it appears you should have much to keep you occupied.”

She followed his line of sight. “There’s only so many times you can reread the same books over and over. This guard isn’t quite as charitable as my previous one, so I haven’t received any gifts in quite a while.”

“That is unfortunate,” Miles replied, squinting to get a better look at her collection. It was hard to read the titles from where he was standing, but the few he could make out appeared to be collections of classic literature and poetry. “And this guard was your only benefactor?”

“I don’t get many visitors,” was her only answer, fiddling with a loose strand of hair.

Unsurprising, given how most people who associated with her seemed to wind up dead. Still, he should probably at least pretend to be sympathetic. 

“Really? No one’s willing to brave your presence?” 

So perhaps pretend wasn’t the right word, but his snide remark got a wry smile out of her, before her expression suddenly turned sour.

She had the gall to.” Hawthorne spat out the pronoun like hot acid on her tongue.

“She?”

“Mia Fey. She came by not too long after she got me locked up in here.”

“Ms. Fey did?” This was news to Miles. Phoenix didn’t react, but the encounter had to have occurred after Kipper’s trial, so he would have been present for this. “What did she want?”

“Oh, just to talk about a few trivial matters,” Hawthorne replied. “It was so insignificant I’ve completely forgotten.”

Miles gave her a doubtful look, shaking his head. Yeah, he wasn’t buying that excuse for a second. “Now, now, Ms. Hawthorne. I thought you wanted me to humor you?”

“Did I say that?” She fluttered her eyelashes innocently. “I don’t know, Prosecutor, it’s awfully personal. Besides, I doubt you’d even believe me.”

Now they were potentially getting somewhere. “I find myself quite more open to the unbelievable these days.”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why exactly did you come here? Why now, after all these years? It can’t be relevant to anything you’re doing.”

“Some… things have come up recently. I’m merely seeking…” Miles paused, thinking his answer over carefully. What exactly was he seeking? Curiosity was one matter, but if this woman really did hold some clue to Phoenix’s past, was there something he hoped to achieve with it? “I seek the truth.”

“The truth, huh?” She didn’t sound especially convinced or moved. “Is that what you really want? Or does your guilty conscience want me to tell you you were on the moral high ground all along?” Her expression turned sweet again. “Fine, I’ll give you your truth. I killed Valerie. You would have sent an innocent man to his death… if he hadn’t done the job for you first.”

“You-!” Miles shuddered, an image of Terry Fawles collapsing at the witness stand, blood sliding past his lips, flashing across his mind. It was hardly news, but to hear her so brazenly admit it…

“You can take that as a confession, if you’d like,” she continued. “It doesn’t really matter. My execution’s already been set after all.”

E-execution?! Phoenix exclaimed, speaking up for the first time since they arrived. Miles was less surprised by the news. With the number and severity of her crimes, it was the usual sentence to receive.

“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” Hawthorne tilted her head to the side as if confused, likely misinterpreting his silence. “Is it truly that big of a shock to you, Prosecutor?”

“My shock, Ms. Hawthorne, is in the ease with which you admit that,” Miles clarified.

She shrugged. “It was self preservation. I needed their silence. Like I said, it doesn’t matter now.”

“I suppose not,” Miles said, folding his arms. “Since Ms. Fey put an end to your reign of terror.”

She scowled again. “Mia Fey cheated. She never would have been able to prove anything had she not stolen from me.”

“Stolen? You mean that bottle necklace?” Recalling the court record, the final nail in Hawthorne’s coffin had been a small bottle of poison cleverly disguised as a pendant. It’s reveal had been enough to force a confession from her.

“Maybe you should ask her that. Why don’t you prosecute her for property theft while you're at it? I wouldn’t mind pressing charges.”

Phoenix made a strangled noise that Miles wasn’t quite sure what to make of, or Hawthorne’s statement itself.

“How would-” Miles then cut himself off. Of course she wouldn’t have heard of Ms. Fey’s untimely murder in her isolation from society. Nor did he feel that it was his place to inform her - let Hawthorne stew in useless hatred of a dead woman.

She studied him only for a second, before standing up and moving back to the desk, her back to him once again. “Well, Prosecutor, I believe your business here is finished.”

“Yes… I believe it is.”

 


 

“Are you still at that?”

Miles adjusted his position to compensate for the additional weight of the large bird who’d decided to land on his shoulder, not even glancing up.

His earlier meeting with Hawthorne had not revealed much, but it left him with burning questions. Why had Phoenix reacted so strongly to her? Upon returning home, he’d calmed down considerably, but even now Miles could still feel the remnants of that anxious buzz wafting off of him. Then there was the matter of what had been stolen from her - and the obvious potential answer that was currently digging his talons into Miles’ shoulder and probably didn’t even realize it.

Miles relocated him to the desk before he did any damage, and carefully studied the symbiont. It made too much sense. Phoenix’s meeting with Ms. Fey had been often described as a rescue, and Hawthorne was certainly the type of person who required rescuing from. If Phoenix had been the ‘property’ stolen from her (and he wouldn’t put it past her to refer to him in such a  callous manner), then he would’ve been indispensable in proving her guilt. Who knows how many of her crimes he would have witnessed.

And yet, it didn’t line up with the facts. As her ‘partner’, Phoenix should have been with her for Swallow’s murder, and Miles was confident in reasoning that this wasn’t the case. For that matter, Hawthorne did not seem the type to bother with the symbiont’s condition - it would have been easier for her to leave him somewhere to die rather than have a witness for everything she did. And what could the daughter of a jeweler possibly have to do with curses in the first place? She couldn’t just be another partner he’d had along the way as Phoenix spoke quite freely of Ms. Fey, yet only vaguely referenced Hawthorne.

“I really don’t think you’re going to find anything in that,” Phoenix said. That, was referring to the background check on Hawthorne he’d dug out of the records room. He was lucky enough that they still had it on file after nearly 4 years, though the information on her family’s business wasn’t getting him any closer to an answer.

“You think I don’t know that by now?” Miles said, scowling at the page. “Unless the Hawthornes deal in cursed jewelry.”

He laughed. “Nah, pretty sure just poisoned - though both are pretty bad if you want repeat customers.”

“That would be a rather niche market to cater to,” he mused. “Still, there has to be some sort of connection somewhere, I just can’t fathom where it could be.”

Phoenix gave him a sympathetic look. “You don’t have to push yourself, you know. The problem’s not going anywhere…”

Something in his tone caused Miles to take pause. “Perhaps… Yet I feel I could be on the brink of a breakthrough.” He didn’t give the firebird his full attention until he caught a passing glimpse of a dramatic eye roll. “If it bothers you that much, go find something else to do. You can’t help me with this anyway.”

“But what would you do without my company?” he asked as he settled himself directly atop the notebook Miles was trying to write in, work being consumed by feathers.

“Actually get something done, for one.” Miles removed him and set him off to the side. “Phoenix please, this is important, I want to be thorough.” After all, Phoenix had greatly helped in unlocking the secrets of his past, saving the prosecutor from his own ‘curse’.

He glanced over at the firebird, a glimpse of raven hair and a bright grin flashing through his mind’s eye. Perhaps it was his turn to return the favor…

Phoenix looked embarrassed at the confession. “Just… I want you to figure it out, but not if you’re going to overwork yourself on something that really isn’t urgent. I know how you get.”

“Excuse you, I never overwork myself.”

“Yes, of course. My mistake,” the firebird said as he flew from the desk, hopefully off to take up Miles’ advice and find something to occupy himself.

When he finally admitted to himself the particular path he was on was getting him nowhere, Miles called it a day. It wasn’t a court case and, as Phoenix said, he didn’t have a deadline to answer these questions. Speaking of Phoenix…

Leaving his study, he found the firebird in the den, occupying as much space on the couch as possible. A movie or show he didn’t recognize was playing on the television, though the dancing suggested it was some sort of musical - he couldn’t hear it very well as Phoenix had the volume turned down low. Miles left him to his devices. It was getting late and he wanted to shower before he got started on settling in for the night.

When he returned to the den the TV was still on and he was in his pajamas, a towel on his head soaking the last bits of moisture out of his hair. “Phoenix, have you seen my book?” He’d been unable to locate the novel he’d been reading the past couple of nights and, whether he realized he did it or not, the symbiont had a habit of moving his possessions to incomprehensible places. He still wasn’t sure what circumstances had led to the remote winding up atop the refrigerator.

“Phoenix?” he tried again after getting no response, stepping closer to the couch. He hadn’t moved much since he’d left him, though now he was throughly asleep, head nearly hanging off the edge of the sofa. Miles couldn’t help but smile at the sight as he reached over for the remote, careful not to disturb him.

“No… please…”

Miles paused. He’d just shut off the television and was in the process of leaving the room when Phoenix suddenly spoke out in a broken whisper. Miles looked at him more closely. He was twitching slightly in his sleep, eyes moving rapidly behind closed lids. He cried out again, a little louder, and his head thrashed to the side.

Miles rounded the couch, quickly recognizing the signs of a nightmare. “Phoenix,” he repeated softly, reaching out to shake the firebird awake. He leaned into the contact, seeming to calm down, until his body thrashed again and suddenly the firebird was disappearing up Miles’ sleeve.

He flinched, both at the suddenness of the bond and the frantic, incoherent babbling in his head. Whatever nightmare Phoenix was having, it must be a particularly nasty one. He called to him a few more times, both verbally and mentally, but Phoenix was irresponsive at each turn. Ready to resign to dousing his arm in cold water - which had already proven effective in rousing Phoenix from his 2D state - an idea came to him. Perhaps, now that they were connected, there was another way to spare him from this nightmare.

 


 

It’d taken a little bit to force himself to drift off, his mind distracted by occasional whispers and writhing from the symbiont wrapped around his arm, but when he’d gathered his thoughts, he’d found himself dropped into an unfamiliar room. Many of its features were hazy and unfocused, but that wasn’t what Miles found the oddest about his surroundings. He was standing next to a bed, but the top of the mattress was nearly level with his shoulder, and the rest of the furniture visible to him followed this trend. 

Miles did a quick examination of himself. He was seemingly unchanged, meaning everything else was merely larger than life.

He didn’t spend much time pondering these odd proportions as a noise - a choked sob, specifically - caught his attention. He followed the sound until he was practically beneath an equally ridiculously sized desk, the source coming from atop it. The desk itself was out of reach, but thankfully the chair beside it wasn’t too tall for Miles to pull himself onto the seat of, then up to the desk from there.

Before him was a giant (or perhaps, to scale) birdcage, though instead of metal, the bars and framework appeared to be made of vines interwoven with blood-red flowers. In the center sat Phoenix, surrounded by feathers scattered across the floor of the cage. He had his knees hugged tight to his chest, face partially buried in his arms and partially in a large, red scarf.  

“Phoenix…” Miles called, slowly approaching.

For the first time that night, he responded to the call, head snapping up. His eyes, rimmed with red, widened at the sight of the prosecutor. “M-Miles? Why are…”

“We’re going to have to talk about boundaries if you keep unconsciously clinging to me like this,” Miles said, no heat to his tone.

He smiled, but it was strained. “What can I say Miles? I must find you irresistible.”

“Yes, that must be it,” Miles said as he rested a hand on the bars. Despite their delicate appearance, the plants were as cold as ice and unyielding. He circled the cage until he found the door, held shut by a large padlock - also flower shaped, but different to the ones forming the bars. Unfortunately Miles didn’t know enough about flowers to discern if there was any significance to this. He tugged at the padlock, finding it just as metallic as the rest of his cage. It didn’t budge.

“Just leave it.”

Miles frowned. “You shouldn’t be caged like some…”

“Animal?” Phoenix filled in for him. 

“I was going to say criminal,” Miles said, abandoning the lock until he could find a way to remove it aside from brute force. He took a seat beside him. “But, yes, that too.”

“It’s not so bad,” he lied. Miles could see the tear stains soaking into the sleeves of the horrendously pink sweater he was wearing for some reason.

Reaching through the bars, Miles rested a hand on his shoulder. “What did Hawthorne do to you?” There was really no doubt now.

Phoenix stared at his hand, rather than looking at him. “I think that’s kind of obvious.”

“Fine. But how? And why?”

Phoenix shrugged. “You’ve met her. You’ve seen what her motives were.”

“Exactly, which is why I’m asking these questions. Because, unlike her other victims, your life was spared. Why? What was so special about your circumstances?”

Sighing, he turned away. “Miles, I can’t…”

“I know,” he assured him, moving his hand away. “I’m mostly thinking aloud.” He’d need to do more digging if he was going to help Phoenix, but he knew where he could start for now. Miles reached into the cage again, but this time swiped up one of the larger feathers from the ground.

“Uh… what are you doing?” Phoenix asked as the prosecutor stood and moved back to the padlock.

“I’m letting you out,” he merely stated, taking the strange metal flower in one hand and inserting the tip of the shaft into the keyhole.

“I didn’t know you knew how to pick locks.”

“I don’t,” Miles replied. He was blindly jostling the feather around the inner mechanisms of the lock. “But this is a dream, so…” There was a click, and the lock sprung free, shattering in his hands. With nothing holding it in place, the cage door swung open.

Phoenix hadn’t moved from his place on the floor, mouth slightly agape in shock. Bowing, Miles held out a hand to help him up.

He took the offer. “Are you sure you don’t know how to pick locks?” he teased, letting himself be pulled to his feet. Miles started to roll his eyes, but as Phoenix’s feet passed the threshold, the cage began to shake. He quickly pulled Phoenix closer as, just like the lock, the bars shattered, scattering petals around then. The symbiont stared in shock, before his expression softened to a smile. A real smile, soft and bright, eyes shimmering with unspoken emotions.

Miles found himself drawn to that smile. He wanted to see that face again, outside of a dream.

“I’m going to free you,” he said suddenly, his grip on the symbiont’s hand tightening.

Phoenix blinked and turned to him, head tilting to the side. “But you just did? Thanks, by the way.”

Miles let out an amused snort, releasing his hand. “Don’t mention it,” he said, brushing away a small shard that had landed on Phoenix’s shoulder. Now that he was standing, Miles could see the full extent of how ridiculous the sweater he wore was. Besides the color, there was a large red heart in the center of his chest. He stared at the heart or, more specifically, the lettering inside of it. 

What on earth did ‘RYU’ mean?

 


 

The first thing Miles did upon finally being allowed to return to his office that evening was unceremoniously dump the two items he’d been saddled with onto the sofa, grumbling about how he had better things he could’ve been doing. He could have been researching for Phoenix more ( a month had past since his interview with Hawthorne with nothing much to report. Ryu was most likely a name, one of Japanese origin, but too vague to do anything with). He also had plenty of paperwork that needed his attention, as well as a potential case lined up once the investigative team managed to pin down a suspect.

Instead, he’d been forced to waste his afternoon on some frivolous ceremony and running errands for the Chief of Police.

Phoenix had come out and immediately set himself to examining the new addition to the room. “So this is the coveted ‘King of Prosecutors’ trophy, huh?”

Miles didn’t spare him or the gaudy thing a second glance. “I suppose they think it’s funny, presenting me with that toy. Utter waste of my time.” He forcefully set himself down behind the desk, chair creaking in protest of the rough treatment.

Phoenix, who had decided for some reason to stand atop the shield-shaped trophy (for once he actually hoped those talons scratched the surface), looked over. “I thought it was supposed to be an honor?”

“Oh please, Phoenix. We both know what’s been said of me as of late.” Not that it was ever particularly high, but in the wake of von Karma’s exposure, his public opinion had reached an all time low. Rumors of his potential corruption echoed more than ever, even amongst his own colleagues. “Why present me with such a thing now unless it’s part of some childish joke?”

Phoenix didn’t answer at first, hopping off of the trophy. Briefly, he poked at the other item on the couch, a blue screwdriver with an evidence tag for a closed case, but didn’t comment on it. He likely wouldn’t, as he’d heard the entire exchange with Chief Gant asking him to retrieve the item and store it at the Prosecutor’s Office for a while.

“You probably should take that vacation after all,” he said softly.

Miles groaned. “Oh not this again…”

“Oh yes this again, because you didn’t listen to me the first couple times!”

“I told you, I’m fine.”

“No you’re not. Everything that’s happened these past few months is weighing on you and stressing you out.”

“Objection. You have no proof this is related to recent events. Perhaps I’m always stressed out.”

“Then that’s even more reason for you to take a vacation,” the firebird implored.

“Mr. Edgeworth, sir -!”

The two had been so busy arguing that neither of them had heard Gumshoe’s approach until  the door slammed open and it was far too late.

From the doorway, they watched the process of the detective’s train of thought derailing and careening off into a gorge as he took in the sight before him.

“Detective, this is exactly why I ask you to knock before you enter.” Miles sighed, leaning back in his chair as he rubbed his temples. “Though I suppose that if you ever managed to leak this little revelation, no one’s likely to believe you. I surely wouldn’t.”

“Aww, there’s no need to be embarrassed, sir, I think it’s sweet you wanted to bring your pet to work. No wonder you looked so anxious to get away from the party!”

Pet?!” Phoenix squawked, clearly offended.

“Oh and he talks, too!” the detective said, eyes lighting up with delight. 

“Far too much, really,” Miles said, barely concealing an amused smirk behind his hand as the firebird shot an impressive glare across the room at him. “This is Phoenix.” He refrained from saying more. At this point, it was Phoenix’s call whether or not to reveal his true nature, or carry on in secret, allowing the detective to believe him to be Miles’ exotic pet.

Phoenix. He’s beautiful.” Phoenix puffed up a little - whether out of embarrassment or indignation, Miles would never know. He crouched down so he was eye level with the firebird, slowly reaching out to him. “Who’s a pretty bird?” he cooed in a sing-song voice, waiting eagerly for an echoed response.

Phoenix, who normally wasn’t too proud to accept the occasional pat on the head, shied away from his large hand. “Please don’t patronize me, detective.”

He stalled, glancing nervously between bird and man. “That’s… uh… an interesting response. Should’ve known you’d teach your parrot to say something more intellectual, sir.”

“He didn’t teach me anything. I’m not a parrot!” Phoenix snapped.

Gumshoe fell back in alarm. “You can talk?! Like, actually talk!

“Of course,” Miles said. “He’d be useless as a paralegal otherwise. And Phoenix, you must admit you do share quite the resemblance to a scarlet macaw.” Phoenix snorted. “Though, are you quite sure about this?”

He shrugged. “It was bound to happen sooner or later. Besides, I think he’s trustworthy.”

Gumshoe still hadn’t gotten up, glancing back and forth so quickly Miles was certain he was going to give himself vertigo. “Not going to lie, I am very confused right now.”

“Understandable. I’ll do my best to fill you in later. As for now, I assume there is a good reason you barged into my office in the first place.”

“Oh! Right!” The detective leapt to his feet, remembering his prior urgency. “Head Prosecutor Skye’s just been arrested!”

Chapter 18

Notes:

Sorry for the wait folks. I started a new job a few weeks ago so I've been pretty busy/drained with all the training they put me through.

Chapter Text

The charge against Head Prosecutor Skye was, to his ever increasing surprise, murder. A witness reported seeing her plunge a knife into the stomach of one of the local detectives, for which she was swiftly apprehended. The reason Gumshoe had been in such haste to inform him of this, was because the body of said detective was currently located in the trunk of his car.

Miles grimaced at the site before him as he reentered the parking garage. Even at a distance, he could see the bloody stain that marred the victim’s white trench coat, contained only by the knife (that, to his horror, looked suspiciously like the one from the toolbox he kept in his trunk for emergencies) that still pierced the corpse. A detective stood guard nearby, one Miles had oft passed in the hallways, but didn’t know the name of, preserving the crime scene until someone more prepared to handle it arrived.

He wished to examine the scene for himself, if only to see the extent of the damage done to his car, but his progress was barred by the temporary guard, who nervously declared that he was to report directly to the detention center for questioning regarding any possible involvement with the murder. Protocol, the detective insisted under Miles’ withering glare - though protocol was already being broken by the mere fact he was heading straight to the detention center for questioning, rather than the precinct - and he begrudgingly agreed that there were grounds for suspicion.

Leaving the crime scene behind, Miles climbed into the passenger seat of Gumshoe’s ragged squad car, parked in the visitor’s lot. At least, since it was just Gumshoe, he wasn’t being treated as a criminal, unlike two months ago at Gourd Lake. Perhaps that had been the detective’s intent in his haste to alert the prosecutor, even though his haste had revealed the secret Miles had been keeping since September.

With a roughly 30 minute drive ahead of them, Phoenix was seated in Miles' lap as he properly acquainted himself with Gumshoe. They had promised the detective an explanation at a later time, and now was as good a one as any. Phoenix took charge for the most part, giving a general overview of his symbiotic nature and how he’d come to bond with Miles in the first place.

Gumshoe was taking it all in stride, perhaps even excitement, as he flooded the poor firebird with questions about magic and… wizards? and whatever other fantastical notion that popped into his head. Oddly, he was having less trouble with embracing the firebird’s mere existence, and more accepting that Phoenix had been present for nearly every interaction he’d shared with Miles since September without his notice.

(“I mean, I’m a detective, pal! We’re supposed to ‘expect the unexpected’, you know?”

“Unexpected usually implies within the known realms of reality, Detective.”)

By the time they’d finally arrived to the detention center, Gumshoe had a better grasp on the situation, though still obviously confused by it. Phoenix slipped back into hiding as they parked and exited the vehicle, heading inside. The detective was halted at the entrance, unable to join Miles in the interrogation room, and forced to mope in the waiting area as Miles was led into the back.

His presence probably wouldn’t have affected much. With a full eyewitness account of the murder placing him nowhere on scene, a confession from the suspect that he was startled to learn about, and only circumstantial evidence to connect him to the crime, he was quickly (if not reluctantly) deemed an unrelated party and allowed to leave.

Still, as long as he was there, might as well not have this excursion be a total waste of time.

Head Prosecutor Skye looked as composed as ever, despite her location behind the thick glass of the visiting room, guard looming behind her. In fact, between the two of them, the guard looked more nervous about this situation.

Well, she wasn’t Head Prosecutor for nothing.

“Mr. Edgeworth,” she greeted with a cordial nod of her head. “I imagine you have questions for me.”

Miles crossed his arms, looking off to the side. “It would be nice to know why the trunk of my car is being used as a mortuary cabinet.”

“My apologies. I had not wished to cause you any undue harm.”

“I’m having a hard time believing that,” he scoffed, though she’d sounded earnest in her apology.

“Your anger is not unwarranted, given the circumstances. I do not blame you at all for wanting to prosecute this case yourself.”

“Pardon?” he asked, caught off guard. He’d come here for answers, not an assignment.

“Given that, as Head Prosecutor, I obviously cannot prosecute myself,” she continued on, missing his confusion, “you are the most qualified to handle this case. There was an entire ceremony affirming that just hours ago.”

“Do you really think me that petty?” Miles exclaimed, voice rising. Yes, he was upset, but mostly he was confused and hurt that someone else he’d looked up to had potentially betrayed him. “That I would take a case out of some personal vendetta?

“No, I -“ Skye trailed off, unsure how to complete that sentence. Her right hand had risen to her chest in alarm, probably at his sudden volume, which was when Miles saw it - the bandage wrapped firmly around her palm.

Curiosity temporarily overrode his other, clashing emotions. “What happened to your hand?”

She glanced down at her hand, as if surprised to find it wrapped in bandages. “Oh, this? I cut myself by accident. When I stabbed him, that is.”

Miles groaned softly. “Of course you did.” Defendants were rarely this open about their guilt, but for once he wished she’d leave a little room for doubt. “At least let me hear what happened in your words.”

Skye’s words, however, were not much different from the debriefing he’d received from Gumshoe, nor the updated account from the officers who’d questioned him; Knife. Underground parking lot. Trunk. Witness - all the bullet points were there, presented in the detached manner she usually used to deliver her opening statements in court. He really didn’t want to believe his superior capable of murder, but with all this evidence, how could he not?

“Why Detective Goodman? According to the officers, you have no connection to him aside from a singular case you worked on together.”

“That is correct,” she nodded. “Two years ago.”

“And there’s no connection otherwise?” he confirmed. “Nor anything regarding that case to hint at any sort of motive?”

Skye averted her eyes. “The case was solved and the suspect declared guilty. It has nothing to do with my crime.”

“Then why did you kill Detective Goodman?”

“Why are you so concerned with my motive?” She turned the question around on him. “You aren’t taking this assignment.”

“I haven’t decided that yet.” He certainly didn’t want to prosecute his superior - no one in their office probably wanted to be in that position, but putting himself in charge of the investigation might at least up his chances of figuring out why this crime transpired.

Miles, you can’t really think…

I don’t know what to think, he told the firebird, but someone is going to have to prosecute.

“I see…” Skye pursed her lips. “Well, you already have plenty of evidence to aid your case, should you make that decision.”

Ask her about that other case anyway.

As it would have been ineffectual, Miles resisted raising an eyebrow at that. I thought you didn’t approve?

I still want to believe she’s innocent, but either way we’re going to need the whole truth.

Miles couldn’t agree more. “You of all people should know I like to be prepared for anything. Now what is this connection between you and Goodman.”

She turned away. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I can quite easily find this information on my own, you know,” Miles sighed. “It’ll be quicker for both of us if you just tell me now.”

Her shoulders visibly tensed. Without turning back to face him, Skye let out a sigh of her own. “SL-9… It was the SL-9 incident.”

Miles wracked his brain for a moment. “I’m afraid you’ll need to be specific. I don’t keep a database of police codes in my head.”

“It was a fairly big case, at the time,” she said unhelpfully. “I’m sure you remember, since you were prosecuting it.”

Still being cryptic. Miles’ eyes bore holes into the glass between them as he searched for the answer. The news of his own involvement was shocking in a number of ways, but firstly because it changed how Skye was involved. Miles could count the number of times he’d stood with another behind the bench on one hand, and none of those times included her. Two years ago, she couldn’t have been prosecuting that case.

But, two years ago she wasn’t a prosecutor, was she?

“You can’t mean-!” Miles exclaimed as it clicked. “The Darke murders?!” He’d never worked alongside Head Prosecutor Skye, but he’d certainly once held the honor of working with a Detective Skye, shortly before she’d received her simultaneous career change and promotion.

The what murders? Dark?

It was my first big case, he answered. The one that’d put his name on the radar as more that just Manfred von Karma’s student.

“As you can see,” Skye said, having turned back around at some point, “it is completely unrelated. I became Head Prosecutor afterwards and Goodman was never assigned to another case of mine.”

“And yet,” Miles folded his hands on the counter between them, “we find ourselves in this position.”

“That we do,” she agreed, mirroring his posture. “And with that, Mr. Edgeworth, I believe visiting hours are already over. If you do find yourself on this assignment, well, you know where to find me.”

Visiting hours were hardly applicable in this scenario, but Miles knew when he was being dismissed.

 


 

In their urgency to get to the detention center, Miles had left a few things back at the office that he wished to bring home with him. Thankfully, Gumshoe was all too eager to continue serving as his chauffeur, though the actual ride left much to be desired. 

He stared out the window, wincing at every bump and awkward turn, as Phoenix continued his conversation with Gumshoe. It was obvious he wasn’t clicking nearly as well with the detective as Maya had, but it seemed he was at least enjoying having another person to talk to. Miles knew he wasn’t always the best company and, with Maya back in Kurain, he was literally Phoenix’s only source of interaction. Perhaps that was why he’d been so willing to let the detective in on the secret. Miles made a mental note to ask him this at a later time.

A few things had changed upon their return to the parking garage. The medical examiners had come by to remove the body, leaving behind a barricade of crime scene tape and a rope outline hanging pitifully out of his open trunk. The detective standing guard was also no longer present, making way for who Miles presumed to be the team called in to investigate this case.

And, taking one look at just who was on that team, Miles almost wondered if it was worth the trouble to check the scene for himself, or if he should just slip away while he still had the chance.

“Well, lookie here. Looks like we got a couple of lost doggies looking for their herd.”

Too late. He’d been spotted.

“Officer Marshall,” Miles grunted in reply, watching him saunter over. The jingle of his spurred boots echoed off the concrete walls of the garage.

Jake Marshall was usually found guarding Criminal Affair’s evidence room, when he could actually be bothered to stay at his post. Miles somewhat knew the man, if only because he enjoyed antagonizing the prosecutor whenever he needed to make use of said evidence room. (If there had ever been a reason for the animosity, Miles had long since forgotten. He’d never been the most popular person around the precinct anyway). Marshall had been absent from his post when Miles had to run that errand for Gant earlier, leading him to believe he’d been spared from his particular brand of hostility today.

Marshall gave him a cocky smirk, adjusting the brim of his cowboy hat. “You trying to mosey up on my claim, Prospector?”

Miles raised a single, unimpressed eyebrow. “Last I checked, this was my car.”

“Well it’s my gold strike now, so I suggest you n’ your friend there skedaddle on home.”

“Gold strike?” Gumshoe asked, turning to Miles with wide eyes. “You have gold in your car, sir?” There was almost a hint of betrayal in his tone.

Miles sighed. “What I think he means, Detective, is that he’s in charge of the crime scene.”

He nodded in understanding, until what had been said actually sunk in. “What?! But you’re just a patrolman! That’s unheard of!”

Marshall pulled a knife out from out of his pockets, causing Gumshoe to brace himself in a defensive pose, but all he did was bring the blade up to his jawline to scrape at the stubble there. “Order came straight from the chief of police. If you got a problem, Detective, you’d best take it up with him.”

Gumshoe, not one to argue orders from a higher up, backed down.

“Unprecedented or not, I would think he’d at least assign someone more… effective,” Miles said. Marshall could barely be trusted to guard a singular room, usually slacking off when he actually was on post (it was good the evidence room had so many non-human security measures to compensate). It baffled Miles that anyone would put him in charge of an investigation this important in favor of a detective.

Yes Miles. Antagonize the guy who already doesn’t like you, Phoenix remarked, which Miles brushed off. It’s not as though being cordial with Marshall had ever gotten him anywhere.

“I used to be a mighty fine detective, back in the day,” Marshall said as he tilted his head in a manner that allowed the brim of his hat to cover most of his face.

“Oh really? I certainly hope you did a better job there than you do in your current position,” Miles replied, unimpressed. “Though given that you were obviously demoted, I doubt it.”

“You worried about my ability to keep the rustlers out of the corral?” Marshall put his hands on his hips which, given the poncho adorning his torso, had the added effect of further blocking his view of the crime scene. “Cause I think I’m doing an awfully good job of keeping you out.”

“I hardly count as a ‘rustler’.”

“I don’t know. You’ve got a certain reputation with evidence there, prospector.”

“Hey pal, you got something to say about Mr. Edgeworth?!” Gumshoe cried out, always quick to come to his defense.

“I don’t have to say a thing. There’s already been plenty of talk.”

Miles took a moment before he responded. Marshall was just trying to get a rise out of him, as usual. He wasn’t going to let his words affect him. “Baseless rumors. Would you honestly keep the lead prosecutor away from the case based on gossip?”

For a brief second, surprise flashed across the patrolman’s face. “Funny. I don’t recall seeing your name on the report. ‘Cept as a potential subject.”

“That matter has already been cleared up. In fact, I was just about to send Detective Gumshoe upstairs to retrieve the proper paperwork.

“Uh… you were?”

Miles stared at him, unblinking, for a long moment until he got the hint.

Miles, are you sure about this?

Yes, he replied as he watched Gumshoe scurry away to fulfill the request, telling him they’d reconvene in his office. Really, he’d made up his mind during the car ride back. It was an unpleasant arrangement, but it was a necessary evil. Skye needed a prosecutor and he needed to know why she’d turned her back on everything she once stood for.

“So you’d see her thrown in the hoosegow yourself?” Marshall said in a tone that was not judgmental at all. “Truly there is no honor within the Prospector’s Office.”

Miles had to bite back a retort, deciding that comment wasn’t even worth addressing. “Will you just let me through now?”

“If it’s all the same by you, I don’t think I will.”

He took a step back. “Are you denying me access to the crime scene?!”

“Quite frankly, I don’t trust you, Edgeworth. Not after what happened 2 years ago. So, me ’n my boys are gonna head up this here crime scene, while you just sit back in your office and wait for whatever we rustle up.”

“2 years ago? What could I have possibly done back then?” He had still been a rookie after all.

Marshall, however, was no longer interested in holding conversation with the prosecutor. Miles argued his case a few more times until it became absolutely clear his words were better spent elsewhere. Like it or not, he was going to have rely on the investigative team for evidence -which was actually the norm for him. Up until Phoenix had crash landed into his life he’d practically given up investigating for himself.

But that’d been a conscious choice, not the fault of some stubborn officer who had no business leading the investigation in the first place!

An interruption from Phoenix allowed him to keep an even temper. He could deal with this infuriating man come tomorrow, for now he needed to officialize his appointment to this case, otherwise all his talk was merely posturing.

Gumshoe dutifully waited for him in his office with the proper paperwork acquired. Miles swiftly filled it out and handed it back while gathering his own belongings. With Skye out of commission, Chief Gant was the highest authority in their district - aside from the PIC or the Chief Prosecutor. As Miles wasn’t sure how involved they were with the proceedings just yet, his safest bet was the run the paperwork by Gant first and see where it went from there. He put Gumshoe to this task before dismissing him for the day, calling a cab for himself.

So, we’re really doing this, huh? Phoenix asked as they began the journey home.

As I said before, someone has to. Miles leaned against the window, watching streetlights drift by. Might as well be me.

You sound confident.

I just want to know what happened, he sighed. Believe it or not, I don’t want to get my boss a guilty verdict.

Then don’t.

I… what?

Don’t, Phoenix repeated. If you don’t think she did it-

I never said that, he interrupted. A witness saw her stab him, there’s no way she couldn’t have done it. I just want to know why. And why was she trying to frame me?

You don’t really believe that, do you?

What am I supposed to believe? It was my car and my knife. The evidence clearly points at an attempt to frame me.

You’re forgetting the part where she confessed, Phoenix reminded him.

Because there was a witness, Miles countered.

Well, maybe she would’ve confessed even if there wasn’t a witness. Maybe… maybe someone else was trying to frame you and she got caught tampering with the scene.

Miles wished they were having this conversation at home so the firebird could see the absolute lack of amusement in his expression.

Do you even hear the words that come out of your beak?

It’s happened! And no, since I’m speaking with my mind and not my beak and technically you can’t ‘hear’ thoughts…

Phoenix…

I’m trying to be optimistic. Come on Miles, you know Lana. Do you really doubt her intentions?

It’s my job to doubt people. Believing in others doesn’t come as easily to me as it does you.

But it used to, didn’t it? Phoenix quietly added. Back when you wanted to be a defense attorney?

Phoenix, I was a child. A lot has… has changed since then.

 

Maybe not as much as you think, he said mysteriously. Miles felt him make an odd maneuver somewhere around his shoulder, not elaborating further. Please just keep an open mind. Something tells me this case isn’t as clear cut as Lana would have us believe.

 


 

“This is what I have on the SL-9 incident,” Miles said, pulling up the records on his laptop. Since Phoenix was adamant that the old case might hold some significance, they were taking the time to go over it. He’d even collected the physical files from his office, for the sake of being thorough, though most of it should have been catalogued digitally.

Phoenix sat upon the back of the chair, nestled slightly in the crook of his neck where he could easily see the screen, whispering slightly in his ear as he read. SL-9 had probably been one of the worst cases he’d prosecuted in terms of the crime committed. Joe Darke was a mass murderer with a body count of five victims at the time of his arrest…

Neil Marshall? That’s not Officer Marshall, is it?”

…and six when he went to trial.

“I was assigned to that case last minute,” Miles explained. “After the initial prosecutor had been added to the list of victims.”

“Yikes.” Phoenix shivered against him. “So, definitely not our wannabe sheriff.”

“No, but I do believe they were brothers.” He wondered… is replacing his brother on that trial what he’d done 2 years ago to earn the officer’s distrust? Yet, he’d helped bring his killer to justice, also adding a certain layer of improbability to that theory.

“So, he’s got some stake in SL-9, too…” Phoenix said, mostly to himself.

“Maybe,” Miles muttered. He wasn’t liking how everything seemed to just happen to link back to that case. It was solved and, judging from the date on his files, should have been officially put to rest that very day during the evidence transferral.

Of all days for the lead investigator to wind up murdered…

It wasn’t conclusive, but it was certainly weird enough to warrant a deeper look. A deeper look that recalled just how personal SL-9 had been for Skye. Neil Marshall died saving a young girl Darke had threatened after escaping police questioning - a young girl who was no other than Skye’s sister. Under different circumstances, he might’ve been able to argue a motive there, but Goodman had no involvement in the escape that’d put her sister’s life at risk. His name wasn’t even listed in the trial record - Gant (who’d been lead detective alongside Skye) had given the case outline under oath.

Still, this was why he over-prepared. Miles opened the folder which contained the notes he’d received from Neil Marshall’s records. He’d been the one working directly with the investigation, there could be something there that hadn’t made it to court.

“Hey, what’s that?” Phoenix asked, taking interest in a slip of paper clipped to the front of the files.

“The evidence list?” Miles took it out in order for the firebird to get a closer look, frowning at the slip. “It seems… short. I think that bothered me back then as well.”

“Short?” Phoenix asked, obviously not seeing anything wrong with it.

“Most lists run twice as long.”

“Oh. That is odd.” He examined it a bit longer, then slid from the back of the chair to the arm. “Did you look on the back?”

Miles gave him an incredulous look.Why on earth would I look on the back? There’s clearly a designated space for the evidence on the front side, no one would write anything elsewhere. It’s unprofessional.” Besides, there were a few blank spaces at the very bottom. If there was more, then the front should’ve been completely filled out first.

“Gumshoe might,” Phoenix pointed out.

“Yes, well, he was not on this particular case,” Miles said as he watched Phoenix struggle to grip the paper with his beak, unable to deny the possibility. The detective’s mention did, however, remind him of what he’d meant to ask earlier.

“Phoenix, exactly why did you let Gumshoe know about you? You could have easily allowed him to continue believing you were a normal bird.”

“What? And let him think I’m your pet?” He picked up his head, the question distracting him from his task. “My pride can only take so much abuse.”

Miles sighed. “Please be serious for once. I’m asking because, while good intentioned, he’s not always the most reliable person. Especially with information. You should know that by now.”

“I know, but it's like you said; who’d ever believe him? Besides it’s… nice having more people to talk to.”

“I knew it,” Miles said softly, though Phoenix obviously heard him, given that they were sharing the same space.

“Knew what?” He cocked his head curiously.

Nervously, Miles rubbed at his elbow. “I’m aware that I’m a bit… deficient in certain social areas. And with Maya not here to make up for my shortcomings, you must have been desperate for anyone else to interact with.”

“Miles… are you worried about me getting lonely?”

The prosecutor shook his head, unable to look the symbiont in the eyes right now. “It’s fine, you don’t have to spare my feelings. I’m aware that most people don’t find me particularly pleasant to be around. Especially for long stretches of time.”

“Well, good thing I’m not most people,” Phoenix said, leaning into him. “Miles, I didn’t speak up because I was feeling lonely or whatever. I decided to trust Gumshoe because you trust him.” Miles pulled away enough to raise an eyebrow at him. “I mean it! For all his bumbling, you still put a lot of faith in him, I can tell.”

“…he’s a good man,” Miles agreed with a slight smile. A bit dim and more trouble than help sometimes, but fiercely loyal and dedicated to his job. “I suppose it’s beneficial, should something happen to me, for you to have someone else to turn to.”

“That too! Though I really hope you don’t plan on getting arrested again.”

“I hardly planned for that to happen to begin with,” Miles scoffed, “though today came distressingly close.”

“Hey, that’s what we’re trying to figure out though, right?”

“Indeed.”

“Well, we can start by figuring out what’s on the back of this paper.” Phoenix reached down again, finally managing to slide the page off the desk enough for him to grab it in his beak and flip it over.

Both were silent at what was revealed.

“Well… it’s not evidence.” He tilted his head and squinted, trying to look at it from a different angle. “I don’t think.”

To his own credit, Miles was sure he kept most of his scream internalized. “What is that… that thing doing here?!”

“You actually know what this is?” Phoenix asked, having only slightly flinched back from the outburst.

Ah, of course. Phoenix obviously had never had the opportunity to witness the monstrosity that haunted the police department, despite their frequent visits. Lucky bird.

“That is the poor excuse of a mascot the Head of Criminal Affairs has implemented.”

“Oh! You were complaining about that earlier, weren’t you? The… Badger Whatever,” Phoenix said, though Miles would argue his grievances with the blasted thing were completely valid. “That’s what it looks like?”

“Somewhat. This is merely a silhouette,” he answered, turning the list back over so he wouldn’t have to look at it. “This must be one of his early drafts.”

“Guess he ran out of scrap paper that day.”

“I can’t believe something like that was there that whole time,” Miles grumbled as he rubbed his temples. It wasn’t important to what they were working on, but now he wondered just what he may have overlooked in the past simply because he never bothered to check illogical places like the backs of evidence lists.

“Mia always said to turn your thinking around,” the firebird stated. “Sometimes that meant turning the paper around too.”

“And how many times did you actually have to take such a literal approach?”

“Not often, admittedly.”

“Uh-huh…” Miles went back to what he was initially doing, reading through the documents he’d received when he’d been transferred to the case. Marshall’s notes, when being properly scrutinized, seemed incomplete in places, though that could easily have been his notation style. It wasn’t very conducive to finding extra information. He even flipped over each page, just to humor Phoenix, and still found nothing.

He found himself not particularly surprised this well had run dry. Handing off the papers for Phoenix to go through at his own leisure, Miles began compiling everything they’d gathered so far. Maybe SL-9 was a factor, maybe it wasn’t, but for now the investigation was too early in to make any kind of call. Tomorrow he’d have access to the team’s findings (Gumshoe had already shot him a message to say the request had been approved) and hopefully a clearer picture of the crime itself.

Tomorrow, the real investigation began.

 


 

Regardless of how convenient or good for the environment carpooling and public transit were, Miles severely wished he had access to his car. The back and forth he’d done that morning would’ve been far less of a hassle had he been in control of his movements.

He’d started with the crime scene, where Marshall was still stationed and making matters far more difficult than they needed to be. After some more hassling, he was finally allowed a brief scan of a crime scene already swept for clues (as well as the mild damage done to his car’s trunk), and informed that their findings had already been sent to his office. He went over these with Phoenix for a while before heading back to the detention center to discuss the case with Skye again.

She continued to be of no help. Everything she had to say about the evidence was either further confirmation for what the investigative team had already surmised or too vague to be of any use - which was odd for someone otherwise so compliant in her arrest. She was also adamant that any allusion to SL-9 was purely coincidence and should not be taken into consideration.

Definitely not suspicious in the slightest.

Still, since she wasn’t going to yield any more information, there hadn’t been much point in lingering. It was back to the Prosecutor’s Office from there with a detour to the parking garage in hopes of running into the trial’s witness. He hadn’t been privy to their identity last night, but now that he was on this assignment, that particular detail had finally been granted to him.

The witness was Angel Starr; she ran some sort of lunch service that was quite popular amongst members of the police department and prosecutor’s office if the sheer amount he spotted her hanging around said locations was any indication. She was also, as the brief background check he’d done earlier that day revealed, a former detective just like Officer Marshall. One who’d been on the investigative team of SL-9 before her termination, alongside Goodman and (as Miles was surprised to learn) Marshall - which was partially why Skye’s insistence that that old case was unrelated was becoming harder and harder to believe.

Luckily, Starr was making her usual rounds about the parking garage, so she’d been easy enough to flag down for a conversation. Now the difficult part was going to be the conversation itself - Starr did not like him very much. Granted, she didn’t seem to like prosecutors in general, making her choice of clientele quite baffling.

She was presenting herself pleasantly enough as she approached, digging out a boxed lunch from her basket. “Did you order the ‘Jumbo Weenie’ set?” she asked sweetly, holding the bento out to him.

“I need to ask about what you witnessed,” Miles said, rejecting the offer.

“Ah, so you must be the eel they asked to oversee this heinous crime.” She put away the bento, only to offer up another in its place.

E-eel?” He stammered, a sinking suspicion of what was hidden beneath that pink packaging.

She returned that one to its place in the basket as well. “I already gave the police my statement. I would think they’d pass it along to you.”

“They did. But I’d rather hear it straight from you as well.”

"And you shall…” She tossed her head to the side, hair switching which eye it obscured. “Tomorrow in court.”

Miles sighed. He wished he could say that response surprised him, but it hadn’t.

Wow. They certainly aren’t making this easy for you, Phoenix noted.

“Then I’ll speak to you tomorrow.”

Starr blinked, surprised. Perhaps she’d expected to get more of a fight out of him, but at this point it really, really wasn’t worth the time or effort. He nodded his head slightly to her to indicate their brief interaction had concluded and turned away with the intent to return to his office to gather his thoughts.

“There may be a surprise waiting for you. Try to play nice for once.”

Miles paused and turned back around. “What?” Starr had already gone back to talking with one of the investigators. He’d just have to find out what that meant for himself.

 


 

You weren’t expecting anyone today, were you?

Miles’ hand stilled mere inches from the door handle to his office. No. Why?

Because it sounds like someone’s in there. I think they’re talking to themself, I only hear one voice.

Frowning, he leaned in to press an ear against the door, suddenly hearing the muffled voice for himself. Someone was certainly in his office for some reason. He listened closer, their voice coming a bit more into focus.

“…stuff like this. Whoever’s office this is, he must be a real stuck-up jerk!”

Miles pulled back abruptly, Phoenix snickering at him. So they were insulting him on top of intruding upon his personal space. Just who did this person think they were?

Miles opened the door to reveal… a teenager. At least he assumed as much, as her back was turned to him, all features obscured either by her long, brown hair or labcoat. She was still muttering to herself, not noticing that she was no longer alone.

“Can I help you?”

The young lady jumped at his approach, spinning around so abruptly that the notepad in her hand nearly went flying. Her eyes widened and Miles winced as she let out a loud, high-pitched scream. “M-M-Mr. Edgeworth!” she stammered, free hand coming up to cover her gaping mouth.

“Yes… do you need something?” he asked, resisting the urge to rub at his offended ears. “I’ll warn you… I’ve been known to be a real stuck-up jerk…” he added with a sly smile.

“N-no! Did I…?” she stuttered again, hastily shoving her notepad away. “I mean, Officer Marshall told me the person prosecuting my sister’s case was here, but I didn’t know it was you!”

Ack! Phoenix exclaimed. I thought I’d recognized her voice from somewhere before!

“Sister? So that means you are…?”

“Ema Skye, sir!” she filled in. “It, uh… It’s nice to meet you again!”

“Ah, now I remember.” It was, ironically, due to SL-9 yet again, but they had met briefly. “You’ve… really grown. I wish I could say we were meeting under better circumstances.”

She cast her eyes downward. “Lana still doesn’t have a defense attorney, so I decided I’d try to talk to the prosecution.”

“No one?” He wondered if she, due to her position, was having just as much trouble finding someone willing to defend her as he had (when he wasn’t pushing away the people who’d already offered, that was), or if she was just that desperate to see herself convicted.

“Well, there was one. Lana told me if I ever needed an attorney, to go see Mia Fey, but when I went to her office it was closed. Looked like it’d been for a while, too.”

Miles held back a grimace. “Unsurprising, given that Mia Fey passed in September.”

Ema mouthed a silent ‘oh’, looking down at the ground. “Is there anyway I could convince you to drop the case? Or push it back until they find the real killer? I know Lana didn’t do it. She would never kill anyone!”

With a sigh, Miles pinched at the bridge of his nose. “Unfortunately, there is far too much evidence against her - and that’s assuming I agreed with you in the first place.”

“Wh-what?” Ema gasped. “But you can’t! You and Lana… you work together, right?”

“Do not get me wrong, I hold your sister at quite a high regard. However, that does not change that she stabbed someone in the trunk of my car.”

“Y-y-y-your car?! You mean that nasty, bright red -“ She quickly clamped her hands over her mouth to prevent further embarrassment.

It is kind of loud, Phoenix agreed.

Have you even seen the outside of my car?

“But, why your car?” Ema asked.

“I suggest you ask your sister that. She refuses to give me a straight answer.”

“Lana doesn’t even want to see me. I tried to go talk to her, but she sent me away,” she said, downcast. “She wasn’t always like that. Cold. She used to be so happy, I don’t know what happened.”

Miles tapped a finger against his forearm. She’d always had that strict, aloof personality as long as he’d known her. Maybe she’d been a little different when they’d first met, but under the pressures of arresting a serial murderer and nearly losing her sister, Miles would suspect most people to act out of the norm.

“Actually, Ms. Skye, might I ask you something?” It’d just sunk that, once again, someone connected to SL-9 had come out of the woodwork - someone who might actually be willing to discuss it with him.

Ema perked up instantly. “Of course!”

“Several people involved in this case actually have connections to another from two years ago known as SL-9. You, oddly enough, also have connections to it.”

“I do?” She scratched at her head. “Scientifically, I don’t see how. I’m not a detective yet after all, and ‘SL-9’ doesn’t sound familiar.”

“You probably know it under a different name. The media referred to the incident as the ‘Joe Darke killings’. You were a witness when he was brought to trial.”

“Joe Darke… No!” Ema stepped back abruptly, bumping into the desk behind her. “That… that’s over with!” she exclaimed.

Miles folded his arms across his chest, eyes closed in thought. “Well, yes, officially it is. It might just be coincidence, but I’d like to explore this particular avenue just in case.”

Hey, Miles? Give her a sec. It’s gotta be a really bad memory for her.

He opened his eyes to look at the young girl. She was still pressed against the desk, with a death grip on the strap of her bag. Her eyes stared off into the distance.

“I… apologize,” he said, recognizing that fear far too well. “I don’t mean to distress you.”

“No… no, it’s… Are you sure?” She picked her head up, tentatively looking at him.

“I’m not,” he admitted. “But if I’m on to something, it might explain what’s going on.”

Ema went quiet again, though her posture relaxed a little. She opened her mouth to speak a few times, but the words died before she could even get them out. Miles kept quiet during this, trying not to watch her too intently as she worked through this inner struggle.

“If it’ll help my sister…” At last she released her grip on her bag, holding her fists up in a determined pose that eerily reminded him of Maya. “I’ll try to tell you what I remember.”

Chapter 19

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Ema took a little bit longer to collect her thoughts, anxiously wrinkling the bottom edge of her lab coat beneath her fingers. She inhaled deeply, ready to speak, and tried to meet his gaze - before evidentially deciding against that idea, looking down at the floor with a small ‘eep’ and a flushed face.

Miles blinked. Was his expression too intense after all? He consciously tried to relax it as Phoenix made some sort of amused noise.

Ema tried again, focusing on the chessboard instead. “Lana was still busy with work that day, so I was waiting for her in her office. That’s where it happened - Darke suddenly burst into the room and he - “

Her teeth loudly clicked together as she cut herself off, eyes still trained on the chessboard, but lost somewhere far in the distance.

“Ms. Skye?” Miles tried. She acknowledged him, briefly, a sign she wasn’t too deep in the memory.

After a moment or two, she took in another breath. “He came in and -“ Yet again she interrupted herself, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I thought I’d be fine since it was so long ago, but I still can’t testify right!”

“It’s fine,” Miles said, not wanting to stress the young girl out too much. Though first hand testimony was usually better for these sorts of things, the account of the incident was at least in the case file. “As I said, it may only be a coincidence.”

“But if you think there’s something there, Mr. Edgeworth, then it’s got to be important!” Ema implored.

“I wouldn’t go that far…”

“Maybe I could draw that picture?” she continued. “That’s what I did last time.”

“Picture?”

Ema nodded. “When I tried to talk to Detective Goodman about what happened, I froze up too. So I drew him a picture of it instead.”

“That’s odd. The evidence I received didn’t contain a drawing, nor do I believe was one ever mentioned to me.”

“Maybe it got lost?" Ema then frowned. “Or maybe it just wasn’t useful after all.”

Actually… there is a drawing in your evidence.

It took a second for Miles to realize what he was referring to. The badger?

Uh-huh.

Phoenix, that beast is the Head of Criminal Affairs’ creation. He must have drawn that.

Couldn’t hurt to check?

Rolling his eyes, Miles moved past her to his desk. “There was something that was likely unintentionally given to me during that time,” he said, retrieving the evidence list from its folder and presenting the marked side to her. “Though it obviously couldn’t be -“

She gasped loudly. “That’s it! That’s my drawing!

“What?!”

“Well, part of it anyway. There was definitely more.”

Miles looked at the drawing, then back to her. “Ms. Skye… you do realize that this is an image of the Blue Badger? The police mascot?”

“Oh!” she gasped in surprise. “Really? It must have been in the room then.” She paused. “Though… I don’t really remember any badgers. Especially blue ones.”

The wheels were really spinning now. This didn’t make any sense. “But that’s impossible, the badger was only implemented late last year.”

“But that image… I know what I saw, it…” Trailing off, she quickly retrieved her pad and paper and began furiously scribbling something down.

Once she was done, she handed it over to him. Pictured was a sketch of two silhouettes, one kneeling on the ground, the other standing over them, weapon in hand and poised to strike. He could only assume they were meant to represent Marshall and Darke respectively.

“That was the rest of the drawing,” she explained softly. “It was dark, but there was a flash of lightning and… that’s when I saw them.” She shuddered. “I still see it to this day… when I close my eyes…”

Miles was almost too shocked to reply. “And this… this was with that other drawing?”

She nodded. “I drew it all on one page, so I don’t know how you only got half. Here.” Gingerly, she took the evidence list from his hand and held it above her new drawing, oriented in such a way that the badger’s ‘horns’ pointed to the left. “This is what it should have looked like.”

Together it didn’t make much more sense, honestly. The shadows of a terrible crime with a sideways badger looming ominously overhead, nearly the same size as both men. Unfortunately, sense or not, if what Ema said was true, then that left a startling implication.

Guess there was more to your evidence list after all.

Why hadn’t he received it and the drawing it allegedly hosted?

“Do you mind if I held onto this drawing?” Miles asked.

She beamed at the request. “Of course not! It’s in my head so I don’t exactly need it.”

Careful not to damage the paper, he tore the page from her notebook before handing it back.

“Do you really think this’ll help my sister?”

Miles frowned. He didn’t know what to think at this point. He’d gone in looking for a connection, but he may just have stumbled his way into a cover-up instead. Still, he didn’t want to lie to the girl either…

“I think it’ll help find the truth,” he told her. She just might not be happy with that truth.

“Thank you, Mr. Edgeworth,” Ema said with a bow of her head. “I should probably get out of your hair now. I still need to find somebody to defend Lana before it gets too late, otherwise we’ll be at a huge disadvantage.”

In Miles’ opinion, they were going to be at a disadvantage regardless of timing, but he had an idea anyway. “Wait,” he called out, before she could leave.

Reaching into of his drawers, he pulled out a small box that he used to house all the business cards he’d received over the years. The one he desired was right in the front, having been given it shortly after the conclusion of his own trial - incase he wanted to keep in touch.

“If you continue to have difficulty finding an attorney, Mr. Shields may be able to help. He has experience with clients who have pled guilty.” For her sake, he chose not the elaborate that that experience was in easing their sentences.

As Ema examined the card, her face scrunched in confusion. “This says ‘Edgeworth Law Offices’.”

“It’s a long story,” he said as she stored it away in her bag. “Also, if you do end up speaking with him, ignore anything he says that does not pertain to legal work.”

Especially if it involves hugging.

“Especially if it involves hugging,” Miles agreed. “He’s a bit… eccentric.”

The look of confusion only grew, but she did not have a chance to request further elaboration.

“Um…” Evidentially, Detective Gumshoe wasn’t the only person down at the precinct who didn’t know how to knock, because a timid looking man in full uniform had abruptly poked his head through the (previously closed) doorway. “Excuse me! But is Mr. Edgeworth, uh... anywhere on the premises?”

“I’m Edgeworth,” Miles said with folded arms. Hopefully this wasn’t becoming a trend, otherwise either Phoenix would need to start being more careful in the office, or he’d need to start locking the door. “What is it?”

A hand flew up to his hat in what was probably supposed to be a salute. Who on Earth taught him to hold his hand in that manner? “I'm here, sir, at the request of the Chief, sir! I've got your report, sir!”

“Report?” He wasn’t expecting a report of any kind. In fact, due to how difficult everyone related to this case was making things for him, he’d specifically requested to not be bothered with other cases until this was over. Unless… “What? Did you find new evidence against Head Prosecutor Skye?!” Perhaps something that indicated an actual motive?

"Er... Skye, sir?” The officer rubbed his chin as if deep in thought. "No, sir! No name of that kind, sir! Not in this report, sir!”

Miles could feel the migraine coming on.

“I made a clear request to the Police Department, did I not?” he snapped. “I need to focus on the trial tomorrow, so don't bring me anything unrelated!” Was that really so hard of a request to honor? Did the police not want the murder of one of their own settled?

He immediately became flustered, trying to gesture wildly as best he could with a manilla envelope tucked under one arm, Ema silently watching with intrigue. “Sir! But, but sir! I'm just following orders, sir! They told me to bring this to you! I wasn't aware of the peculiars of your arrangement with us, sir!”

Got enough ‘sirs’ there? He’s as bad as that Gatewater bellboy.

Why do - nevermind, Miles internally groaned. Phoenix’s penchant for remembering the oddest details was not the most pressing matter at hand.

You could at least ask him what is in the report, the symbiont interjected before Miles could demand his name for a future salary review. Maybe it’s important?

Or maybe you’re just nosy, Miles countered, glaring at the officer in place of the out of sight firebird.

You can’t tell me you aren’t the slightest bit curious.

No, he wasn’t. The police were always bothering him with trivial matters, why should this be any exception? Other than the fact that he’d specifically told them not to do that just this once.

Still… He gave a sigh of defeat. “Just… give me that report.”

Where you can take care of it, he added to the firebird. He was his legal aid after all.

The officer jumped at this, fumbling to hand him the folder and nearly dropping it several times due to, as Miles just noticed, his left hand being impeded by the several layers of bandages it was wrapped in. A strange coincidence, given Ms. Skye's injury, not that Miles cared enough to ask him about it.

“Yes, sir!” he said as he finally managed to hand it over. “Oh, Thank you, sir! I-“

“Leave!” Miles barked. “And tell your superiors not to bother me again unless it’s absolutely necessary, or else your next salary review will be a grim one.”

He gave one last, still incorrect, salute before beating a hasty retreat.

Ema, who’d been diligently writing in her notepad throughout the entire encounter, turned to him with a bright smile. “It’s time for me to leave, too. Thank you again, Mr. Edgeworth.”

“Ah… yes… of course,” he replied slowly, still irritated but not wanting to lash out at the teen accidentally.

As soon as she was gone, he allowed himself to let out a loud, drawn out groan.

Is it safe?

Miles took a few strides towards his door and soundly engaged the lock. “It is now.” If anyone needed him they could knock like civilized people.

As Phoenix moved off of him and towards the couch - his preferred perch when he wasn’t deliberately making a nuisance of himself - Miles haphazardly tossed the unwanted report in his direction, uncaring in the moment if it hit either the ground or the firebird. Judging from the gentle ‘thwap’ and lack of squawking protests, it was the former.

Miles slumped into his office chair, briefly, before correcting his posture as he watched Phoenix struggle to open the manilla envelope, and then again to remove its contents. Once he was successful and thus, no longer entertaining, Miles’ attentions turned back to the Head Prosecutor’s case.

“Hey Miles, you’re… you’re probably gonna want to look at this.”

“I thought I told you to go over that, so I could continue to work in relative peace,” he said, not looking up. Phoenix couldn’t have been more than a few sentences in, what could possibly demand his attention already?

“I did,” he said, though he was clearly still trying to read as he spoke. “And now I’m telling you you need to look at it too. Especially before you get any further on this case.”

His brow furrowed. “That fool said it was unrelated.”

“He said Lana’s name wasn’t in the report - which I don’t think it is - but, uh, it’s definitely related.”

Clearly Phoenix wasn’t going to elaborate until he confirmed this fact for himself. With a shake of his head, Miles moved to the couch to retrieve the document from the firebird, eyes widening as he read the words it contained.

 


 

“How dare you not inform me of the murder at the Police Department?!”

Officer Marshall was clearly not pleased to suddenly have a face full of prosecutor. He leaned back as casually as possible, scratching at the shell of his ear with a pinkie.

“What in the Sam Hill are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about this,” Miles thrust the report into his hands. “I have just received a report claiming that, at the exact same time he was seen being stabbed in this parking garage, our victim was killed in the police station!”

“But that’s-,” He roughly skimmed the paper over, lips set into a deep frown and he muttered under his breath. “What kind of game is he playing?”

“The Chief of Police does not normally joke about such matters,” Miles said, his anger cooling as it became evident Marshall had taken no part in withholding this information, replaced instead with confusion. Not only was he investigating Goodman’s murder, but he was literally in charge of the place the report was claiming the victim had been murdered in. There was no reason for Miles to have been the first to inform him.

“I’m going down there,” Marshall said as he shoved the report back into Miles’ chest. “Brookes, you’re in charge ’til I get back. Make sure he doesn’t go about tampering with anything.”

Miles scoffed at the accusation, smoothing the creases out of the paper. “That won’t be necessary. I intend to go with you.”

“Sorry Prospector, but my horse ain’t built for two,” Marshall remarked, looking between him and the ongoing crime scene that was his trunk.

Are we talking a real horse, or…?

“My travel arrangements have already been made,” he replied. Specifically, during his long descent from the twelfth floor. They hopefully should be arriving shortly.

Marshall continued to look displeased with the entire situation. “Well, ’s not like I’ve got the authority to tell you where you can or can’t go, but you’d better stay out of my way.”

“I suggest you stay out of mine,” Miles countered, folding his arms. “You may be leading the investigation, but at the end of the day, it’s my trial.”

Something he said must have struck a raw nerve. His eyes flashed angrily. “Watch your back, Prospector. You might have gotten away with it first time around, but I’m not about to let history repeat itself.” He then turned away with a flourish that sent his poncho fluttering about his shoulders, stalking off as Miles called out for an explanation.

The prosecutor glared at his retreating back. If he was going to make accusations, the least he could do was have the decency not to be vague about it.

You know, I’m starting to think he blames you for something, Phoenix said, tone heavily laced with sarcasm.

Miles had always assumed Marshall’s dislike of him stemmed from the general animosity he tended to attract, but whatever he was being slandered for was sounding more and more like it might connect back to SL-9 as well. Which unfortunately meant he’d need to drag that information out of Marshall sooner or later. Preferably sooner.

He groaned softly. At least most of his current objectives were in the same place.

 


 

Even though it had only recently been stationed outside the police department, Miles usually found himself quickening his pace to get that wriggling piece of plywood out of his sight as soon as possible. However, this time he found himself stalled in front of the display, though only due to the ridiculous man doing an equally ridiculous dance beside it.

“Detective, what on Earth are you doing?”

Gumshoe jumped in alarm, turning around so quickly that he stumbled a bit and quite nearly knocked into the Blue Badger (a shame he managed to catch himself last minute).

“M-Mr. Edgeworth, sir!” He snapped to attention, beaming himself in the head with his own hand as he rushed to salute. “I’m just working on the badger dance.”

B-badger dance?! What does that look like?

Indescribable, Miles answered, nose scrunching. Be happy you cannot see it.

Now I just want to know even more…

“Oh! Are you talking to your bird friend right now?!” Gumshoe suddenly asked.

I have a name…

Miles blinked. “I… yes. How could you tell?”

“Well, I didn’t think much of it before, but lately there’s times where you kind of go quiet - quieter than usual - when we’re talking and I just realized that maybe it’s cause you’re talking in your head.”

“That’s surprisingly astute for you, Detective. Maybe you deserve that title after all.”

Gumshoe rubbed at the back of his neck, cheeks lightly flushed. “Gee, thanks! You also sometimes make these weird faces when you do that - n-not that your face is weird or anything, sir!” he backpedaled at the raised eyebrow he’d received from Miles. “So, uh, what’s he saying right now?”

“He’s currently wondering if you have something better to be doing than whatever this is.”

Hey! No I wasn’t!

“Oh…” His shoulders slumped. “No, not really. They uh… kinda kicked me out of Criminal Affairs…”

Miles made a noise of exasperation. “What did you do?”

“Nothing, sir. Honest! They’re only letting the highest ranked people in right now, what with the Head Prosecutor being the perpetrator and all.”

“That’s… bizarre.” It was a sensitive case given the parties involved, there was no denying that, but did that truly call for a lockdown of the precinct? While not holding the same title, Manfred von Karma had just as much, if not more, influence in their field than Skye, yet everything ran as usual when his arrest was made. “Still, you could be helping the investigation.”

“That’s what I thought, but Chief Gant said my particular skillset would be useful right here,” he said proudly of what was most likely intended as an insult. “Besides I don’t think Officer Marshall wants my help anyway. He came by just a few minutes ago and when I asked how it was going, he just grunted at me! The nerve!”

“I believe his irritation may be in reference to another matter entirely, though you’re probably not wrong.” Gumshoe was known for many things, two of those being his loose lips and his loyalty to Miles. If Marshall wanted to limit his involvement in the investigation, cutting Gumshoe out was a must. “I assume he must have gone into the evidence room,” he said, mostly to himself.

“He was headed in that direction now that you mention it. I wonder if they’ll let him in.”

Miles, already starting to walk away, paused abruptly. “Why wouldn’t they?”

“It’s off limits too. Though they might make an exception since he runs the place, you know?”

Miles gave him an odd look. “Or perhaps because he is heading the investigation?” That seemed a more important reason than his usual post.

“Oh yeah, but what’s that got to do with the evidence room, sir?”

Just how confidential was that report? Phoenix asked in disbelief.

It did say confidential, but… That usually refers to civilians, not members of the force.

Concerns were mounting. Marshall not knowing about the change of crime scene could have easily been a fluke - he was half an hour away and the messenger had not been the most put together person - and yet right outside their doors Gumshoe danced away blissfully unaware. That he couldn’t as easily write off.

“Is something wrong?”

“I’m not sure yet. Wait here,” he added, probably needlessly, and moved to enter the building.

It looked like, with Criminal Affairs on lockdown, the lower ranked detectives were taking up occupancy of the Police Department. At least they looked busier than Gumshoe, sparing him only the briefest of disapproving looks as he entered. He ignored the less than stellar welcome as he worked his way past them.

He stepped into the guard station before the evidence room and right into the middle of an argument between Officer Marshall and whatever poor soul had gotten the post in his absence.

That poor soul just so happened to be the same one who’d delivered the report to him earlier that morning, blocking as much of the pathway to the evidence room as his narrow body could from Marshall.

“I-I told you, sir, I can’t!”

“Not even to check on ole Billy there? I’ve been away from the saloon a while.”

It was about then, midway through formulating a response, that the officer took notice of Miles in the doorway. His face adopted a strange expression, somewhere between relief and terror. “M-Mr. Edgeworth! Sir!”

Marshall turned slightly, rolling his eyes. “Great,” he scoffed.

“I-I’m sorry to inform you sir, but the evidence room and guard station are closed today. I’m keeping watch over them.”

“I gathered,” Miles said, returning Marshall’s look with a sneer of his own. “So be it, I’ll worry about the actual site later. Get me the security footage from yesterday - around the time of the incident.”

“Sorry, sir, but it’s off limits to everyone. Even me, sir.”

“You - what?”

“That’s what I said,” Marshall muttered.

“I’ve only be charged with standing guard, sir. I’m not supposed to touch anything, only keep people out.”

Wouldn’t it be easier to just lock the door then?

“Oh this is ridiculous. Do you mean to say that after receiving a report, which you yourself delivered, crucial to the case I’m working, that I am to be denied the resources to follow up on that same report?”

“Um. Y-yes? Sir?”

“Unbelievable,” Miles said with a heavy groan. He was starting to think they really didn’t want this case solved. “Are you sure there wasn’t any kind of exception stipulated?” Perhaps regarding either of the two people in charge of the case standing in the room at that very moment?!

“Well…” he seemed to ponder over this for a moment, good hand resting on his chin. “Your name didn’t exactly come up. But, oh, that’s really the Chief’s call, sir, not mine.”

“Then go ask him,” Miles replied, crossing his arms. “I can wait.”

“But I have to guard this room, sir…” he argued pitifully. “I can’t leave my post, sir. They didn’t give me the keys to lock the door because I might lose them. I lose stuff all the time, sir.”

“Why am I not surprised…” Just what kind of people were they letting on the force these days? “Fine, I give you my word as a prosecutor that I won’t touch anything during your absence.”

Again he considered it. “But-“ the officer began before cutting himself off with a yelp. Miles had leveled another glare at him and he scurried out with several jumbled ‘yes sir’s.

Behind him, Marshall clapped a few times. “Impressive, I suppose. Though I could’ve gotten him to leave eventually.”

“Oh?” Miles turned to him, arms still crossed. “And pray-tell how were you planning to accomplish that?”

“Prick myself on Billy and make him go find a first aid kit.” He shrugged. “Meekins ain’t the quickest horse in the stable.”

A quick glance suggested that ‘Billy’ was probably one of the various cacti decorating the room. What was it with people and naming plants lately? He shook his head. “If you’re planning to snoop, I suggest getting on with it. I don’t know how long he’ll be gone.”

“Now who said anything about snooping?” he asked, already moving to the other side of the desk. “Thought we were waiting on permission from the sheriff?”

“Honestly, I have doubts that he’ll grant it,” Miles admitted.

“Then how come you’re still over there?”

“I’m a man of my word. I promised not to touch anything, thus I won’t. Besides, it would hardly do for him to return and find us both on the wrong side of the desk.”

This gave pause to his actions, Marshall leaning across the desk instead of the various monitors. “Alright, what’s your scheme? Trying to get me booted off the case? Is this all just so you get full control of the investigation because -“

“Officer Marshall.” Miles cut him off there, rubbing his temples. “I’m not sure where your issue with me derives from, nor I do not particularly care in this moment. What I need from you is your cooperation. There are strange circumstances surrounding Detective Goodman’s murder and I aim to reveal them. I suspect that’s what you’re after as well.” He leaned forward, slamming a hand on the desk that separated them. “You may not like me, but I promise you we are on the same side.”

Marshall studied him long and hard, then moved back to the monitors, refraining from comment. Miles sighed and leaned back against the wall.

At least he stopped insulting you, Phoenix offered reassuringly.

For now. Though he supposed the silence was an improvement to their usual interactions.

Several minutes passed as Marshall continued to fiddle around behind the desk. It was taking every bit of self-control Miles had and the occasional prod from Phoenix not to hassle him for a status update. He took to glaring at the door instead, as though his gaze alone could keep it from opening too soon.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about Meekins,” Marshall said seemingly out of the blue, though likely he’d noticed the intensity with which Miles was staring down the door. “Manages to get himself lost everywhere he goes. It’s gonna be a while.”

I’d believe it.

“But if there’s any sort of chance…” Meekins himself wasn’t really the concern, it was the risk of him reporting this little infraction to someone higher up on the food chain. “How much longer do you think you’ll be?”

“Hold your horses,” he grumbled. “I’m working on it. I ain’t so good with machines, y’know?”

Weren’t these particular machines part of his job description? Miles sighed. “I’m going to stand outside and keep an eye out. Is there any kind of signal I could give you?” He could certainly stall if he saw Meekins coming, but it’d mean nothing if there was no way to warn the man inside of his arrival.

Again Marshall studied him. If he was still suspicious of Miles’ intentions, then that probably sounded like an opportunity to slip away and have him caught red-handed.

“Walls’re pretty thin,” he finally said. “If you holler loud enough or bang the door, I’ll hear it.”

Miles nodded, grateful for the cooperation, and slipped outside to stand watch.

It was another several minutes before his patience began to run thin once more.

How long does it take one man to check computer records?!

He said he was bad with machines.

Then why station him in the position that requires the most use of them? What does he do all day in that room?

According to you? Nothing.

…next time I want your sass, I’ll ask for it.

Aww, but that’s part of my charm, the symbiont chuckled, probably fluttering his eyes if Miles could see him.

Yes, you’re adorable, Miles dryly replied as his eyes focused in on the foot traffic at the end of the hallway. Something had caused a change in the body language of the officers floating in and out of his line of sight, something that made them act more diligent.

And you’re getting yourself worked up again. You’ve got all these scenarios worked out - it’ll be fine.

Miles’ eyes widened as the source of the commotion finally came into view and slowly began to approach. And what if something I didn’t consider happens? he asked, shifting his position so he could bang the door with the back of his heel without making a show of it. Hopefully Marshall noticed.

Why? What’s happening?

The figure in the bright orange suit stopped just short of him. “Now now, Worthy, I hope you’re not stirring up trouble for my officers.”

Meekins would have been one thing, but how were they supposed to swing this past the Chief of Police?

“Chief Gant. You needn’t come all the way down here for my sake. It was a simple enough request that could have been passed along through that messenger.”

“Nonsense, Worthy! Messengers can get lost and I had some rounds to make anyway. Figured I might as well deliver your response in person,” he answered with that booming laugh of his. If Marshall hadn’t caught his signal, he’d definitely heard that.

“I see… and what is that response?”

“Well, obviously you should be allowed to investigate given the circumstances, but I’m afraid there just isn’t anything to investigate.”

“What?! But the report!” Miles protested.

“The report, admittedly, could have been worded better. Everything’s a bit… circumstantial at the moment. I mean, we all know where Goodman’s body was actually found.” His tone shifted to something accusatory.

Miles scowled. “Excuses! How can you make such a claim if there’s nothing to show for it?!”

“Whoa there, my boy. I never said I didn’t have anything to show,” he said, hands up in a placating gesture. “There are large traces of blood in the evidence room that belong to our victim and the keycard record shows he entered right around the time of the murder.”

“Yet his body was found half and hour away,” Miles said, pondering over the facts. “What about the security footage? Surely that-“

Unfortunately all the footage from yesterday seems to have been mistakenly erased. We don’t know exactly what happened in there at 5:15.”

Wait, so we’ve established he was in the evidence room… when he definitely couldn’t have been?

It appears that way. The blood certainly set the location, but that keycard record was the bigger question. The investigative team was currently in possession of Goodman’s ID and they’d found it in the parking garage with his body, so it was impossible to have used it at 5:15 to get in there. Thus all of this evidence was…

“Circumstantial,” Miles repeated, face set in a deep frown.

Now you’re getting it, Worthy!” Gant said with another laugh, moving to the side so he could give Miles a firm pat on the back that nearly left him winded (and had Phoenix swiftly retreating from the point of impact, settling in an unusual position on his chest). “So, as you can see, there’s no need for you down here.” The pressure on his back increased and he was acutely aware that Gant was attempting to herd him away from the guard station. Miles allowed himself to be moved - it should give Marshall the chance to sneak out undetected.

What about Lana? I mean, they don’t think she was in two places at once too, do they?

That’s right! This was going to complicate her own claims, as well as whatever Ms. Starr had seen as well. “Is Ms. Skye also suspected in this incident?”

“Funny you ask that, Worthy. We actually do have a suspect in mind. Obviously there’s not enough evidence for an arrest, but rest assured we are keeping a close eye on him.”

“Him?”

“We’ll burn that bridge when we get do it,” Gant replied cheerfully. They’d reached the lobby when Gant gave him one last nudge forward, but didn’t follow. “If anything comes up, you’ll be the first to know.”

“I hope you won’t be sending that Meekins again.”

The Chief of Police only laughed and bid him off.

So, now what? Phoenix asked as Miles exited the building.

I’d like to know that myself, Miles muttered in reply. Gumshoe was still dancing alongside the Blue Badger, but faced in a direction where he could see the prosecutor coming this time. Miles flagged him down and the large man eagerly bounded to his side.

“What’s going on? Did you find out, sir?”

“Admittedly, I didn’t learn as much as I’d hoped to.” They had plenty of clues, but the lines of logic between them just didn’t connect. Something vital was missing from this picture.

“It’s a good thing you have me around, then,” a familiar, smug voice said.

“Officer Marshall? What do you want, pal?” Gumshoe demanded.

“At ease, Detective,” Miles told him, then turned to Marshall. “I see you managed to get out without being discovered.”

“Good thing Gant was too concerned with getting you to leave, huh?” he chuckled. “I also heard a good bit of your conversation too.”

“And…?”

“He’s right about one thing. Yesterday’s security footage is nothing but tumbleweeds.”

“Uh, was someone recording tumbleweeds?” Gumshoe asked.

Marshall ignored him. “Those tapes are supposed to get erased every six hours or so, but only after they’ve been reviewed. If nothing happens, I clear ‘em - ‘cept I got called down to the Prospector’s Office right after the call came in. That was the first I’ve been back to my saloon.”

“So someone accessed that footage during your absence…”

And I don’t think they ‘accidentally’ erased a murder.

“Ah, tampering with evidence. Remind you of the good ole days, Prospector?”

Miles looked askance at him. “No, Officer, it does not. Regardless of what popular opinion may think of me, I have never falsified evidence.”

“No? Not even during the SL-9 case?”

His glare intensified. Is… is this what two years worth of antagonistic behavior was about? “Are you daft? You were on the team that found the evidence I used in court - some of which wasn’t even presented to me!” he added as a footnote. “Perhaps you were the one falsifying evidence!”

“I - what? What are you talking about?”

“It has just recently come to my attention that I was only given half of the evidence list. I can only assume that means some evidence was kept from me as well.”

“And who told you that?” he asked, eyes narrowing.

“Ema Skye,” he answered. Unfortunately the list itself was not with him for visual reference. "She’d documented her own witness account on the back of it, but what I’d received was missing a key portion of that drawing.”

“Ema did…?” He backed off a little, tugging at the brim of his hat. “Hmm… something don’t smell right here…”

“Indeed.”

“I’m still confused about this whole thing,” Gumshoe unhelpfully added.

After a moment, Marshall picked up his head and reached under his poncho, pulling out a small sheet of paper. “This was the only thing of use I could get out of the guard station. It’s the ID card record from yesterday afternoon.”

Miles accepted it from him and glanced it over. It listed several nameless ID numbers and the times at which their cards were scanned, ranging from about 2 PM to 6 PM. One he recognized as his own, from the errand he was sent on by the chief, but he was more interested the two towards the bottom - both with a timestamp at 5:14. No doubt this was Goodman and their mystery suspect.

“Thank you, Officer Marshall,” he said, pocketing it.

“Don’t thank me. You didn’t rat me out to the sheriff and I don’t like owing people favors -specially you. I still don’t trust you after all. But…” he added, pulling a flask from somewhere around his hip and taking a swig from it, “I’m thinking you just might be on the wrong side of the fence of this rodeo too.”

“Rodeo?”

“Listen Edgeworth, something big’s going on here. Maybe you’ve already realized that for yourself.” He took another long drink before tucking the flask away again. “I’m going back to my boys at the crime scene. If you can figure out what really happened in that evidence room, come see me. Who knows,” he said, walking away. “maybe we can finally bring this to an end.”

Notes:

Wow, it's almost been a year since I first published this story. Thanks to everyone who's enjoying Symbiosis, whether you've just recently started following, or you've been here since day 1. Your support is what keeps me going!

Chapter 20

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Miles watched out of the corner of his eye as Gant, who hopefully had more pressing matters that required his attention, finally stalked away, leaving him to his devices.

He let out a breath and quickly switched tabs on the police databank he was looking through. It was obvious the Police Chief didn’t want him snooping around for reasons yet unknown, but this excursion had not revealed enough information for Miles to leave with just a blank ID record.

At least it’d been easy enough to gain access to the databanks, he thought to himself as he pulled out the paper he’d received from Marshall. It was almost funny how perfectly the circumstances had aligned for his excuse - his usual detective was currently on ‘badger duty’ and banned from criminal affairs, and the head of the investigation hated his guts, so obviously he would need to run his usual background checks of the suspect and witness himself.

Are you in yet?  Phoenix asked impatiently, doing a twirl on his back.

Almost… He inputed a few more commands into the computer, accessing the databank for all currently issued ID cards. Miles glanced over at the paper to his side and typed in the first number next to 5:14. Bruce Goodman’s name unsurprisingly came up, which he made note of on his sheet, moving to now identify this ‘mystery suspect’.

As the result appeared on screen, Miles could only gape at it in surprise.

Did you find it? Who is it?

Mike Meekins… His knee-jerk reaction was to assume there was some sort of error - unless he was putting on a highly convincing act, there was no way that officer was competent enough to facilitate a murder in any capacity.

That’s uh…, Phoenix said after taking a long pause. Why was he sending the suspect out on errands?

I think that suspicion may be a formality. None of these revelations, Miles had to remind himself, would change where and when the body itself was found - Gant had made his awareness of that fact quite clear. Perhaps that errand was a test to confirm any involvement in the incident. Had the report not reached me, they might be doing a little more than just ‘keeping an eye on’ him.

Or they’d just assume he’d lost it, Phoenix said doubtfully. I get the impression no one around here has much faith in the guy.

As much faith as you have in the police as a whole? Miles asked. This case is very personal for them Phoenix, they aren’t going to take it lightly.

I wasn’t implying that, he replied defensively, which really was likely the root of it. He was too used to the defense’s side of the courtroom, where believing in one’s client came with the belief that somewhere along the lines the police must have made an egregious error. In some cases, as the two had experienced together, that had been the reality, but Miles was still going to give them the benefit of the doubt. After all, what kind of prosecutor was he if he couldn’t trust the police?

Miles grimaced as a particular intrusive thought started to worm its way back into his head and swiftly distracted himself with filling out the rest of the ID record. Little would probably come of it, but might as well while he was there and had the access.

A couple minutes later, he had a completed list - sans one singular blank space. He frowned at the last number left on the record. That row of ‘7’s belonged to a higher up whose name was locked behind a level of security even he did not have access to.

Well, I believe that’s all we can do with that, Miles said, switching back over to the other windows. I just need to finish collecting the background information.

Then back to the office?

Not just yet. I want to ask Officer Meekins who was in the evidence room with him. Goodman’s ID had been scanned somehow, and currently he was the only one who could potentially offer an explanation for that.

Let’s hope he’s not out running errands again.

Thankfully he hadn’t been hard to relocate. Though the look of him suggested he may have arrived just moments before the prosecutor, Meekins had been put right back in charge of the guard station. Upon noticing Miles he immediately launched into the ‘off-limits’ spiel.

“I’m here to talk to you, not go in there,” Miles cut him off before he could spiral too deep in his own explanation.

Meekins paused, blinked, then jumped to a salute. “I-I’m here to serve, sir!”

Miles’ expression was blank and unimpressed. “Right. Now I need to know what were you doing in the evidence room yesterday evening.”

“Yesterday?” He scratched his chin. “Uh… at which point, sir?”

At which…? Oh, that was right, Meekins had been recorded entering the evidence room twice that evening, the former of the two visits occurring slightly after his own.

“The latter instance. At 5:14 PM.”

He thought it over for an almost suspicious amount of time before enthusiastically giving his answer. “I was unconscious, sir!”

“What do you mean, you were unconscious?!” Miles snapped, causing the officer to cower. “Do you honestly expect anyone to believe that excuse?!”

“B-but sir, I-I’m not lying,” he stammered, peeking out through the fingers that were shielding his face. “After I confronted that suspicious person I blacked out and -“

Miles stopped him there. “Hold it - what suspicious person?”

“The suspicious person in the evidence room, sir,” he said as if that was any sort of proper explanation. “I had some business that day, sir, and happened to glance up at the security room monitor while I was in there. That's when I saw him, sir!”

That’s gotta be Goodman… or whoever scanned his ID.

“And I assume you went in after him,” Miles stated, silently agreeing with the firebird.

“Well the security guard wasn’t at his post, so I took it upon myself to go in and ask the man to show his ID. Then he suddenly pulled a knife on me, sir! A knife! So I hollered!” His voice rose as if to demonstrate this. “And then I was waking up in the evidence room, alone, sir.”

It almost sounds like he was yesterday’s victim.

He is wounded, Miles said. Something he didn’t think he’d ever bothered to point out to Phoenix. A knife strike might explain his bandaged hand.

So you’re saying his story’s plausible?

Well, he wasn’t quite ready to commit to that. “What did this mystery man look like?”

“He was wearing all white, sir. Hat and overcoat.”

Well, the description certainly fit Bruce Goodman. At least, he was certain no one else was going about in a fully white ensemble - especially if they were trying to be discreet - but that begged of the question of why he wouldn’t show his ID when he clearly had it.

“Officer Meekins, if you were attacked by an unidentified stranger in a high security area, why on Earth did you not report it?”

He looked a little embarrassed as he answered the question. “Well, to be honest, sir, up until just now I’d completely forgotten! When I came to the whole station was bustling due to the murder and I got swept up in it.” Embarrassment then changed to concern. “Should… should I go report that now, sir?”

Miles sighed, shaking his head. “They are well aware by now. There are even a few sources that believe it was Bruce Goodman in the evidence room at that time.”

“The victim?!” he exclaimed, eyes wide. “Oh, no no no. That means… that must mean… I killed Detective Goodman!”

“Now that’s not-“

“Of course I don’t remember killing him, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t!” He continued on, deaf to Miles’ voice. “That must be why I blacked out! To block out the horrible truth of what I’d done. That’s what happened! Oh, I need to turn myself in!” He made a mad grab for the pair of handcuffs dangling from his neck, managing to fasten one end to the wrist of his injured hand, then nearly strangling himself via the lanyard the other cuff was hung by. Unable to remove the lanyard from his neck, nor manage to cuff his other hand, he presented himself to Miles as is. “Just call me Perpetrator Officer Meekins, sir!”

“That won’t be necessary…”

“Oh, you’re right, sir!” he said, slamming a fist to his bandaged palm, which had the effect of slightly jerking his head down. “We’re already in the police station, I can just go into the lobby to have myself arrested!”

With that, tangled as he was, he managed to remove the speaker for the megaphone attached to his torso, yelling things such as ‘I did it!’ ‘Detective Goodman’s murderer is me!’ into it as he excused himself from the guard office.

As the inevitable chaos ensued, Mile decided it was in his best interests to make himself as scarce as possible.

 


 

To say this case was turning out to be an absolute disaster would be putting it lightly.

While Miles had to commend him for his dedication to upholding the law, Meekins’ confession meant they now had two suspects claiming they’d murdered the same victim - and there was enough evidence that they had to take the secondary claim at least into consideration.

He took a slow sip of the warm drink in his hand. The stress of this case (especially building upon the anxieties he’d been suppressing regarding his former mentor and the resulting fallout) had finally forced him to put work aside in favor of a tea break. Phoenix - who rarely seemed phased by impossibilities, likely due to being one himself - was still working, thinking aloud as he rearranged relevant documents on the floor to organize his thoughts.

“You’re making a bigger mess than usual,” Miles remarked. Normally Phoenix had some sort of system when he did this - clear rows or stacks to show how he’d connected the clues. As of now, it looked like the firebird had taken flight right next to a stack of paperwork.

“Well this case makes less sense than usual,” Phoenix retorted, shifting a page over a few inches with his talons, only to move it right back to its original position. “We know that Meekins couldn’t have run into Goodman,” Goodman’s ID being scanned only meant one thing - his ID had been scanned. Their mystery person obviously attacked Meekins when asked for identification because their face didn’t match the card’s. “but that still doesn’t explain the blood traces. Unless there’s some sort of epidemic of hand injuries going around.”

“I don’t think a hand injury would result in the ‘large traces’ of blood Gant described, unless that was an exaggeration on his part.” Which Miles would not put past him, but he was going to trust that that was a paraphrasing of forensic’s statement. “Otherwise placing Redd White at the scene of his crime would have been far easier.”

“I’ll keep that in mind the next time I need to bite a criminal,” Phoenix said with the self-assuredness of someone who had every intent to make good on that claim should the opportunity arise. Recalling the symbiont’s eagerness to rush to his aid that night on the boat under potential threat of gunfire, the opportunity did not need to arise.

“In any event,” Miles said, directing the topic back, “we need to figure out who used Goodman’s ID to let themself into the evidence room.”

“And why,” Phoenix added.

Together, they worked out a time table. Investigators had been on scene an hour and a half after the murder had occurred at the latest, when Miles had finally returned to the prosecutor’s office after concluding his business at the police department. Assuming they’d begun assignments and organizing the second the call came in, there was probably a window of an hour for this anonymous entity to smuggle the evidence onto the crime scene - more than enough time to get there and be in and out without anyone noticing.

But what did that timing mean in regards to Goodman’s fate? Were they affiliated with the murderer? By taking his guise and ID card in order to mask their access to the evidence room, it implied the perpetrator was aware that Goodman would have been out of the picture at that time. Had Skye had not been caught red handed, this visit would have flown right under the radar. No one would question why a detective was in the evidence room, especially on transferral day.

Then, perhaps Skye had only needed him out of the way while her accomplice accessed the room, which turned to murder when Goodman grew suspicious and potentially violent. Or was murder the plan all along, with the evidence room used to stretch out the time frame, perhaps providing her an alibi had things not gone wrong? Or perhaps again it was all the doing of Goodman’s impersonator and Skye had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, or even -

He and Phoenix looked at each other when a knock came to the door. Their debate would have to wait until later.

Miles almost complimented his visitor for finally knocking until he remembered his door was still locked due to the constant interruptions.

“I’ll be right there,” he called out, scooping up the papers off the floor - to Phoenix’s weak protests - and depositing them as neatly as he could, slightly rumpled as they were from being handled by the symbiont. He offered an arm to Phoenix as he moved, who was out of sight before Miles even crossed the room to greet his guest.

On the other side of the door stood Ema Skye, who, from the expression on her face, looked just about ready to burst.

“Mr. Edgeworth, you’re amazing!” she practically shouted in his face, causing Miles to take a step back from the volume.

“Now now, don’t praise him too much.” Miles angled himself a bit to look just past the doorframe, discovering he had not one, but two visitors. Mr. Shields grinned as their eyes met. “His head’s already big enough.”

“You’re here too, I see,” Miles deadpanned, stepping aside to allow them entry.

“Aw, aren’t you happy to see your Uncle Ray?” he asked, arms open for an embrace which he did not receive. “I even came all this way only for you to switch up the defendant on me.”

Miles paused as he was shutting the door behind them. “Pardon?”

Mr. Shields sighed dreamily into his palm. “And I was so looking forward to defending a beautiful prosecutor.”

“Would either of you care to explain?”

“My sister’s off the hook!” Ema was so giddy she was practically vibrating.

“For murder, anyway,” Mr. Shields clarified. “She still has to answer for why she was found with the body and why she confessed. Which she refuses to, of course.”

“I knew my sister would never kill anyone! So, how’d you do it, Mr. Edgeworth? How’d you find the real culprit?”

What culprit? Not Meekins?!

Unfortunately, if he was truly being given credit for uncovering this person, there’s no one else it could be. “Truthfully, I didn’t do much of anything.” The officer had decided his own guilt without much prompt.

Ema’s notepad was back out. “Note to self: Mr. Edgeworth is humble as he is brilliant,” she murmured as she wrote. At this, Mr. Shields made a face that complimented the choked laugh Phoenix had snorted out.

“It wasn’t meant to be humble,” he said flatly, though Ema clearly wasn’t listening, still writing.

Mr. Shields took a few steps towards him and leaned in close, nodding his head towards Ema, who was examining the books on Miles’ shelves, paying no heed to the men as she furiously jotted down notes.

“I don’t want to rain on Ema’s parade,” he said in a low whisper, so as not to draw her attention, “but I don’t buy it. We talked to this Meekins guy - he’s definitely a scapegoat.”

“That does appear to be the case,” he concurred, just as quietly. “That confession should not have been enough to supplant him as the primary suspect. Are they truly putting him on trial tomorrow rather than Skye?”

“Why ask me? Aren’t you the lead prosecutor on this case?”

“There have been some… communication difficulties… with the police department recently,” Miles grimaced.

Difficulties? They probably wouldn’t have bothered to tell you until an hour before the trial, Phoenix remarked and Miles couldn’t deny the possibility.

“I see. You know, that sort of treatment is usually reserved for us poor defense attorneys.” Mr. Shields said with a stretch as he pulled back. He then winked. “Is the old P.O. trying a new policy of not coming into court with a laughably huge advantage?”

Miles pinched the bridge of his nose, groaning softly. “It would be just my luck were that to be the case.”

Mr. Shields gave him a sympathetic look. “If it makes you feel better, it was Prosecutor Skye who told us, not the police - and I suspect that was only to get her sister to go home. You can see how well that worked.”

Glancing back at Ema, the teenager was now examining his desk with an unnecessary level of scrutiny. Miles shook his head. “Intentions aside, at least someone’s getting updates.”

“We’ll let you know if the perp changes again,” he said, patting the prosecutor on the back. “Come on Ema, we’ve got a few more things to check before court tomorrow.”

Ema looked up from her notepad, stuffing it away inside her bag as Mr. Shields opened the door. “Thanks again, Mr. Edgeworth!” she cheerfully said, giving him a big smile before dashing out after the defense attorney.

Phoenix was back once Miles had locked his door once again, making a beeline for the desk. “Alright, now how badly did you mix up my notes?” he mumbled as he shuffled papers around.

That’s your biggest concern right now?” Miles asked incredulously.

“As opposed to what? The Meekins thing? It’s like Shields said - that’s pretty par for the course for a defense attorney.” He grabbed one of the files and let it flutter down to the floor. “I can count the number of times we had a trial where something didn’t happen to destroy the entire case we’d been building on one foot.” Four clawed toes were held up briefly in his direction. “It’s back to the detention center for some answers, right?”

Miles placed a hand just under his nose, thinking. “Actually, no. I don’t think I will.”

The firebird blinked. “What?”

“I should have received a message about this switch the second it was put into writing, and yet I had to be told by the defense team of all people.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe they assumed you already knew? Sounded like you’re being credited for Meekins’ arrest.”

“That’s not the sort of thing we leave up to assumption,” Miles replied, arms crossed. “Besides, Meekins’ confession was not a guarantee of his involvement in tomorrow’s trial. If anything, it should have pushed the trial back to allow for further investigation.”

“Alright… but then shouldn’t we be finding out why it didn’t?”

“If someone actually contacts me on the matter then yes, we’ll head there.” At this Miles shook his head. “However, I suspect that won’t happen. It seems, with this disturbing trend of failed communications, that the police are trying to sabotage my prosecution.”

The firebird cocked his head to one side. “That just sounds like more reason to go and start asking questions.”

“Then that’s where you and I differ in opinion,” Miles said, sweeping forward to grab the paper Phoenix had dropped on the floor, as well as the rest of the case related documents. “Why should I alert them to my suspicions? Let them believe they maintain the upper hand while I plan my counterattack.”

“Counterattack?” He could see the gears turning in Phoenix’s head. “You’re going to expose them in court!”

“That is the intent. At the very least I hope to reveal that some sort of coverup is surrounding this murder.” Miles sat down, tapping his stack of papers against the desk until they were actually even. “Neither of which will happen if we only have the wrong case prepared.” He leafed through the stack and pulled out a handful of papers - the ones that had the scraggly markings of someone holding a highlighter without hands - and passed them over to Phoenix.

The firebird gave him his best wing salute and scurried off where he could properly spread out, missing the shift in Miles’ expression as the implications of what he was planning to do sank in.

Looks like he couldn’t trust the police after all.

 


 

Miles looked across the courtroom to where Mr. Shields stood comfortably behind the defense’s bench. The last time he’d seen his father’s former protege in court was not that long ago, but the drastic difference in his own circumstances made it feel like years had past.

Also different was the fact that Maya wasn’t by his side, but rather Ema, who shouldn’t have had any stake in this trial now that her sister wasn’t on the stand, notepad at the ready. It was probably for the experience, he reasoned. Phoenix had made a passing comment of the girl’s aspirations to becoming a forensic scientist - a fact he’d learned during her elder sister’s meetups with Mia Fey, where the two often swapped stories of their younger siblings (and one Miles himself may have learned at some point in time, but forgotten).

The judge banged his gavel to signify that the time for idle chatter had come to a close.  “Now, before we begin this trial, the bailiff informs me that the Chief of Police has an important announcement to make.”

Gant approached the witness stand, smiling brightly at everyone gathered. “Good morning, everyone. Udgey! Long time no see. How ya been? Swim much these days?”

“Hello, hello. No, I've been so busy…"

“Busy!” Gant made a dismissive noise. “Busy-smizzy, Udgey, my boy! You have to make time to relax!”

The judge cleared his throat, looking bashful. “Y-yes, indeed.”

He then turned his attention to the defense’s bench. “And Shieldsy! I heard you were the attorney on this case. We don’t see you around the precinct too often these days.”

Mr. Shields shrugged. “I’ve been traveling.”

He nodded. “Good, good. It’s good to get yourself out there. We should all go swimming together sometime. Anyway, let’s get on to business, now shall we?” Miles noted that his greeting was being skipped out on, which he was all too fine with.

“Right, I’m curious as to what we owe the honor,” the judge said. “It's been over... two years since you last came to this courtroom, hasn't it?”

“Well you see there was an interesting development in the case yesterday. A new suspect came forth - the real murder we believe. As a result, he will be appearing as today’s defendant instead of Lana Skye.”

“This is quite sudden Chief Gant!” the judge exclaimed as the gallery was muttered amongst themselves.

“So sorry, Udgey.” He didn’t sound especially sorry. “It was pretty sudden for us too you see. Little Worthy here decided to undo all of our investigation’s hard work by finding a new suspect last minute.”

So it was his fault now, was it? “I see no reason why the trial couldn’t have been postponed a day.”

“Oh you know how our court system is. Can’t waste any time, now can we?” Gant watched him curiously. That, if Miles had to venture a guess, wasn’t the objection he’d been expecting.

The judge nodded in agreement. “All too right. Thank you, Chief Gant, for delivering that message. Now, shall we get started with this trial?”

“Oh of course, Udgey!” Gant said, making no move to leave the witness stand.

There were a few awkward seconds of glancing about amongst members of the court, until the judge decided to address the issue.

“Not that I mind you sticking around for the trial, but wouldn’t you be more comfortable watching from the gallery?”

“Oh I’m not here to watch. I’ll be testifying on behalf of the investigative team. We couldn’t spare a detective unfortunately, everyone’s been so busy.”

I think Gumshoe would beg to differ, Phoenix pointed out. Last they’d checked in on the detective, he’d still been on ‘badger detail’.

“Oh, well then, Chief Gant. Please proceed with your testimony.”

The story Gant was weaving went like this: Meekins had encountered Goodman in the evidence room, where their confrontation had turned violent. Goodman injured Meekins in an attempt to get away, but not before he was gravely wounded by the officer in self-defense. Panicked, he rushed the body outside to find a hiding place and went with the first thing that caught his eye - a bright red sports car. Meekins broke the trunk, stuffed the body in, and then covered up his crime. He cleared the blood, adjusted times on the card reader, and erased the security footage. It was then Miles who unsuspectingly transported the body to the Prosecutor’s office, where Lana Skye just so happened upon it and decided to confess in order to protect her subordinate, who ungratefully chose to prosecute her case.

(That last bit hadn’t been necessary to the testimony and Miles rolled his eyes at the accusation.)

“I see,” His Honor nodded. “And after all that you say the suspect just… turned himself in?”

“I’m afraid poor Meekins hasn’t been in his right mind ever since he got attacked. We were lucky he felt remorseful enough to own up to his actions, otherwise Worthy might have ended up like Goodman!”

“Oh my, how fortunate indeed!” he remarked, Miles groaning softly at how easily swayed he was. That particular quirk of the judge’s was only good when it was in his favor. “Well, I don’t see any fault with what Chief Gant has presented us. Does the defense have any objections?”

“I might be able to drum up a few,” Mr. Shields said, leaning against his bench.

“Actually, if the defense doesn’t mind,” Miles stepped in, “I have a few questions for the chief.”

He shrugged, hands in his pockets. “The floor is yours.”

The judge blinked owlishly at the two of them. “But, Mr. Edgeworth, isn’t this your witness.”

“No. In fact, I’d received no word from the police department regarding any of this - including the last minute change of defendant.”

“You mean you didn’t know before now?!” His Honor exclaimed over the whispers of the gallery, remembering to silence them just a little too late.

“Now now, Worthy, let’s not get worked up. We weren’t ready to make any sort of official statement on this break in the case, so we had to limit the number of people who knew. It’s not the messenger’s fault you were unavailable and they couldn’t wait around due to our time crunch… that you caused.”

“Oh was it? Funny, I don’t recall that level of confidentiality regarding the first break in the case when you sent the defendant with news of the very crime you’d already suspected him of!”

“Wait a minute-“

“Furthermore,” Miles continued, voice raising in volume, “your ‘time crunch’ is hardly on me since you were already keeping an eye on him as you said yesterday. You should have already been prepared for this to happen!”

“I said to wait.”

“And sending an individual suspected of murder as a messenger? Why, it’s lucky that report even reached me in the first place - unless that’d been your plan all along. Just as this second message never reached me despite not leaving my office until late that evening.”

“Order! Order!” The judge called, his accusations having further riled up the court. “Mr. Edgeworth, just what are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying that this whole trial is a sham! It has been rushed along with a new defendant who has hardly been investigated in order to close it as soon as possible. I suspect there is a cover-up going on, and it all leads back to the SL-!”

His reply was cut off by a boisterous laugh from the witness stand, the clap of gloved hands echoing his booming voice. “Good show, Worthy!” Miles might have seen it wrong, but he could’ve sworn Gant’s mouth twitched. “There’s a reason why you were voted ‘King of Prosecutors’!”

Okay, maaaybe that ceremony wasn’t all that sincere after all… Phoenix finally admitted, Miles grimacing.

“Chief Gant!” His Honor gasped. “You can’t possibly be-?!”

“Oh of course not, Udgey! I’m merely commending the good prosecutor for making this trial far more interesting than I thought it would be. Any other prosecutor would have taken that at face value. Although it’s really understandable, he just came from the defendant’s seat himself not to long ago. It must be hard to trust the police right now.”

“Are you questioning my professionalism?” Miles growled.

“Well that’s the pot calling the kettle black now isn’t it, my boy?” Gant tilted his head down, looking at him over the top of his glasses. “Is this really the hill you want to die on?”

Miles challenged his stare. “Surely not, given I never directly accused you of anything.” But now his suspicions were confirmed. The Chief of Police definitely had a role to play in this. “Your Honor, I have addressed all I needed to. The defense may proceed with their cross-examination.”

“I gotta say, that’s quite the performance you’ve left me to follow up,” Mr. Shields said. His smile was nonchalant, but there was something in his expression Miles couldn’t quite place. “Least I had time to think of some good objections.”

Objections, it seemed, that Gant had prepared for, as the cross-examination was met with resistance at every turn. Goodman’s violence? Obviously he’d been doing something he wasn’t supposed to. The lack of witnesses? Everyone was attending the awards ceremony and the security guard, Marshall, had been absent from his post most of the day. This was also used to explain the ease with which he was able to tamper with the security system.

“Don’t worry though, I’ll be having a long talk with Officer Marshall about his conduct!” Gant had cheerfully said. Miles would’ve felt bad if it weren’t for the fact that this wouldn’t be happening if he’d just been doing his job.

“Alright then,” Mr. Shields began, “can you explain the murder weapon? The victim was stabbed with a knife from Mr. Edgeworth’s car. I doubt that was on hand in the evidence room.”

“Ah, I was hoping you’d bring that up, Shieldsy.” He gestured to the bailiff, who brought over something red in an evidence bag. As he removed it, Ema gasped loudly.

“Is that my sister’s muffler?!”

“Observant lass. I’m afraid Prosecutor Skye may have done some tampering of her own. We found this muffler in the, well, muffler of Worthy’s car, and this was wrapped up inside it.” He produced another piece of evidence that’d been tucked away with the first.

“What’s that?!” the judge asked, leaning forward in his seat incase that would help him see better.

“It's what you'd call a switchblade knife. Quite perplexing, this.”

Normally Miles would call an objection here. If that had been found in his car, he should’ve known about it a long time ago. Unfortunately, by now he was fairly resigned to the fact that information was being withheld from him.

“This, you see,” Gant continued, “should have been stored in Goodman’s locker. We think it was the real murder weapon.”

“Now hold on there. If you’re claiming she was trying to cast suspicion away from Prosecutor Edgeworth, why would Ms. Skye swap the weapons?”

“I was just getting to that. If I might draw the court’s attention to this tag attached to the handle. This is an evidence tag referring to a case we call the SL-9 incident. I won’t get into specifics, but just know that case holds a certain emotional significance to Ms. Skye.”

Her sister as well. Miles caught the color draining from Ema’s face as soon as that code was read off.

“I think Ms. Skye panicked once she saw the label and hid it away - then grabbed the blade conveniently nearby so no one would go looking for a murder weapon. This is what Ms. Starr had stumbled upon.”

“And what of Ms. Starr?” Miles asked, having nearly forgotten about her in the chaos. “She was supposed to be testifying today.”

“We’ve had to throw out her testimony, unfortunately. She has a certain… prejudice towards prosecutors, so her word couldn’t be trusted. Besides, she wasn’t at the real scene of the crime anyway!” he laughed.

“Speaking of crime scenes,” Mr. Shields interjected, “why wouldn’t she want the knife found there? It’s just old evidence.”

“You’d have to ask her that,” Gant replied.

“That’s not a bad idea, Chief. You’ve put a lot of words in her mouth, so let’s hear Ms. Skye’s side of the story. What do you say, Mr. Edgeworth?”

“I have no objections.” Some answers from her were long overdue.

The judge nodded at their agreement, sparing a brief glance to the Chief of Police, who hadn’t reacted at all. “Bailiff, arrange for Lana Skye to be brought here. In the meantime, court will be taking a recess.”

At the sound of the gavel, everyone began to leave their respective benches. Feeling eyes on his back (and not in the usual, literal sense) Miles took a look over his shoulder. Gant was watching him, twirling his hair between gloved fingers as though to appear disinterested. Miles held his gaze until it was lost around a corner.

He’s behind the switch, Miles decided.

Gant? He’s definitely in the position to do it, though he doesn’t seem to have a reason… You think he did it for Lana? They used to be partners after all.

Doubtful. He doesn’t strike me as the sentimental type.

Well what type does he strike you as?

That actually took Miles a moment, as he’d never put it to thought before. Gant had one of those personalities that Miles found incredibly abrasive to his own, thus he was used to limiting his interactions with the Chief of Police.

The type who likes things his way. Which means, unless she’s actually been telling the truth this whole time, Skye might be complying with his wishes. Which begged the question; Why?

Miles opened the door to the prosecutor’s lobby, ready to hash that out with his partner until the recess ended, until he noticed the room wasn’t as empty as it should have been.

“About time you showed your face,” his unexpected guest announced.

Miles glanced towards a stack of boxed lunches sitting on the table. “I suppose you’re not here to make a delivery,” he sighed as he shut the door behind him.

The woman’s only response was a deeper scowl, bang swapping the eye it covered as she whipped her head to the side.

Notes:

I LIVE!

I'm so sorry for the wait everyone! It was busy season at work on top of preparing for a big convention at the end of May.

Chapter 21

Notes:

Kinda rushing this out before I head to work because my laptop needs to go into the shop later today and I don't know how long it'll be out (and I was too close to done to put this off).

Chapter Text

Miles crossed the room and pulled out a chair for himself, all the while feeling an angry set of eyes following his every movement.

“I admit my surprise that you’ve willingly sought me out, Ms. Starr,” Miles said, sitting across from her. “Considering you’re no longer a witness, you’ve not much reason to.”

He didn’t think it possible, but her scowl actually deepened at that. “You know exactly why I’m here.”

“I don’t, really,” he replied slowly. He could venture a guess that it involved whatever testimony she’d been denied from giving, but that left the question of why she’d come to him, adamant as she was not to speak to him.

“Don’t treat me like I’m dumb, Edgeworth. I was the Cough-up Queen long before you’d even stepped foot in a courtroom!” she snapped (Phoenix sputtered over the nick-name, convinced he must have misheard). “You’re the one who cast aside the truth in hopes of absolving Lana Skye of this sordid affair.”

Miles sighed. “The change of defendant was not my doing, though I doubt you’ll believe me.”

“Why should I? All you prosecutors drink from the same cup of lies and betrayal.”

Well, Gant wasn’t lying about the prejudice at least… Phoenix murmured.

“And that attitude is exactly why you aren’t testifying,” Miles said in agreement with his companion, thoroughly unimpressed with the verbal abuse. “Your open hostility towards Lana Skye is what got you so easily discredited.” The only reason the court had initially accepted her as a witness for this crime was due to the very important detail that she was the only witness to the crime.

Something in her expression changed, eyes (or the one visible to him) narrowing so slightly that Miles almost didn’t notice. “So you admit it?”

“I have confessed nothing that wasn’t stated on record today by Chief Gant in his testimony.” Not that he had anything to confess in the first place, but he already knew he wasn’t going to convince her otherwise. Not yet, anyway.

She spoke the name back with a considerable level of venom, piquing Miles’ intrigue. It seemed that the prosecutor’s office wasn’t the sole target of her ire.

I thought she got along with the police? Phoenix questioned when this was pointed out to him. I’ve only heard her insulting prosecutors… although maybe it’s just cause you’re there. Did Mia ever talk to her…? He trailed off into his own head.

Miles regarded Starr again. Perhaps this particular grudge was of a more… individual nature.

A theory struck him. “Have you considered, Ms. Starr, that our goals may not be all that different?” When her face contorted into a look of offense, like she’d just been accused of murder herself, Miles continued. “You do want to know what Gant’s up to, don’t you?”

Offense quickly made way to surprise, then suspicion. “What’s your game, Prosecutor?”

“My game is that I don’t appreciate it when people try to use me as their pawn.”

“No, I suppose you’d much rather be the one doing that,” she hummed.

Miles pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Are you only here to insult me?”

She rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t waste that kind of time or energy on you.”

You sure about that? Phoenix questioned.

“Then get to the point, Ms. Starr, otherwise that will be exactly what you’ve done today. The recess doesn’t last forever.”

“Tell me how,” she said, leaning forward in her seated position. “There was evidence, eye witness testimony, a crime scene with the actual body. How did you get all of that thrown out so easily? I think I’m entitled.”

“You probably are,” Miles answered with a slight shake of his head. “But I can’t help you. My answer remains unchanged; I was not behind the switch. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

She searched his face for a moment, then abruptly stood. “Then I believe we’re done here.”

“I believe we are,” he agreed.

“Pity, it would have been more incriminating if it was you, but I’ll just have to find someone else to cough-up the truth,” she remarked, bundling up the boxed lunches she’d set out on the table (which Miles was now beginning to suspect might have contained a listening device). Starr paused in the doorway, looking back at him. “I’d say it was a pleasure, Prosecutor Edgeworth, but it really wasn’t.” And on that final, vitriolic note, she finally left.

Wait, Miles warned as he felt the firebird moving to rejoin his plane of existence, I don’t trust her not to have left some kind of surveillance behind. Glancing about the room, he didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, but he wasn’t risking it with Starr in here alone for who knows how long.

Surveillance? Phoenix exclaimed in disbelief, but dutifully stayed hidden, looping around his forearm. That seems a bit extreme, don’t you think?

Maybe not for a bitter ex-detective.
He watched the door as if expecting her to return at any moment for a second go. She’d be a useful resource if she weren’t focusing on the wrong person.

You’re probably just an easier target,
Phoenix offered, moving back to his more comfortable position on Miles’ back.

Thanks, came the flat reply. Now, as I was saying before that interruption…

 


 

Miles watched Lana Skye take the witness stand, shoulders squared and expression passive. The recess was ended upon her arrival as Skye was sent straight to the courtroom, granting Miles no chance to speak with her before the trial resumed.

He wasn’t surprised.

“Ms. Skye, do you understand why you’ve been called into court today?” the judge asked of her.

She nodded slowly. “There seems to be some confusion regarding my actions the day of the crime.”

That’s putting it lightly.

“While this isn’t your trial, you have been accused of tampering with the crime scene. The court wishes to know what you have to say in your defense.”

“Nothing,” she replied, taking no time to deliberate her response.

“N-nothing?!” asked a flabbergasted judge.

“But Lana-!” Ema began, cutting herself off with a hitched breath at the sharp look Skye had pinned her with.

“Ema please. Just let it go.” The look turned soft, imploring for a brief moment, then her attention was back on the judge. “Two years ago, the blade I found at the crime scene nearly killed my sister. It’s only natural I would have an adverse reaction to seeing it,” Skye said, as though tampering with a crime scene were comparable to getting a rash after touching an allergen.

The gallery was murmuring amongst themselves again. Skye regarded them impassively, focused particularly on the section behind the prosecutor’s bench - or perhaps at someone who was seated in their midst. Miles wasn’t going to crane his neck to see behind him, but he could venture a guess that that was where Gant had chosen to view the trial from.

During the recess, he and Phoenix had come to an agreement that for the Chief of Police to pull this many strings to clear Skye of a murder charge, she must be useful to him - and useless if she were to be serving life or prison (or worse, depending on the court’s ruling).

Given her position and his apparent eagerness to manipulate the courts, that use wasn’t difficult to discern.

The gavel cried out against the podium with a call for order. “But Ms. Skye, you pleaded guilty to a murder!”

“And I will face the consequences of my actions when the time comes. However, as Your Honor has stated, this is not my trial and I’d prefer not to hold up the proceedings any further.”

“Ah yes, I do suppose this isn’t really useful to the current trial,” the judge agreed.

“Hold on, Your Honor,” Shields interrupted, almost sounding disinterested with the proceedings. “You’re really gonna dismiss the witness before we answer the question we brought her here for?”

He looked baffled. “Did we not?”

“Mr. Shields is correct,” Miles jumped in. “We only confirmed that Ms. Skye has bad memories associated to that particular piece of evidence. That doesn’t explain why she’d go to the trouble of concealing its use in the murder.”

“Oh, very well then. Ms. Skye? If you would pease answer the question.”

She stared straight ahead, likely unsure which of them she should be directing her clear exasperation towards. After a long period of silence, she spoke only one thing.

“SL-9.”

“Yes, that’s the case that knife was from,” Shields said as he leaned across the bench. “The closed case, I might even add.”

“I was making sure it stayed that way,” Skye reluctantly admitted.

Miles felt his brow furrowing. “The evidence in that case was sound. There was no need to.”

The half that actually made it to court, at least, Phoenix reminded him. Maybe Lana knows something about that?

A theory possibly confirmed by the almost guilty glance Skye spared him.

“I couldn’t risk it. Not after what he did. Not after what it cost to finally find Darke guilty.” She tilted her head up with an authority that reminded everyone just who this woman was. “Does that answer your question now?”

He shrugged. “Mostly, but now I’ve got some new ones.”

“Of course you do,” Skye said flatly. “Your Honor, if I may? This line of questioning remains irrelevant to the current trial.”

“Erm, yes, I suppose that’s true…”

“I propose we hear what Mr. Shields has to say,” Miles suggested, looking across the courtroom. He had no idea what angle the defense attorney was trying to play, but he at least seemed to have a plan. “If it truly has no bearings on the proceedings, then the witness may be dismissed without further question.”

“Thank you, Prosecutor Edgeworth,” Shields responded with a nod that hopefully meant he understood he was only getting one shot at this. “I ask the court to consider this: Would the Head Prosecutor really go this far on just the fear of an old case being reopened? Because I think she knew about something that significantly raised the chances of that happening. And what about our victim? Why would he act suspicious and violent in a place he had every right to be? Seems to me like we’re missing quite a few pieces to this puzzle.”

The court did take the time to consider those points, quiet enough in their speculation that the judge did not need to calm them again. “And what are you suggesting these pieces are, Mr. Shields?”

“Oh heck if I know,” he answered, casually shoving his hands into his pockets. “But I think we should be figuring that out before we go sentencing a man who hasn’t been ‘in a right state of mind’ since a rather violent attack. I mean, how much can we really trust a confession from someone who can’t even remember his so-called crime?”

“The defense does have a point…” The judge mulled it over briefly. “Very well. We will suspend proceedings for today, but I expect both parties to thoroughly investigate these puzzling pieces.”

“Of course, Your Honor,” Miles said, while across the way Shields was tipping his hat to the judge in compliance.

Skye was still at the witness stand, a silent observer, before the bailiff was coming to escort her away. She spared no one even a passing glance.

“And Prosecutor Edgeworth?” the judge then added as an afterthought. “Please get this misunderstanding you’re having with the police department sorted out as well.”

Miles bristled at the accusation that any of this mess was his doing, but managed a gracious ‘Yes, Your Honor,’ despite himself (The bow he gave alongside it was considerably less gracious in intent).

Court now adjourned, Miles used his exit from the bench as an excuse to look behind him. As expected, the Chief of Police had been seated in the gallery above, already filing out alongside the rest of the audience. They would need to be wary of him going further, Miles noted.

Raymond Shields, still accompanied by Ema, caught up with him in the hallway, moving to a lobby where they could talk undisturbed.

“Blackmail, huh?” the defense attorney said after Miles explain his (and Phoenix’s) theory. “Makes sense.”

“But Lana doesn’t have anything to hide!” Ema insisted, distraught. “That’d mean she’d done something… something bad. And she just couldn’t, no matter how cold she seems! She would never!”

Miles sighed. Poor thing. Still clinging to the faith that her sister was completely innocent.

“She’s already charged with lying to the police,” Shields pointed out. “Seems pretty ‘bad’ to me.”

When Ema visibly deflated, he sunk down so he was eye level with her, resting a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m more than willing to represent your sister after all this, if she’ll still have me, but Meekins is the defendant right now, and I just don’t think he did it. Do you?”

“It does seem implausible,” she admitted softly.

Whatever moment the two were sharing was immediately shattered by Shields’ request for a hug, which Ema awkwardly shuffled away from. Non plussed, he stood back to his full height.

“So, looks like we’ve got a conspiracy to unravel. What are you going to do, Miles?”

“I’ll see what I can uncover using my resources. Though that may prove difficult given my apparent ‘misunderstanding’,” he added in a bitter tone. “You may want to watch yourselves as well.”

“Come on, Miles,” Shields said with a wink. “Have I ever been one to get myself in trouble?”

 




“Are they going to be okay?” Phoenix asked, comfortably in the passenger seat of the rental car Miles had broken down and gotten once it'd become clear the case was going to drag on.

“You’d know better than me, given you’ve actually investigated with him.” Though Shields remained unaware of this fact. “For their sake, I hope they’ll be underestimated and left to their own devices.”

“If only we could be so lucky, huh?”

The prosecutor made a small noise of agreement. Now that his suspicion was out in the open things would be more difficult, but he couldn’t see that trial progressing any other way without a false conviction.

They sat at a red light, Miles drumming his fingers against the wheel of the unfamiliar vehicle. “Should we even return to the office?”

“Are you expecting an ambush?!” the firebird asked in alarm.

“Not an ambush per se, but an obstruction of some sort.” A greater effort to hinder his investigation, maybe even halt it all together. He tapped some more, glaring at the traffic light as if that would quicken its change. “Let’s just go home. We can work from there.”

“Ugh, but that’s so far away.” Miles could hear the face he was pulling in his tone. “What if we’re going back and forth between crime scenes again?”

The concern was valid, but... “Do you have a better idea?”

The firebird went quiet. Then, “Actually… I think I might.”

When he didn’t continue his statement right away, Miles risked a sidelong glance. Phoenix’s eyes were fixed on something on Miles’ side of the car. He followed that gaze to where the keys hung from the ignition. It was his usual keychain, the rental’s added to it for convenience’s sake. His house key, the office key, they were all there - including one odd one that he’d no longer any use for, but had yet to remove for a number of reasons. The chief being that it wasn’t his key to discard.

Miles touched a finger to it, separating it slightly from the others. The emotion in the hitched noise Phoenix made was the other reason he hadn’t at least taken it off his keychain. “Is that even an option?”

“Wouldn’t hurt to check.” Phoenix shrugged with his wings.

Several cars ahead of them, the red signal still shone down upon the vehicles held at its mercy. He used to the time to carefully weigh all his options.

When the light changed to green, Miles flicked on his turn signal.

 




Two months of disuse had done little for the cleanliness of the space, but Fey Law Offices was very much intact and the locks unchanged. They suspected it had everything to do with Mia’s murder. Hard to rent out former crime scenes.

Miles took his seat on the couch in the waiting area and coughed at the cloud of dust the motion awakened - made immediately worse by Phoenix and his large wingspan emerging and settling beside him. At least karma was swift in its reciprocation.

“Oh stop, it’s not nearly that bad.” Miles rolled his eyes at Phoenix’s overdramatized display of hacking and wheezing. “I’m surprised you even need to breathe, what with all the other biological functions you lack,” he remarked, to which Phoenix blew a chunk of dust out of his beak with an exaggerated snort. The prosecutor waved it away before it reached his face.

With that distraction over, they set to work on the reason they’d come there in the first place - the alleged conspiracy of SL-9. Currently they had a missing list of evidence whose contents were unknown, the scrawled memory of a teenage girl, and a couple of disgruntled former detectives.

In other words, nothing conclusive.

“If we track down Marshall, he can probably tell us what the missing evidence was,” Miles reasoned. The actual list would be far more helpful for court use, but at least they’d know what direction to look in for this coverup.

“I bet it was a bunch of stuff that - how did you describe it? - would ‘overcomplicate the case?’ Lana must’ve been really worried about Darke’s lawyer finding any kind of opening.”

“The only problem with that theory is I was the prosecutor,” Miles said with a frown, recalling his teachings under von Karma. “I wouldn’t have brought it up in court were that the case, so why hide it from me in the first place?”

“Cause you were still a rookie at the time?” he offered. “Probably wasn’t worth the risk.”

Miles scoffed. Rookie or not, he’d still had a reputation back then - one that he was no longer proud of, but a reputation nonetheless. He’d been the protege of one of the world’s most renowned prosecutors!

“That wasn’t a jab at your skills, Miles,” Phoenix said, picking up on something the prosecutor had given off, either in his emotions or expression. “I’m sure you would have done exactly that, but you’re forgetting about one key thing.”

“Oh? And what would that be.”

“Ema. If there was only one thing I could’ve gathered from her chats with Mia, then it would’ve been that Lana would die for her sister. They were similar like that.” There was a sad, somewhat wistful note to the firebird’s tone.

Miles’ mouth drew to a thin line. “I suppose concealing evidence is small change compared to death,” he said softly.

“Although, now that I’m saying it aloud, it’s not really comparable to murder either, and she was gonna turn herself in for that.”

In his head, Miles heard Phoenix’s earlier explanation echo. Ema. If Ema was the driving force for Skye’s irrational behavior, then what did the missing evidence have to do with her (Besides that drawing. If that’d been the issue, they’d just rewritten the list on a blank form and given that to him)?

What if… Miles frowned at the theory that’d wormed its way into his head. Von Karma had taught him to assume the worst of defense attorneys and his brain had just concocted the worst possible scenario one could have used to acquit their murderous client.

“What is it?” Phoenix asked, the change in expression not going unnoticed.

Miles looked at him sidelong. The firebird would never entertain a theory like that without backing, sympathetic to the defense as he was. “Nothing. Just thinking.” He’d keep it to himself… for now.

Phoenix watched him for a moment. “Oh! You know what I've been thinking about?” he then said, stopping his own train of thought. “That weird drawing!” He stuck his head into the open briefcase on the table, shifting papers around until he found what he was looking for.

“What of it?”

“The switchblade made me think of it,” he gestured towards the open SL-9 file nearby, tossing Ema’s sketch down on the table. “Aha! I thought so! See, the blade’s broken here too.”

The blade Ema had drawn poised to strike Prosecutor Marshall did have a flat tip, rather than a pointed one, but Miles failed to see the importance of that. “It’s just a drawing, Phoenix. A rushed one at that.”

“But the case file says he was only stabbed once, and then the tip snapped off! Why did she draw it broken?”

“Because it’s a rushed drawing,” Miles reiterated.

“Don’t you think it’s just a little bit weird?”

“I would, if it were a photograph.” Miles picked up the sketch, eying the rough pencil lines and hasty shading to indicate this had been viewed in silhouette. “If the blunt knife’s not a mistake, then she remembered that detail from the case itself.”

Phoenix gave him a deflated look. “Can you least humor my ideas?”

Miles sighed. “Fine. Let’s say, in that moment, she saw a broken knife. What then?”

A pause. Then a blink. “…I hadn’t thought that far.”

“Let me know when you do,” Miles muttered, patting the firebird lightly on the head. There was a brilliant brain under all those feathers, it just had a bad habit of not fully fleshing out the things it came up with. “And relax, I didn’t mess up your crest,” he added as he noted the wing in motion to brush dark red feathers back into place.

Phoenix weighed his options, wing still hung in the air, before taking Miles’ word and settling with a petulant ‘harumph’. Miles handed the drawing back for him to mull over, but made a note of the firebird’s speculation anyway.

 




Their first real lead, surprisingly, hadn’t come from any of the resources they’d brought with them and had Miles setting out for a nearby cafe that Mia Fey had apparently frequented. Ordering an Earl Grey for himself, Miles took a seat at a booth facing the door so he could keep lookout for the person he’d asked to meet him there.

About 10 minutes later, she strolled in, spotting him easily enough (Miles looked - and felt - quite out of place with the cafe’s general atmosphere). Striding over, she took the seat across from him.

“Twice in one day, Ms. Starr,” he remarked. “I hope this isn’t becoming a trend.”

In the midst of conspiracy researching, he’d gotten a call from Detective Gumshoe. Apparently Starr needed to speak with him again and, being unable to locate the prosecutor anywhere, went to Gumshoe instead - eventually bullying him into contacting Miles when he couldn’t provide her with his whereabouts (He’d kept that information between himself and Phoenix incase of this exact situation). A meeting site and time was then set up because, annoying as she was, she was still a key player in all of this.

Choosing to ignore his remark, Starr folded her arms across the table, studying him with her cyclopian gaze. “You’re a difficult man to track down, Edgeworth.”

“That was the idea. Now, what do you want?”

“Straight to business, huh?” she chuckled. “Good. The less time I spend with you, the better.” Reaching into the purse she’d set down beside her, Starr retrieved a manilla envelope. It was slid across the table between them.

Miles stopped it with his hand before it could fall off the table. “What’s this?”

“A peace offering,” she answered as the prosecutor began to open it. “That cowboy and I had a bit of a… heart-to-heart after the trial.” Dubious eyes flicked up at her as he retrieved the contents. “There’s a few things Marshall wanted me to give you, but you have my full testimony, as well the photo I took of the crime.”

Marshall had apparently read his mind, because included in the items he’d pulled out was the complete list of evidence from SL-9 that he’d wanted. There was also the affidavit Starr had mentioned and two photographs. The first was of the original crime scene with Goodman’s body in his car (something the investigative team shouldn’t given him in the first place, but better late than never), but it was the second that really caught his eye.

“I didn’t know this picture existed…” Miles said as he looked it over. Taken through the garage’s chain-link fence, Skye was at the trunk of his car, holding it open. Though black-and-white, there was a notable stain on the front of her coat and Miles had little doubt as to what caused it.

What is it? Phoenix asked curiously, but Miles told him to be patient. He’d need to go through all of this new evidence later anyway, when he had the benefit of the firebird’s assistance.

“I wasn’t going to present it until my testimony, to make sure it actually made it to court this time.”

“So why the change of heart?” he asked.

“Apparently it’s in my best interests to cooperate with you… this time.” Grabbing her purse fully, she stood from the booth. “Don’t expect this in the future.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She didn’t offer much in the way of goodbyes, just turned sharply on her heel and walked back out the way she came.

Miles lingered until his tea was gone.

 




Starr’s testimony was filled with one too many food-related metaphors, as well as unnecessary embellishments (there was truth in Gant calling her a biased witness), but he and Phoenix were able to work out the important parts of it.

Starr had witnessed the stabbing from B-Block, the visitors’ section of the parking garage - it was fenced off to keep guests from stealing parking spaces from the prosecutors, as reflected by the chain-links in her photograph. She quickly took said photograph, then climbed over the partition in order to confront Skye. There was resistance, a slight struggle resulting in some of the disturbances noted at the crime scene, then the arrest was made.

Nothing she’d provided particularly contradicted Gant’s proposed retelling of events. Coverup or actual murder, the testimony and photograph could have applied to either. In fact Phoenix, still certain Skye was innocent of murder at least, actually agreed with the retelling (just with someone other than Meekins as the culprit. Both could agree the only thing that man was guilty of was being a fool).

Then there was the matter of Marshall’s evidence list. Some of the missing evidence was for Darke’s other killings (as he’d been tried for all of them during the SL-9 trial), and the rest for the incident in the police department, with seemingly no rhyme or reason to why they’d been excluded. Nothing there was setting off any alarm bells either.

“You’re making that ‘nothing makes sense’ face,” Phoenix said, partially draped across Miles’ shoulders, head hung limply to stare down at the documents on the table without much effort.

“Because it doesn’t! The blackmail must be one of the items on this list, that’s the closest workable theory I can manage,” he answered in exasperation. “I just can’t imagine what it could be.”

Phoenix hummed in thought, scanning the paper. “It’s the vase,” he decided. “Lana must have broken it and it was so expensive that Gant’s lording it over her.”

Miles gave him a weak glare. “Can you please be serious?”

“Sorry. Bad jokes help me think. It was Ema who bro-“ He cut off when that glare got just a little less weak. “Okay, but something here has to do with her sister, otherwise I don’t think Lana would put up with this.”

Miles frowned at Marshall’s paper. The only thing that had a confirmed connection to Ema Skye was the list itself - the original one with the drawing.

“The list is the blackmail…” It suddenly dawned on him.

“What?”

“The list. That drawing. She must have drawn something potentially incriminating to herself, and that's what Gant’s holding against Skye.”

Phoenix pouted at him. “You told me it was just a drawing!”

“And I stand by that. Your theory was based on a hastily drawn replica. We don’t know what sorts of details the original picture contained.”

“Like a broken knife that shouldn’t have been broken?” If he had an eyebrow to raise, he would’ve.

“Point, but that’s incriminating to the evidence, not to her.” Besides, Marshall's autopsy claimed a single stab wound with the broken tip inside. Unless there was an unaccounted for weapon, that interpretation was impossible.

He could feel the rustle of feathers against the barely exposed skin of his neck. “Incriminating of what?”

Miles sighed. So, they were back to his earlier, intrusive theory already, were they? “You won’t like it.”

“I’ll manage,” he replied, encouragingly.

“One could argue, especially with the lack of witnesses, that there was another who could have been responsible for Neil Marshall’s death.”

It took a moment for the implications to sink in, but when they did, Phoenix gasped aloud. “No.”

“You said Skye would die for her sister. I don’t doubt she’d go to jail in her place as well.”

“But why would she ever believe she’d need to?!”

“I don’t think it matters what she believes, only what Gant has and how convincing of an argument he can make of it. He nearly convinced the court today that an elaborate coverup was facilitated, alone, by a man who nearly strangled himself with his own handcuffs.”

“So anything goes.” The firebird relented, frowning. “But out of a drawing?”

“Maybe there’s something in the evidence as well that we’re missing.” Miles leaned forward, slightly disturbing the firebird, who’d been resting most of his weight on the back of the sofa. “That’s only what she remembers seeing, not what happened.”

“Oh, right. Ema didn't actually tell anyone what happened, did she?” Phoenix said. Miles nodded, recalling their conversation. Haunted so much by the event, she'd only offered a brief glimpse into her memory - one second of a struggle caught right before the pivotal moment. There had to be more, locked in the depths of her mind.

“We’ll have to talk with her again. Hopefully she’s still following Mr. Shields around.”

“But we ended up with that picture because she couldn’t bear to think about that day.”

“We have to try. She’s the only one with any inkling of what happened there.” Besides the one using (potentially fabricated) events for manipulation, and the one desperately keeping it under wraps. “Sometimes facing the past is the only way to find the truth.”

“Well… you would know,” Phoenix said softly, watching the prosecutor retrieve his phone to contact Shields about his current assistant.

“I wish my nightmares had been as repressed as her memory is,” Miles said with a dry laugh, dialing the contact. They still came, the trial still fresh in his mind, but nowhere near as frequent as they had in the past 15 years. “Maybe I wouldn’t have so easily fallen into von Karma’s trap.”

Phoenix looked like he wished to counter that, but Shields had chosen that moment to answer his call. They chatted briefly, Miles growing increasingly annoyed with every bit of small talk Shields inserted to derail the conservation, but he eventually confirmed that yes, Ema was still with him, and where they could meet for a brief chat once they were done with the investigation Miles had interrupted.

Hanging up the phone, Miles turned to Phoenix, who still looked ready to pick up where they left off. “You said she was hoping to be a forensic scientist, correct?”

The firebird frowned at him, deflating with a quiet sigh. “Yeah. Why?”

“We’re going to stop by Criminal Affairs to pick something up. I think I know how to put this into perspective for her."

Chapter Text

“Got what you asked for, sir!” Gumshoe said as soon as Miles rolled down the window for him. He stuck his hand, which was carrying a small bag, through the opening, eyes scanning for a good place to set it. Finding the passenger’s seat occupied, he settled for presenting the item to its occupant. Phoenix took a few seconds to realize he was expected to make himself useful before grabbing it in his beak.

“Good. I hope you were able to get everything.” A concern regarding both potential roadblocks he may have run into and the detective’s… tendencies. Normally Miles only ran menial tasks through Gumshoe - good natured, yet bumbling as he was - but this whole business with the police was forcing his hand. Unfortunately, of the two of them, he was the least likely to have his actions impeded - so long as no one realized he was working on Miles’ behalf.

“I actually had some of them before you even called me, sir. From when they put me in charge of the investigation.”

“You what?!” Miles barked, causing both Gumshoe and Phoenix to startle. “And you didn’t think to mention that very important detail?!”

“Sorry sir, I thought you knew,” he replied, wincing. “Marshall got taken off the case.”

“Looks like Gant might’ve actually had that talk with him,” Phoenix said, having taken the bag from his mouth. It was now nestled in-between his body and the center console.

“Musta said something, cause he’s been in the guard station all-day.”

“Isn't that where he’s supposed to be?” Miles asked dully.

“Well… yeah, but he’s never there the whole time and it’s making this whole investigation really awkward. Every time I walk past him he just… watches or says something weird. Like, right before I left, he muttered something about ‘pistols at dawn’. He knows there weren’t any guns in this case, right?”

Phoenix snorted. “I’m pretty sure he’s aware.”

Miles, meanwhile, made a small hum of acknowledgement. “So you’re investigating the evidence room.” Suggesting they were determined to keep pushing it as the crime scene. “Do you have any people down at the prosecutor’s office.”

Gumshoe suddenly looked sheepish. “Oh, uh, everyone else is busy with the trial, so it’s just me. Investigating, that is. I'm sure someone’s down there keeping an eye on your car.” He then quickly added “But if you need me to, I can head over!”

“No no, stay here, I may need you again.” This sounded like a ploy to keep Gumshoe distracted and out of the picture while the real case progressed elsewhere, but at least as head of the investigation Miles could more confidently send him on errands related to it.

He took a step back, saluting. “You got it, sir!”

“Don't get into any duels with Marshall!” Phoenix called after him, statement swallowed up by the closing of the window (though not entirely if the confused look on Gumshoe’s face was any indication).

“Stop. You know he’s going to take that seriously,” Miles said, exasperated, as he started up the car.

“Maybe I meant it seriously,” Phoenix countered. “It’s a reasonable piece of advice.” As he spoke his voice was growing muffled, like something was blocking the sound.

“Be careful with that.” Miles didn't even look over, knowing exactly where Phoenix’s head was currently located.

“Oh calm down. I’m not gonna damage your bargaining chip,” he retorted, voice still slightly garbled, though now with the distinct distortion of having something in his beak.

Watching the road ahead, Miles frowned. “You make it sound like a bribe."

“Isn’t it? You’re offering her fancy science stuff in exchange for testimony.” Ungarbled, so his mouth was clear once more. Out of the corner of his eye Miles could see the papers he’d removed from the bag, marked by ten black spots.

“It’s just fingerprint powder, and, as I said, I’m putting things into perspective.

“With a bribe.”

He sighed. Difficult as usual. “Look at it this way; What are fingerprints?”

“The ballistic markings of a hand,” Phoenix interrupted.

Miles would have given him a withering look if he wasn’t driving. “Are you quite finished?”

“Not really, but I can play along… unless that was supposed to be rhetorical.”

“It was,” Miles smirked, "but by all means, go ahead. I want to hear what you come up with.”

The symbiont responded with a bizarre noise - somewhere between a thoughtful hum and a disgruntled grumble. “Well… it’s… evidence? That tells you what people touched? And who did the touching?” A pause. “And the topic of a question I should’ve just left rhetorical.” The last one was likely a response to the amused expression Miles had made no attempts to conceal.

“You're certainly not wrong,” Miles said, leaving Phoenix to decide which parts of his answer that was directed towards. “They’re also a tool we can use to find the truth. Yet, much like the truth, we don’t always know when it’s right in front of our eyes. We need something to help us see.”

Phoenix let out a small, breathless ‘ah’, letting the words sink in. “It’s a nice metaphor,” he said, “but it's probably gonna go over her head.”

“Probably,” Miles agreed. “Still, having these resources in the defense's possession is only going to be beneficial to sorting this mess out.” As a defense attorney who usually took guilty clients and had a fairly good relationship with the police department, whatever investigation Shields ran should be left relatively alone.

The firebird chuckled dryly. “Should’ve known you had some other goal hidden under your cravat.”

“… the expression is sleeve, Phoenix."

“I know, but that spot’s already claimed by yours truly,” he cheekily replied. Miles could almost hear the wink in his tone. What he could definitely hear, though, was the gentle rustle of paper, as the lull in conversation renewed Phoenix’s interests in the fingerprint records. “Hey, he put your prints in here.”

The information didn’t surprise Miles as much as it had Phoenix. “I’m still potentially considered a suspect, given the circumstances.” Although, it was probably a little strange that Gumshoe was entertaining the possibility. Perhaps he’d been unaware of their inclusion.

“Actually… it looks like he got Shields in here too. And Ema. And himself? ” he continued, baffled. “Guess he took it to heart when you said everyone involved.”

Miles shook his head, sighing. “At least he was thorough.”

Thoroughness that did net him an odd look when he handed the kit over the to defense team and Shields noticed his own prints included amongst the suspects. The mere mention of the detective’s name had been enough of an explanation.

As predicted, Ema didn’t even take the time to contemplate any potential symbolism in Miles’ gesture, too busy singing his praises. Eventually Shields was able to reign her in, then off they were again to go make use of Miles’ offering.

You’re not going to ask about the incident? Phoenix asked as prosecution and defense went their separate ways.

Later, Miles explained. Ema had things to come to terms with first before the truth of that event could come out. He didn’t want to try and force it now and risk driving the memories even deeper.

How much time to we honestly have for ‘later’? They’re trying to close this as quickly as possible.

Two more days - provided we can stall this trial out to it's full length.

Wait, wait, wait, you want to
intentionally waste time in court?

I wouldn’t call it that,
Miles frowned, but yes. If it comes to that.

Who are you and what have
you done with Miles Edgeworth? he said, more amused than anything.

I think what have you done would be more accurate, Miles replied. You have been a rather significant presence in my life.

Well, ‘s kinda hard for me not to be. You brought that on yourself, the symbiont teased.

I suppose I did,
Miles said, nodding to himself. One of my better life choices, wouldn't you say?

Phoenix, evidently unprepared for that sincerity, did not say, going quiet all together as the embarrassment rolled off him in waves. Miles couldn't help but chuckle at the reaction. He’d have to find more nice things to say about the firebird - if only to test it’s effectiveness at rendering him silent.

 




[Don’t u have a different version of this thing?]

They'd been back at the former Fey office for a little while when Miles received the text from Shields. He stared at it for a long moment, unsure of what to make of it. Along with the message itself, attached was a picture of… a picture (Shields had actually taken the opportunity to make a selfie out of it, but he was choosing to ignore that bit). Gant, Skye, and Neil Marshall were poised for the photographer. In his hands, Marshall held the King of Prosecutors trophy, though with a broken sword adorned across the shield. Miles had actually completely forgotten the award used to look different, though his memories of it were coming back now. He sent back his reply.

[The halberd portion was abolished two years ago by Gant.]

Shields must have noticed the trophy, which still remained on the couch where he'd discarded it (albeit shifted slightly by Phoenix, who’d pushed it to the corner to make room for himself), during their brief visit - though he hadn’t seemed to do much looking around. Unless it was Ema who’d pointed it out, with the extreme scrutiny she’d been examining his office with.

The notification chimed and Shields’ response appeared on screen.

[Interesting]

Their coorespondance ended there.

He showed the messages to Phoenix, who had a different concern altogether.

“You know, I thought the shield was weird for a prosecutor’s award. That makes a lot more sense than what I was thinking!”

“...I'm going to regret asking, but what were you thinking?”

There was a brief moment where Phoenix probably realized he should have stopped talking sooner, but it was too late to back out now. “W-well, the shield’s broken, right? So I figured, it must be to show that you’re good at breaking the defense’s arguments…?”

“I was right, I did regret it," Miles groaned.

“Well how was I supposed to know it didn’t always look like that?!” Phoenix’s plumage was rapidly rising to an agitated state. “Why’d he even change it, it looked cooler before.”

“I haven’t the faintest. It was based on a story, which is lost on the redesign.”

“Story?”

Miles nodded. “An ancient Chinese tale. In Chinese, the word ‘contradiction’ is written with two characters: the first means ‘halberd,' and the second means ‘shield.' Have you heard this story?”

“Oh, uh, of course I have! Who hasn’t?” he said, waving his wing in a casual gesture. “But, you know, go ahead anyway. I wanna hear how you tell it.”

Miles rolled his eyes. “Very well. Long ago in the kingdom of Chu, there was an arms merchant. One day, he presented the king with two items. The first was a halberd he claimed could slice through any shield or armor. The second was a shield he claimed could withstand any weapon.”

“Hey… wait a minute,” Phoenix muttered, humming in thought. “Those claims contradict each other!”

“Very perceptive.” Miles then smirked. “…but then again, you've heard this story before, right?” (His feathers, which had just begun to settled, fluffed up again.) “Anyway, as you mentioned, the very descriptions of these items discredit them both. When the king pointed this out, the merchant was left speechless. And thus, the Chinese word for ‘contradiction’ was born.”

“That’s clever. So they used the broken items to represent thaaaaaaAAA - Wait!” he shouted out suddenly, leaping from the sitting position he was in, wings bared and eyes wild. “Wait, wait, wait. Miles!”

“…yes?” the prosecutor questioned, slightly startled from the outburst.

“The sword - halberd - whatever you called it!”

“Yes?”

“It’s broken!” He was flapping his wings excitedly now - not enough to take off, but enough to create a significant breeze.

“Yes?” Miles repeated, moving to keep their things from being blown off the table. “I believe we’ve established that.”

So. What if the broken knife Ema drew wasn’t Darke’s switchblade? What if…?”

“Are you implying that Marshall was stabbed with the halberd?” Miles cut him off.

“He got the award the day he was killed, right? So there’s a chance he would have had it on him - and that’s why Gant changed it right after that! He didn’t want to pass around a murder weapon.”

This gave Miles brief pause. The possibility of a different weapon had actually crossed his mind before, but - “No. The autopsy report was clear - he’d been stabbed once and the tip broke inside the wound. It had to have been the switchblade.” Because he really didn’t want to think about the implications if it wasn’t.

“But it fits so well with the drawing!” Phoenix tried to reason.

“You are quite hung up on something that could be a mistake.”

The firebird frowned at him. “Didn’t you agree with me that there was something important in Ema’s picture?"

“Yes, but in the original. I’m still not forming any assumptions based on a replica.”

Phoenix tutted at him, deflating a little. He perked back up almost immediately.

“Then we’ll go find it!”

“Find what?” Miles asked, looking away.

“The list! The original! If Gant is really keeping it for blackmail like you think, then it’s gotta be around somewhere. Maybe in his office…?”

Phoenix,” Miles said, aghast, “we are not snooping around the Chief of Police’s office.”

“Why not?” he asked, having the gall to sound disappointed that his idea was shot down. “He has it… probably… and we need it.”

“Did you forget why we’re here in the first place?” Miles made a grand gesture to the office that didn’t belong to either of them (symbiotic partner to the deceased owner really didn’t hold weight in any official capacity). “What if we’re caught? We’ll be taken off the case - if my badge isn’t outright suspended.”

“Then we won’t get caught,” he said, as if that magically solved all of their problems.

“Your optimism astounds me.”

“Well one of us has to have some,” the symbiont sniped.

“It’s not pessimism, Phoenix, I’m being realistic. I know Gant better than you do and I’m not even sure what he’s capable of anymore.” He sighed, hand massaging his temple. Phoenix, empath that he was, immediately came off the offensive and scooted closer to the prosecutor. “We’re playing this safe. We have…” he hesitated, “allies… out investigating. We’ll just have to hope that they’re successful.”

“But are you okay with that? Just… sitting back and letting things happen?” he asked, tone laced with concern.

“That was the standard… up until you fumbled into my life. Is it too presumptuous to say that you’re” Miles gently tapped his beak for emphasis.the one having difficulties taking the passive role?”

Phoenix went briefly cross-eyed trying to follow his finger, then cast his gaze to the ground without answering.

Miles tapped a finger against his thigh. It wasn’t to say that he wasn’t frustrated as well, but that was directed towards the case itself rather than their current role - or lack thereof - in the investigation. Phoenix, on the other hand, needed to feel useful - it was the reason why he’d stayed with Miles rather than Maya - and their office work probably wasn’t fulfilling that need as nicely as directly aiding the investigation would.

After giving it a long moment of thought, Miles gathered up the documents closest at hand. “I think we ought to check on Detective Gumshoe. I'm not sure he’s ever done an investigation entirely on his own before.”

“Really?!” Phoenix brightened up. “Erm, not about Gumshoe, I mean. Although, I guess detectives usually don’t work alone, do they? Police department detectives anyway. They have that whole… system going -“

“Phoenix,” Miles said, cutting off the rambling. “Do you want to go, or not?”

He took the firebird disappearing up his sleeve as an enthusiastic ‘yes’.

 




To Gumshoe’s credit, he’d gathered a lot of information despite a majority of the odds being against him. Miles just wasn’t sure how useful most of that information was.

Spread across his desk and spilling over to his neighbors’ (thankfully Criminal Affairs was still mostly abandoned so this wasn’t inconveniencing anyone) were his findings; Evidence he’d retrieved from the records room and detailed accounts of everything else that he couldn’t bring with him.

(His artistic rendition of that car door they kept shoved in the corner was …cute… but hardly relevant to the matter at hand.)

He had statements from various members of the police department about the recent events. Given the small amount he’d collected, it was likely just whomever was still hanging about the building and from there the ones he could actually get to talk to him. A few folders also made up the pile - case files, probably - and several sticky notes containing his own thoughts.

It was, to be frank, a mess, but Gumshoe looked so proud as he showed the prosecutor what he’d accomplished in the past several hours.

“So, whataya think, sir?” he asked, like a puppy seeking praise.

He’d only come here to appease Phoenix, but honestly the visit may have been necessary.

Gingerly, Miles picked at a shard of pottery that had strayed into the territory of whatever poor sod was forced to share a work space with Gumshoe.

“It’s impressive for a largely fruitless endeavor.”

Aww, I bet he worked hard on whatever it is you’re looking at.

He did. That’s the problem.
As he continued to look around the mess, he found a few more pieces of the same pottery poking out from underneath paper. “Is this the broken vase from Goodman’s evidence locker?”

“Oh yeah!” Rummaging around, Gumshoe managed to excavate all eight fragments. “I was trying to put it back together, but the pieces kept falling apart.”

Miles ran a finger along the broken edge, finding nothing had been applied to it that might prevent that from happening. “…did you try glue?”

Gumshoe blinked, eyes lighting up. “Oh, glue! Of course! You’re so smart, sir.” Miles sighed a long-suffering sigh as Gumshoe wrenched open the drawer to his desk and dug around the contents. Moments later he shut it, hands empty. “Hold on, I gotta go find some.”

Shaking his head, Mile sunk down into the desk chair as the detective went weaving through his colleagues’ desks.

So the vase is actually important?

It’s important to him, it seems,
Miles replied, watching as Gumshoe eventually made his way over to the head of the department. The two men spoke for a little while, then suddenly Gumshoe was holding a tube of glue triumphantly aloft. Miles gave a singular, slow clap in acknowledgement, sinking further into the chair. The lack of basic problem solving skills felt like something for the eventual salary evaluation, but honestly Miles was probably going to put his energy into forgetting this happened instead. It was only going to wear on his sanity in the long run.

“Worthy! Just the person I was looking for.”

Speaking of wearing on his sanity…

Miles shuddered, fight or flight responses triggered. However, since neither were appropriate in a professional setting, he was forced to settle for a greeting.

“Chief Gant.” Miles slowly spun the chair in the direction his voice had come from in an effect that, he belatedly realized, was probably mildly menacing. This realization was shortly followed by the decision that he didn’t care.

Gant also didn’t seem to care, provided he picked up on it at all. “I need a word with you. Come with me to my office.” His eyes shifted over to Gumshoe, who’d just sidled up to the prosecutor’s side. “Alone.”

Miles had really hoped to be in and out before the Chief caught wind of his presence, but perhaps that’d been expecting too much. At least he got the slightest bit of satisfaction out of the knowledge that Gant’s request to have him alone was never going to be filled.

“Have that sorted out by the time I return,” he told Gumshoe, gesturing vaguely at the glue in his hand before walking over to Gant.

“You’re a difficult man to track down, you know?” the chief cheerfully commented, leading him off in the direction of his office.

That had been the plan…, Phoenix remarked, sounding a little guilty. And while, yes, he had been pushing for them to get out of the office, he must know that he hadn’t forced Miles to come here. He’d made that decision on his own.

“I’ve been busy.”

“Yes, yes, of course. This has been one crazy trial. You’ve had a lot of those recently, haven’t you?”

“I suppose.” Three wasn’t necessarily ‘a lot’, and they had been interspersed with smaller, less notable trials, though for all to occur within the span of half a year was a little on the odd side of things.

“I just don’t see how you do it,” Gant said, oblivious to the way Miles has stiffened up as he realized where he was being led. The Chief’s office was on the top floor - as they usually were - obviously he wouldn’t be taking the stairs there. Not everyone had a near-crippling fear of elevators. “What’s your little secret?” Gant asked as he pressed the call button and those metal doors slid open almost with a deceptively pleasant chime.

Just relax. You’ve got this, his little secret whispered reassuringly, moving around in a distracting manner that Miles realized was meant to keep his mind focused on something other than the metal box of death.

Miles took in a deep breath as he stepped in after the Chief of Police. “It wouldn't be much of a secret if I told you.”

Gant’s responding laugh bounced off the walls as he pressed the button for the top floor. “I never knew you had a sense of humor, Worthy!”

“Few do,” he said, fists clenching and unclenching as he tried to keep his focus on Phoenix and not the shadows creeping in from the corners of his vision.

Especially when ninety percent of it involves making fun of me, the firebird chimed in.

You do make yourself a rather easy target.

The elevator reached its destination with a small lurch, which sent Miles’ hands flying to the railing behind him, clasped on in a death grip. Gant viewed the display with a raised brow, but didn’t comment, probably filing the information away for later. Finally, finally, the doors opened, and it took all of Miles’ willpower to calmly walk out behind Gant. The office itself was only a short walk from the elevators. Using his ID card, Gant unlocked the door and escorted him in.

Extravagant was probably the best way to describe Gant’s office. Miles had only visited a handful of times, but he always forgot just how absurd the decor was. Large, arched windows. A pipe organ that took up a third of the wall. The full suit of armor. The humblest thing about it was the abandoned work station that once belonged to Skye. He still wondered why Gant had chosen to leave that as is.

As he inspected the far side of the room, something he’d seen just recently caught his eye. Mr. Shields was already here.

Huh? How can you tell?

The picture. He took it in here.
Which begged the question, had he also been dragged in here by Gant, or was he looking for something?

Really…wait, can you put your hands behind your back? I wanna see for myself.

Odd. Phoenix was usually fine relying on his hearing and descriptions of his surroundings, but the request was simple enough to honor. Careful to make sure he was fully facing Gant, Miles folded his arms behind him, resting them at the small of his back. Phoenix traveled down until he reached just past the end of his sleeve, the rest of his body curling up around his arm. Miles suspected that, if anyone were to look, there would be the perfect image of a bird’s head on the back of his hand.

Well?

…this room is… interestingly decorated.

You’re actually looking at the tamer half.

Oh.

“Now then, Worthy.” Gant had taken a seat behind his desk, which thankfully put another layer between him and Phoenix. “I didn’t call you here just to catch up. We’ve been wondering what you’ve been up to. No one’s seen hide nor frill of you since this morning’s trial.”

“I’m checking in on Gumshoe. You know how he is,” Miles said flatly. “On that note, I greatly appreciate the update on his promotion to lead detective.”

“Now, now, who said I never updated you? You haven’t exactly been in your office.”

Miles bit back a curse. He couldn’t exactly prove that was false.

“By the way, where exactly have you been?"

“Around,” the prosecutor said noncommittally. “As I previously said; I’ve been busy.”

“The whole precinct’s been busy, but they still bother to check in,” Gant retorted, leaning back in his chair. Miles had to bite his tongue to keep from pointing out that Gant was not the person he reported to. “It almost feels like you’re… up to something.”

Miles pressed a hand (the one Phoenix wasn’t occupying) to his chest, like he’d been wounded. “You accuse me of sneaking around behind your back?!”

I mean, we are, technically.

You’re not helping.

“Just want to be sure. One can never be too careful in these troubling times.” Gant stood, turning away from him so he could stare dramatically out of the nearly floor to ceiling window. “We’ve been seeing sides of members of our respective offices that no one could have ever expected. Meekins. Skye. …von Karma.”

Miles felt his stomach churn at the name. “He has nothing to do with this case,” he said, keeping his voice steady.

“Oh, but he does, Worthy. In a way. He was your mentor after all, and you’ve spent a great deal of your career trying to emulate him.”

“Not anymore,” the prosecutor gritted out. “I’ve moved on from that.”

“Oh, is that what you’ve been doing, throwing yourself headfirst into every case that comes your way? You think two months of that is enough to erase the years you spent under him?” Gant faced him again, all cheerful smiles despite the harsh accusations he was hurling his way. “I bet you’re more like him than you even realize.”

Distantly, Phoenix was saying something to him - probably something soothing or encouraging - but all Miles could hear was static. Was that his goal? Drag him up here to insult him? Prey upon his insecurities? Get him too emotionally rattled to focus on the case? Well, Miles didn’t have to stand for this slander, regardless of the intent.

Miles folded his arms protectively across his chest (Hopefully Phoenix had the foresight to duck his head back under the sleeve. He was a little too worked up to worry about him right now). “If you’d excuse me, Chief Gant. I have work I need to get back to.” Shoulders squared, Miles marched over to the door, yanking it open with a bit more force than necessary.

“Come now, Worthy, don’t disappear again.” Gant weaved around his table, catching up to him with ease. He placed a hand on Miles’ shoulder, halting his retreat just outside the doorway. “We weren’t done with our chat.”

“I think we were.” He shrugged the hand away, turning to face the Chief fully. Their height difference forced Miles to look up, especially with how close they were stood, but he wasn’t going to let that intimidate him. He started to cross his arms again, but realizing Phoenix was still fidgeting about down there, moved them behind himself.

“Let’s just go back inside and talk this over. We’re both mature adults.” He’d stepped completely out of his office now, holding the door wide open to gesture the prosecutor back in. Miles moved only enough to keep facing him.

Miles? Phoenix asked cautiously.

I’m fine, just aggravated, he tersely responded, anger cooled enough that he was actually processing Phoenix’s words again.

Then, sorry, but you might have to be aggravated for a little while longer. An hour. Max.

…what?

Time limit. It’s probably longer, I dunno, but to be safe. Just… keep him busy, please?

Phoenix, what are you -

The thought was cut short by the severing of their physical connection as Phoenix darted off his hand. With Miles’ back to the doorway, it was easy enough to him to slip into the office, though not entirely unseen. Gant’s face made a peculiar expression, one of someone who’d just seen something flicker so far in their peripherals that the movement had only just barely registered.

“What was-“

“You want to talk?” Thinking quickly, Miles cut him off, shifting so all his attention was fully on him “Fine, but I’m not doing it on your terms. We can go elsewhere.”

Gant looked torn. Whatever the end goal of that conversation was, it was probably best delivered without a potential audience. Still, he laughed, clapping Miles so heavily on the back that he nearly lost his balance. “Alright, Worthy, have it your way. We’ll walk and talk! I could do with a nice stroll.”

His relief that the diversion worked was short lived. Gant released the door and it drew itself shut with a resounding click, fully cutting him off from Phoenix.

An hour. That’s what he’d meant. An hour was the longest he was sure he could last without having a partner - which gave him less than sixty minutes to figure out a way to get back up to the office to retrieve him, while still giving him enough time to snoop around. Sixty minutes before… before…

You stupid symbiont, Miles said to him despite it all. Do you truly lack any notion of self-preservation?!

“Well, come now, we’ve much to discuss,” Gant said, interrupting his thoughts. The Chief had already begun to walk away from the office, but Miles hesitated. The moment he left the area, Phoenix lost the safety net of his proximity. Still, he couldn’t justify hanging out in the hallway, otherwise Gant would just insist they return to the office.

Miles looked at his watch as he slowly stepped away, mentally marking when their hour began. 

Chapter Text

The elevator ride back down was stressful, but not for the usual reasons. It was hard to focus on his own feelings when Phoenix was currently in the Chief of Police’s office literally risking his life for the investigation (Though he still found himself hiding his trembling hands from Gant until they were out. Thankfully the building was only three floors).

Gant chose the second of those floors as their destination. This was where the questioning rooms were located - a perfect place to continue with this borderline interrogation, yet Gant merely bypassed them to continue down the hallway, talking all the while.

Miles allowed his mind to drift as he rambled. Did they really only have an hour, and what situation had Phoenix gotten himself into to even come up with the number to begin with? Yes, he’d been separated from Ms. Fey via her murder, but he hadn’t exactly been conscious upon bonding with Miles to track that particular time frame (which probably hadn’t been an hour, but Miles didn’t exactly remember when he’d arrived on scene). Hopefully it wasn’t because he’d pulled this stupid stunt before, though Miles couldn’t help thinking it was the most likely answer.

Partway through trying to recreate the floor plan of Gant’s office from his memory, seeing if Phoenix had any potential escape routes to get himself out of that situation should it come to that, his attention was drawn by a sudden hand waving in his face.

“Earth to Worthy,” Gant said, pulling back as soon as he had a captive audience once more. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

Miles cleared his throat. “Apologies. My mind was… elsewhere.” And would likely continue to be elsewhere as long as the firebird was.

“Wouldn’t have anything to do with you being ‘busy’, would it?” he asked.

He deliberated his response. “Perhaps.”

Gant shook his head. “This is exactly why I wanted to speak with you. This mysterious behavior, not telling anyone where you’ve been or what you’re doing - are you absolutely sure you’re not up to something?”

“I suppose preparing my case for tomorrow’s trial would constitute as ‘up to something’,” Miles retorted. “Not that it matters what I tell you, seeing as you’ve already formed your own opinions of my goings-ons.”

“Au contraire! I don’t doubt at all that’s what you’ve been doing. Actually, that’s the worrying part. Especially with what we now know about Prosecutor von Karma.”

So they were back on that topic. “Go on,” he sighed. There was no avoiding it this time, not without risking Phoenix being exposed.

“As you know, there is quite a bit of evidence pointing to you in this crime, and with you in charge of the prosecution…” Gant chuckled. “Well, let’s just hope it doesn’t take 15 years to find out you actually had a part in the murder all along. I’d hate to see you still following in von Karma’s footsteps after everything he did to you.”

And yet the accusation still stood. It was a logical train of thought with enough supporting evidence that he couldn’t begrudge anyone for thinking so - anyone except for Gant. Coming from him it sounded less like a reasonable concern and more like a cheap blow.

“Would you prefer for me not to be working on the case?” he asked with a raised brow.

“Well I can’t ask you to do that, now can I? It’s your job!” Gant answered, laughing. His voice echoed down the empty corridor. It wasn’t exactly a ‘no’. He then stepped a little closer, looking down at Miles over the frames of his glasses. “Just a little something to keep in mind, going forward. We wouldn’t want you doing anything foolish, now would we?”

So not just a cheap blow, but a warning. Gant wanted to keep him in line, just as he was doing with Skye. Force Miles to stand down lest his status as a ‘potential’ suspect gets upgraded.

He clearly didn’t know Miles very well if he thought that was going to work.

Though maybe, a time ago, it would have. When cases were black and white and all that mattered were guilty verdicts. Now he was in it for the truth - he couldn’t back down until they knew the whole story.

“Then you don’t have anything to worry about.”

Plus he couldn’t physically back down until he figured out how to retrieve his idiot bird friend. Miles glanced at his watch. They were approaching 10 minutes since they parted. Was that enough time for him to conduct his investigation, or did Miles need to try and stall for longer? What would happen when this conversation concluded? (Most of his follow up quandaries relied on this. Where would Gant go? Was he to be left alone or escorted out? Etc…)

“Am I keeping you from something?” Gant curiously asked, annoyance creeping into his tone.

“It can wait.” It had to wait until he had a plan. “Was that all you wanted to talk with me about?”

“That was the pressing matter, but since I have you here and who knows how long you’ll disappear again…“

Gant didn’t really have anything of substance to discuss - mostly updates on what the Police Department had been up to (without Miles’ help, as he kept emphasizing) and random anecdotes - but he kept on talking, probably enjoying the sound of his own voice. Miles wasn't sure how he was managing to carry on a conversation basically with himself for as long as he was, but he wasn’t going to complain. It gave him more time to think over his plan, as long as he kept nodding or making the occasional mild grunt of annoyance to spur him on.

What he mostly needed was Gant to stay away from his office, as well as him, for at least five minutes. Unfortunately, the Chief of Police wasn’t the type of person you could just send on mindless errands - especially fabricated ones. Not that he was likely to trust any tasks Miles tried to lay before him if he was. He needed to fabricate an actual issue for him to respond to, but what?

The plotting was cut suddenly when Miles’ phone began to ring in his pocket. Gant did not look pleased about the interruption, but he didn’t say anything as the prosecutor fished it out to check the caller ID. Miles rolled his eyes as Gumshoe’s name flashed across the screen. Well, he thought as he silenced the ringer and shoved it back in his pocket, whatever the detective wanted could wait.

Evidently it couldn’t, because he tried again the second the call dropped.

“Persistent,” Gant observed with a small smile as Miles begrudgingly answered it this time.

“Now is not the best time, Detective,” he said tersely.

“S-sorry, sir!” the man stammered on the other end. “But I’ve got-“

“Wait!” He couldn’t sent Gant on fabricated errands, but he could certainly send Gumshoe! He often did exactly that when he needed to keep the detective busy and, right now, keeping the Chief of Police busy sounded like a perfect use of his talents. “Since you’ve already bothered to interrupt, I have a task for you.”

“Oh, no problem, sir! But, uh, you need to know-“

“In a moment, now…” Miles paused, thinking of what exactly he needed him to do to instigate this scenario.

“But-“

“Really, Detective, I’m trying to give you instructions.” Not that he knew what those instructions were going to be just yet, but what precious little time they had couldn’t be wasted on Gumshoe’s prattle.

“ButIhaveyourbirdsir!”
Gumshoe blurted out.

“And I - what?” Miles blinked, taking a moment to separate the garbled words into something coherent. He’d heard what he’d thought he’d heard, right?

“I’m so sorry, but he said to just interrupt you and - hey wait, since when do I take orders from you, pal?”

Miles was still processing, but that last bit definitely wasn’t meant for him. “What do you mean you have h- it?” He caught himself, acutely aware that Gant was still listening to everything being said on his end.

Well I went up to the Chief’s office to get to you and -”

Miles cut him off, again, before he got into the full story. That was really all he needed for confirmation. “Nevermind, tell me in person. I’ll meet you over by your desk.”

“Of course, sir! What, no! I can’t say that!”

Miles hung up on their shenanigans, but not before letting out the deepest sigh of relief. The idiots were together, which seemed like the biggest recipe for disaster, but at least he knew Phoenix was safe.

Which also meant he didn’t need to carry on this interaction any further. “I’m afraid I’ll have to cut this short. Something’s come up.”

“Anything I could help with?”

“No, no,” Miles said, maybe a bit too hastily. “It’s just Gumshoe. He doesn’t need the both of us hovering over him. It’ll just frighten him.”

“Well, then I’ll leave you to it,” he replied. “We’ll just have to catch up later. Maybe go swimming.”

“…right.” He began to walk away, finally free of Gant for the time being.

“And remember our chat! Don’t be a stranger!” He called after him.

Miles raised his hand in a half-wave as he made his escape. He entered the corridor that led to the elevators, then pointedly took the stairs back down to the main level.

 




“Of all the foolish things...” Miles grumbled as he massaged the space between his eyebrows. Before him Gumshoe stood, looking somewhat abashed, but mostly distracted as he likely had Phoenix yammering away in his head. Apparently they’d gotten into this situation because he’d wanted to report his recent findings to the prosecutor and went to find him. When he’d gotten no response knocking on Gant’s door, he’d called out to confirm they weren’t there. Phoenix had then recognized his voice and called him in.

“Sorry, sir...”

“Not you,” Miles clarified, knowing his real target was listening in. “What if there’d been someone else around? You couldn’t have known Detective Gumshoe was alone.”

“He says he didn’t hear anyone else,” Gumshoe replied after a second of silence.

“That’s not- Oh this is too much trouble.” Miles cut himself off and moved closer to the detective, holding out his hand. “Give me your hand.”

“S-sir?!” he stammered, shakily holding up his own and looking between the two with uncertainty.

With an eye roll, Miles took the last step and grabbed on. “Well? Come on then,” he said impatiently, holding tight so the detective stayed put. “Now, what was so important that you needed to track me down?”

“Oh!” The question seemed to snap Gumshoe out of whatever trance he’d been in. “I fixed the jar, but there’s some weird stuff about it.”

“Jar?” Despite being at the detective’s desk, Miles hadn’t really given it much thought, too focused on other things. As he looked over he saw the broken shards reassembled - or mostly reassembled as a large chunk was missing - into what he supposed you could describe as a jar, haphazardly held together by the cheap glue he’d used. “Did you mean the missing piece?”

“That, but also there’s these weird specks.” Gumshoe’s eyes flickered briefly down to his left hand, where Miles thought he saw a brief flash of movement, but it was gone fairly quickly. “I thought it was decoration at first but it’s only in one area. And it looks like it could be blood…”

“There was no blood mentioned in the evidence files.” Besides what was found on the murder weapon anyway.

“That’s what I thought, sir!” he exclaimed. “I even double-checked the records myself. And I’d ask forensics, but they’re all busy, so I decided to run it past you.”

“Yes, well, it certainly is weird. I’ll give you that.” As he deliberated, a red tufted head finally appeared past Gumshoe’s right sleeve, sliding along their joined hands and resettling in his favorite spot on Miles’ back. Only then did Miles release the detective, who took a stunned step back, shaking his head a little.

“Whoa. I can hear my own thoughts again!” he remarked, sounding amazed at the concept. “I don’t know how you deal with that all day, Mr. Edgeworth.”

“You learn to tune him out mostly.”

Hey! Phoenix snapped.

And don't think you’re off the hook. Now that he had reestablished a direct line of contact with the firebird, he could properly scold him.

I know, I know, but just, before you start lecturing… are you alright?

After you had me worried for your
life? No, I’m still quite cross with you.

No, not that. Believe me, I know you’re still mad at me. I meant with Gant and what he was saying about… him. He didn’t say anything worse, did he?

Miles rolled his eyes. Oh please, Phoenix, give me some credit. People have been besmirching my name since I began my career.

Right, right. Sorry. Just wanted to check.

He sighed audibly. Your concern is appreciated, but better directed towards the heart-attack you nearly gave me! Did you at least find that list after all that?”

I did, actually. And, I figured out that last ID number! The one with all the 7s? It’s Gant’s.

And how do you figure that? he asked. Their record keeping system rarely attached names to the numbers, so anything just lying about the office shouldn’t have given that information. And Gant would have brought his ID with him, so why did he think-

It’s the combination to his safe.

Phoenix!
Miles hissed. Why on Earth would you even think to try that?!

Maya is a terrible influence. Anyway, just wait til you hear what was
in the safe.

He groaned softly, earning a concerned look from Gumshoe, which he waved away. Go on.

Well there was this scrap of leather with a handprint on it and, wait for it, that missing bit of the jar. With quite a bit of dried blood on it, no less. Actually, I’m glad Gumshoe showed up. I’m not sure your pockets would have been big enough.

Miles’ initial shock over the findings was short lived, overridden when the firebird continued his thought. Please tell me you didn’t take them…

Miles, it’s evidence from SL-9. Evidence he was
knowingly concealing. Don’t you want to know why?

He did, but this situation was growing risky. He didn’t know how often Gant checked his safe, but he didn’t want to be around in the event he did. “We can’t discuss this here. Grab anything you need, including that vase, and come with me.” This he said to Gumshoe, who was a little slow on the uptake, but eventually made a grab for his belongings.

“What’s wrong with here?” he asked innocently as he tried to wrestle that unwieldy piece of pottery into his arms without it falling apart even further.

“Don’t you have a bag or something?” he sighed, ignoring the question. “We don’t have time for this.”

Gumshoe managed to dig a shopping bag out of his desk, depositing several packages of cup noodles into the drawer in order to empty it. The jar didn’t exactly fit intact, but it wasn’t going to remain in that state for much longer.

He ushered the detective into his car, letting Phoenix take the backseat for once. Gumshoe still appeared a little unnerved by the entire experience so direct contact with the firebird didn’t seem like the best idea (and Miles was still quite cross with Phoenix over that stunt, so making him sit in the back like a child was mildly gratifying).

Miles briefly observed him through the rearview mirror, hopping about until he settled down quietly in the middle seat. His own nerves hadn’t quite settled just yet, but his most pressing concern was no longer under any immediate threat. As long as it stayed that way, Miles could handle whatever came next.

 


 

The only concession he gave to Gant was the decision to return to his own office. Maybe it would convince him that Miles had learned something from their little têtê-á-têtê and he’d back off a little (and, not that he distrusted Gumshoe, he did like the idea of their secret base remaining a complete secret).

Of the three pieces of evidence, there wasn’t much to be done with most of them. The drawing on the other half of the list was nearly identical to the one Ema had given them, blunt blade and all, meaning that detail was intentional. Meanwhile, he couldn’t test the leather cloth for prints at the moment, without involving forensics. Since that would require explaining where the sample had been acquired from, which was completely out of the question, it’d have to wait. With a quick mental note that the handprint looked a little small, he stored them both away in his desk.

The unstable jar had been transferred to the chess table, reassembled with a brand of glue that wasn’t made for five-year-olds and finally reunited with it’s missing piece. Miles was busy scrutinizing it and the puzzle its completion had presented. The specks of what was most likely blood could have been written off as splatter from the murder if it weren’t for the bit Gant had been concealing. That crimson streak left behind could have only been put there deliberately, making the specks the remains of something that had been wiped away. He’d need to get his hands on some luminol in order to reveal what was once there.

“Okay pal, so I know you’re back with Mr. Edgeworth now, but I gotta know. Are we like, still connected or something?”

Miles paused in his deliberations to listen in on the conversation. Gumshoe clearly had had a question for the symbiont stewing, evident in the way he’d been eyeing him for a while. Miles had first interpreted it as apprehension, but at some point realized from his expression that the detective had just been trying to stitch his thoughts together.

Phoenix took a little while before he answered. “Yes? Technically. Don’t worry, the side effects take a little while to settle and they might even wear off before then. It’s not a permanent thing.”

“S-side effects?!”

Miles gave him a look. They had never mentioned the empathy link to him, as it hadn’t been important, but there were better ways to phrase it. Phoenix shrugged in indifference.

“You seem awfully certain about it,” Miles pointed out instead.

“Maya,” he explained. “Mia wanted me to have someplace to go if, for whatever reason, I couldn’t stay with her, so she had Maya carry me around a bit during one of her visits. Just to get her used to the idea. By the next time she came around, though, the link was just sort of gone. Kept happening to, every time she’d visit, so we figured you must just have to keep the connection going or it just… fades away.”

“Aw, that’s kind of sad, pal,” Gumshoe said, frowning.

“Is it?” Phoenix cocked his head to the side. “I generally prefer not having to keep track of emotional cues from more than one person. Try that out next time you want to talk about not being able to hear your own thoughts.”

“But you lost your bond with your friend!”

“…five seconds ago you were worried about sharing this exact sort of bond with me.”

“Don’t worry, pal. I’m sure you’ll be able to reconnect one of these days!”

“It's not that… Miles help me out here.”

“Yes, yes,” Miles muttered, having begun to tune them out a little while ago. This talk of links and connections had got him thinking. The red splotches on the jar, they were points - places where someone had pressed down harder at the start or end of a line. That’s why they hadn’t been as throughly wiped as the rest (sans the segment Gant had squirreled away, but they'd get to that). So shouldn’t they, in theory, be able to reconnect those points?

The prosecutor pulled out his phone and took a picture of the urn, making sure to get every point of red in frame.

“Uh, Miles? What are you doing?”

“Putting these links back in place.” Miles opened up the photo app, selected the highlighter tool under the edit function, and began to draw. He braced himself for the sudden weight that deposited itself on his shoulder, undoing an errant line the jarring motion had caused.

They tried a few different configurations, most resulting in nonsense words and patterns, until they found the only solution that made any sense.

“But that can’t mean-!”

“We discussed the possibility before,” he told Phoenix, not that it made the discovery any less concerning, “but I know who we need to see.”

 




“What is the meaning of this?” Skye demanded, tone dangerously low as she pushed Miles’ phone back across the table to him. Because of the sensitive nature of the topic he wished to discuss with her, he’d requested use of one of the interrogation rooms rather than the visiting center. Hopefully that’d cut the chances of any guards listening in and reporting back to certain higher-ups he wanted to keep out of his business.

“That is what I wished to ask you.” In the end, there was only one thing related to the case the dots had connected into. A single name; three letters, all written in uppercase. “Why would anyone be writing your sister’s name in blood?”

“They wouldn’t. There must be some kind of mistake.” She sounded… confused. “It was broken during the SL-9 incident. Nothing should be written on it.”

“So you do recognize it.”

“Of course I do. It used to be across from my desk - before I transferred to the Prosecutor’s Office. I’d see it everyday,” she snapped. “Marshall and Darke broke it while they were fighting. That’s it.”

Miles, she sounds like she’s telling the truth.

It did appear that way, but there had to be more. They’d already hypothesized that Ema had some darker role to play in SL-9, nigh confirmed by that bloody writing. What else could Gant possibly be using to control her?

“This was how the shards were found in the evidence room.” He showed her an unedited photo. “Those flecks of blood are too old to have come from Goodman, yet they went unreported during the SL-9 investigation. Furthermore,” he continued when it looked like Skye was going to interject, “there was clearly more here that someone wiped away, as evident by this stroke they missed. I can only assume they also made sure it stayed out of the case file.”

“Mr. Edgeworth,” she said, slowly, “I don't think you understand. It was broken. No one could have written anything on it, much less Ema's name.”

“Then explain why it’s there!”

“Coincidence,” she sniffed.

“Head Prosecutor Skye.” She gave him a look at the use of her title. “I’ve already figured out that Gant’s been using you. Forcing you to go along with his schemes. I just wasn’t sure what he had over you… until now.”

“No.” Skye was biting slightly at her thumb, refusing to meet Miles’ eye. “Gant couldn’t have known about this. He arrived on the scene after me. I’d already wiped the blood by then.”

“So you admit to concealing evidence?” Miles said, slightly surprised at the ease with which she let that slip.

“I’ve already admitted to worse, haven’t I?”

Did she think that made it okay? If she’d already thrown a log on the fire, what difference would a stick make? Miles gritted his teeth together. This was the same person who’d pushed him, defying her own orders, to see to it that Redd White finally faced justice. Where was that resolve now?

Hey Miles, isn’t that kinda weird? Phoenix interjected, probably picking up that he was getting sidetracked.

What is?

If Gant showed up after her, then how’d he get his hands on that piece?


Obviously he could have just taken it while she was there - when her attention was elsewhere, if Skye was to believed that that wasn’t the blackmail - but he knew that’s not what Phoenix was taking issue with.

“You say you cleaned off all the blood on these pottery shards?” Miles made sure she was looking at the unaltered photo again, zooming in on the one portion that had not been wiped at all.

“I swear I did.” She was chewing on her thumb again, close to drawing blood herself. “I admit I was in a panic given the scene I’d come upon, but I’d cleared enough for forensics to plausibly overlook it.” Her eyes focused in on the incriminating stain. “That shouldn’t be there.”

“All these shards were found in the evidence room after Goodman’s murder, expect for that one. It was retrieved from a safe located in the Chief of Police’s office.”

“What?” She’d bitten down harshly in alarm, causing a small trickle of blood to flow. She pressed the fresh injury into the bandage she still wore on that same hand.

Miles leaned in, mind reeling as, he too, was just realizing what this all was spelling out.

“Are you absolutely sure you were the first on scene?”

Skye stood up suddenly, chair skidding across the floor behind her. “I think it’s time for me to return to my cell.”

“Ms. Skye, wai-“ he was cut off by a heavy rap on the door - the cue for the guard that the interrogation had concluded. Skye backed away to give them room to enter, throwing Miles a stiff look over her shoulder.

“Mr. Edgeworth, I have only one request of you; Stop pursuing this this path. You won’t like where it leads."

He shook his head. “Not until I find the truth.”

The guard had entered the room, placing a hand gently on Skye’s shoulder to guide her away. She remained faced towards him, expression unreadable as ever.

“For your own sake, I hope you don't,” she said before they left together.

 




While Miles and Phoenix had gone to speak to Skye, Gumshoe had been asked to locate Shields and Ema and bring them back to his office. While he doubted the latter had any conscience knowledge of her role in all this, it was still imperative that they speak to her as well.

They were already present and waiting when Miles entered the room. Ema, who’d been talking to Gumshoe, sprung up from her spot on the couch in order to offer a flustered greeting. Shields, on the other side of the room, only gave him a lazy grin.

“I like the new decor. Didn’t know you were into this sort of design.” He nodded his head in the direction of the new centerpiece of his chessboard.

Miles sighed. Another thing he’d asked of the detective was to put the urn away before their arrival (he may be cooperating with the defense, but that didn’t mean he was expected to reveal his whole hand to them before the trial). Apparently, his idea of ‘away’ was to drape a towel of some sort over it.

“I think it’s very… abstract! Scientifically speaking,” Ema offered.

There’s nothing remotely scientific about that.

“It’s also very important, pal! Mr. Edgeworth doesn’t need you in here messing with his stuff!” Gumshoe piped in. Shields raised his hands up to show that he wasn't disturbing it.

“There’s not much he could do to it, Detective,” Miles said. They’d gotten what they’d needed from the blasted thing, so it hardly mattered if it fell apart again. “Still, he has a point. That isn’t why I requested your audience.”

“Ooh, do tell! Uncle Ray’s all ears.”

Miles rolled his eyes and turned to Ema. “Do you still have those fingerprinting tools?”

“Oh! Right here!” She produced the full kit from her bag, holding them up triumphantly.

“Good. I need you to identify this.” From his desk he removed the scrap of cloth Phoenix had retrieved from the safe and laid it down on the surface, moving aside to give her room to work.

Excitedly she got to it, marveling over how well preserved the sample was. Miles half watched the actual process, only really tuning in when he noticed the care at which she was trying to remove the excess powder.

“It’s just powder,” he sighed once he realized what she was doing. “I can clean it up later.”

You mean Gumshoe can clean it up later.

Yes, well, that was probably true, but he didn’t have to admit it to the firebird.

The process expedited from there. Leaving her to her science, Miles turned to Shields. “So what exactly were you up to in Gant’s office?”

“Can’t a guy visit and old friend? I thought I’d go check in.”

Illuminating… Phoenix muttered.

It actually was, despite the firebird’s sarcasm. Miles hadn't expected, or wanted, him to reveal anything of substance. He’d only wanted to confirm that he’d gone of his own accord, and not due to a summons. Seemed like, for the most part, the defense was off Gant’s radar.

“I… I don't understand.” Everyone turned at Ema’s sudden outburst. In one hand she held the leather scrap and one of the fingerprint files in the other. Both were trembling slightly. “These prints… they’re mine.”

That’s what he’d been afraid of. The hand size was leaning on the smaller end of the scale. Ema was the most likely candidate.

For the first time, Shields seemed to take a serious interest in what was going on. He moved over, taking the fabric from Ema’s unresisting hands. “What is this?”

“I’m not sure, but it’s from the SL-9 incident.” Assumedly.

Ema frowned deeply. “SL-9…”

Miles leaned in. “I need you to remember anything you can from that day. It’s crucial!”

Miles, Phoenix said softly, but warningly.

The prosecutor reined himself in. “Please. It may just help me figure out why your sister is acting the way she is.”

“I remember… I think… I think I…” The cogs were really turning in her head. Everyone waited on bated breath as she wrestled forth the memories from the cage she’d locked them away in. “I pushed someone. I saw Darke with the knife and pushed him.”

“Whoa, that’s scary, pal! You’re lucky you’re okay!” Gumshoe exclaimed.

“I think I blacked out after that,” she continued. “I still… I can’t remember anything else.”

“That’s fine, Ms. Skye. Don’t push yourself.” That little tidbit was enough for now. “I’m going to call on you to testify in court tomorrow. Are you up to it?”

She looked nervous, but she nodded. “If it helps Lana, I’ll do anything.”

He asked Gumshoe to escort the two back out of the Prosecutor’s Office, dismissing the detective for the day as well. Much like that unstable piece of pottery, it was high time he started forming these scattered pieces into a case he could present to the court.

Shields handed him back the leather cloth before he left, holding the prosecutor’s gaze as he opened his mouth to speak. “That’s a lot to put on the kid, Miles. You’d better know what you’re doing.”

Miles didn’t give him an answer, but he didn’t think Shields was looking for one either. He gave him a quick pat on the arm then the laidback mask was back in place as he shuffled off after Ema and Gumshoe.

Phoenix slithered out once he was sure they were gone, settling atop Miles’ shoulders. The prosecutor still held the cloth in his hands, which he gave a long consideration.

“Hey, Miles?”

“Yes?”

The firebird paused, as if thinking it over once more, before putting to words what was on both of their minds.

“Darke wasn’t wearing leather, was he?”

Chapter 24

Notes:

We've hit the 150K mark, lads. I apologize for this monster of a fic I'm subjecting you all to.

Chapter Text

It was always something.

Sometimes it was a witness ‘conveniently’ forgetting every single useful detail about the crime. Other times it was the judge, halting the proceedings to have some basic piece of technology explained to him. It could even be an incomplete autopsy report that required a last minute update.

And sometimes it was a defendant presenting evidence he’d explicitly been told did not exist.

The trial began as it ended; with the question of the bizarre actions of everyone involved in this case. Miles didn’t have a definitive answer to that question, but he was planning to work one out with testimony and the evidence he’d uncovered. He suspected Shields and Ema, opposite of the courtroom, had a similar plan laid out.

Unfortunately neither of them had gotten so much as a chance to present their opening statements before Meekins, hands shaking, submitted his own evidence to the court - the security footage from the evidence room.

‘Erased’, they said.

Miles, however, did not have much time to stew in his rightful anger, for the actual contents of said footage filled him with another emotion entirely.

What's happening? Phoenix asked. The whole courtroom had gone silent as the video, also silent, played, giving the firebird zero cues into what was going on.

It’s too horrible to even speak of.

Miles…
he whined.

Reluctantly, Miles called for a replay and did his best to narrate the visuals for him. The video showed Meekins doing as he said - confronting Goodman, though most of the action was kept offscreen by the constant panning of the camera. What wasn't was then obscured as that badger once more reared its ugly head, dancing its shambling dance front and center. What they could see of the confrontation was fairly one-sided in Goodman’s favor, culminating in Meekins in an unconscious heap on the floor. Goodman himself was panned off screen slightly before this and never made a reappearance.

And we’re sure Goodman was the victim here? Phoenix remarked.

Yes, given which of them was on stand and which was in the morgue, though the video did suggest otherwise.

Shields was quick to make a very similar point. How could his client possibly be the murderer when he spent the afternoon unconscious because of him? The video easily disproved the testimony regarding his crime (Even with the mascot blocking most of the footage, Goodman had to have left that room by his own two feet, very much alive).

Miles didn’t argue this - he’d no intentions of prosecuting the man for a crime he obviously hadn’t committed. He did, however, have a point to contest in the timing. The footage itself, as well as the very fact they were viewing it to begin with, meant Meekins hadn’t done any of the things he’d been accused of, including tampering with the security system. This put the timestamp of the altercation at 5:15 - the same time frame that Goodman’s body was being discovered at the Prosecutor’s Office. He may have disappeared from the frame, but that didn’t give Goodman the ability to reappear halfway across town in mere minutes.

It took him a moment, but he eventually came up with an answer. If Goodman’s body was in Miles’ trunk at the time, it was impossible for the man in the video to be Goodman. So, it wasn’t. The man Meekins had fought was an imposter, explaining his violent reaction when being asked for an ID the records proved he had on him.

He even had an idea of who this man was. Reviewing the footage once more, Shields had noticed something peculiar - something about one of the lockers, though he chose not to share his findings just yet. The locker itself, as revealed during the defense’s investigation, had been touched by someone with a bloody hand. Though wiped away, the mark was uncovered by a luminol spray and dusted for fingerprints.

The owner of said prints, and presumedly the locker itself, was swiftly summoned to stand.

“Witness, please state your name and occupation.”

Me, pardner?” Marshall took a swig of something that probably wasn’t water from his canteen (The bailiff really needed to be more strict about what people were bringing into court with them.) “Oh, I'm just a man, same as you, wanderin' the trails of civilization…”

“…occasionally helping the elderly cross intersections when needed,” Miles interjected. Marshall briefly looked over, frowning.

“Oh, I know! You're a ‘patrolman’!” the judge proudly deduced.

“As for my name,” He gave Miles a hard look. “If you listen hard 'nuff, you can hear the howling wind calling it out.”

The prosecutor sighed. Why couldn’t witnesses just state their own names like normal people? “To be exact, it's Jake Marshall... Your Honor.”

Howling wind. That’s a new nickname for you.

He gave Phoenix a quick mental warning, then turned attention to their witness. “Do you have any idea why you’ve been called in today?”

“I reckon it’s got something to do with the ole bone orchard I’m supposed to be guarding? ‘Fraid you’re firing blanks out here. I haven’t been in that crypt in weeks.”

“It was my understanding that you’re in charge of the security of the evidence room?” the judge said, with only the slightest hint of confusion.

“According to the papers,” Marshall replied. “But wandering souls like mine don’t take too kindly to what papers have to say. 'Sides, the room’s already got two security systems protecting it, so what am I needed for?”

“I can't say I particularly care for your attitude…” His Honor sniffed.

“I can't say I care for your beard, but you don't see me complainin’."

“Hey, you have to admit it’s at least an impressive display,” Shields interrupted before the judge could get too indignant. “Now, humor me a bit, Officer Marshall.” He leaned casually against the bench. “What exactly are these two systems?”

“The cameras and the card reader,” he answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Shields shared a quick, knowing look with Ema. “You sure it’s not three?”

Marshall looked legitimately confused for a moment. “That third system ain’t much use when he’s spending his shift down at the street-side saloon.”

“It is nothing short of a miracle that you haven’t been fired,” Miles sighed, to which the officer only shrugged.

Wait, what was Shields trying to get at? Three systems?

I can only assume he means the fingerprint locks. Even though Phoenix had been with him to the evidence room several times, he really wouldn’t have any insight to how it actually functioned. The lockers can only be opened by their owners.

“So, you were at the saloon, eh?” Shields was talking again. “Got anyone who can back that up?”

“Given I wasn’t even supposed to be there? No.”

“Aw, that’s really a shame, because you left quite the trail behind for someone who hasn’t been in the evidence room for ‘weeks’. Handprints, for example?”

Marshall chuckled. “Ya need to do better than that, pardner. I don’t play crypt keeper too often, but I still make my rounds. My prints should be all over the place.”

“Did I mention the handprint was covered in blood?”

“Blood?! What’s the meaning of this?!” the judge demanded.

“Did a pretty good job of wiping it away too. Good thing we had plenty of luminol, right, Ema?” Shields said, lightly nudging her.

“R-right,” she said, so softly it was almost unheard across the way. An uncertain expression was fixed on Marshall, who dipped his hat and looked away.

“Like I said, my prints are all over the place - ‘specially on that particular locker. It is mine after all. Your suspect just happened to put their bloody hand right where mine once rested. The prints and the blood are unrelated, or didn’t you know the suspect was wearing gloves?”

“I’m surprised you know about the gloves,” Miles pointed out.

“I might’ve been off the investigation, but I keep up with the reports.”

The judge spoke up. “Um, I would like to know about these gloves.”

“There was another bloodstained handprint discovered on the scene.” Miles explained. Upon the locker of the man who’d reported it to him in the first place - Detective Gumshoe. “No fingerprints were detected.”

“See? I had nothing to do with it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I think we’ve got a little misunderstanding here,” Shields said. “I didn’t mean to imply the handprint and the fingerprints were put there at the same time.”

“If the defense would please explain himself.”

“We already knew our suspect was wearing gloves.” (“We did?” asked Ema at his side.) “Saw that print on the other locker too, clear as day. My concern was, if the stain on your locker had been so throughly wiped away, why wasn’t the other?”

Marshall shrugged. “I guess they didn’t notice it, pardner.”

“And then there’s the matter of your locker itself. Can we bring up that security footage again?”

It was here that Shields finally revealed the oddity he’d seen. Towards the end of the footage, something - it almost appeared to be a cloth - could be seen hanging out of Marshall’s locker. It was only visible at the end. In every other shot, when the camera panned that direction, the locker door was clear. Shields theorized it to be ‘Goodman’s’ coat, which could be seen splattered in Meekins’ blood during their scuffle. Best to stash something like that away than risk being seen.

“Well, looks like you answered your own question. Your imposter needed a hiding place and didn’t want a bright red arrow pointing to it. Ain’t my fault they just so happened to pick my locker.”

While Marshall looked rather proud of his reasoning, those that knew better could only stare in disbelief.

“Guess that detective wasn’t exaggerating about not everyone knowing.”

Marshall frowned at Shields. “What in the blazes are you muttering about?”

“Remember when I asked you about the third security system? Do the words ‘fingerprint activated locks’ ring any bells?”

“Fingerprint activated locks?” The officer scratched disinterestedly at his face. “What kind of new-fangled doohickeys are those?”

…he’s kidding, right?

Miles sighed. “He was always bad with machines.”

He was getting cross now. “Would either of you cowpokes care to fill me in on the joke here?”

“There are fingerprint sensors on every one of those lockers. Only the person who owns them can open them.”

“What kind of crazy talk is this? That person clearly got into Goodman’s locker as well. Explain that with your so-called ‘sensors’.”

“Easy,” Shields said, smugly. “It was already open.”

They turned to the video once more. Another feature of the evidence lockers was in the light above the doors. When the correct print was scanned, the light turns on and the lock releases. Throughout the entirety of the video, the light upon Goodman’s locker was on, the sensor jammed by something (likely the rubber glove found at the crime scene, as they deduced. Something could be seen falling from the locker as ‘Goodman’ opened it, while the locker’s failsafes should have prevented it from simply remaining unlocked in any other situation).

Seeing no other way out, Marshall laughed softly. “… not bad, huh, pardner?”

“Now then, Officer Marshall. Are you ready to tell us the truth?” asked the judge.

“Too bad you weren’t on the case two years ago. Maybe we wouldn’t be here now,” he said to Shields, then turned his attentions to the prosecutor’s bench. “Or if you were half as persistent as you are now with anything that didn’t involve a guilty verdict.”

Miles remained silent.

“Now, now, if we start listing all of our past ‘if onlys’, we’re gonna be here all day,” Shields said. “So, instead, let’s hear about why we are here.”

Marshall took a long swig of his drink. “It was the last day for that case, and I wasn’t gonna stand by and let it die. I stole the detective’s ID and dressed like him so I could take the evidence from his locker. Wasn’t expecting Meekins to show up, so I knocked him out and made my escape. Easy enough when you’ve stared at those cameras long enough to know their blindspots.”

“And all this over the SL-9 case?” Shields asked.

“Oh, this came up during yesterday’s trial, didn’t it?” the judge remarked. “The Joe Darke serial murders, correct?"

“I can’t just forget that case… You know why?”

“Neil Marshall,” Miles answered.

“…I thought the witness’s name was Jake-“

“-the brother of our witness,” Miles cut His Honor off before he got too far on that line of thought, “and the prosecutor who helmed SL-9 before the case fell to my hands."

“Because he was killed,” Marshall said with a bitter bite to his tone. “He fought Joe Darke and was killed by him - the first murder where Darke left behind any evidence. That was all we needed. He was arraigned and incarcerated and the case finally closed... at least, according to the public records.”

The judge looked down in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“My brother couldn't have been killed by Joe Darke. I knew my brother better than anyone... No one could have beaten him in a fight!”

“That’s it?” Miles said, incredulous. Admiration for one’s siblings was one matter, but that claim was borderline delusional. “That’s your reason for these… insane actions?”

He was desperate, Phoenix sympathized. Some people might say similar about getting in boats with strangers in the middle of the night.

What I did was… foolish,
Miles admitted, wishing for the umpteenth time he had some way of glaring at Phoenix in this state, but it wasn’t a felony.

For his part, Marshall was mostly ignoring him. “There’s more to my brother’s death than the records say…” he muttered.

“In any event…” The judge called attention back to himself and Marshall was escorted off the witness stand. They’d have time later to sort out his crimes. “It is safe to conclude that, in the case of the murder of Bruce Goodman, the court finds Officer Mike Meekins ‘Not Guilty’. Now we will adj-“

“HOLD IT!”

“P-pardon?!” the judge stammered, gavel held in mid strike as he whipped his head towards the prosecutor’s bench.

“You know, Prosecutor Edgeworth, you normally do that before the verdict drops,” Shields teased.

Miles shook his head. “You misunderstand me. I have no qualms with the verdict. Officer Meekins is innocent, that has been proven. However, I humbly request that the trial not adjourn at this moment. There a quite a few matters that still need to be addressed.”

“Er… like what?”

“Why this very trial itself. That security footage existed, and yet Officer Meekins was still to be tried for a murder that hadn’t occurred. Furthermore, we’ve no explanation for why a significant amount of the victim’s blood was found in the evidence room, but proof he’d entered at some point that day. How else would his locker have gotten jammed had he not opened it recently?”

“Valid points, Mr. Edgeworth, but what are you suggesting? We don't have a defendant anymore.”

“This case is for the murder of Detective Goodman, correct? Then I propose we return to the original suspect: Lana Skye.”

“No!” Ema loudly protested.

Miles winced at the outburst, sending what he hoped was an apologetic look her way. Unfortunately, she would have found herself suspect again anyway - Miles was simply hastening the process. “However, first I do think we should address Officer Marshall and his motives. This case is exceedingly linked to the SL-9 incident. Enough so that it requires a revisit, lest we miss a large piece of this puzzle. I even have a witness I’d like to call."

Again he caught Ema’s attention. She was still frowning at him, understandably, but nodded anyway. For once, he could count on a witness’s cooperation.

The judge sighed, stroking his beard. “Defense? What’s your stance on this matter?”

“I suppose I can move some things on the old schedule around.”

“Very well, I’ll grant your request then. This trial will reconvene after a one-hour recess. I think we could all do with a breather after that.”

 




Miles spent a good portion of the recess going over his strategy with a reluctant Phoenix. The dots were connecting, but the picture they were forming wasn’t the prettiest one. Still, if that was really the truth, then they needed to expose it, and that was going to rely on Ema’s testimony, which he spent rest of the recess preparing.

It went as follows: she’d been waiting for her sister in her office when Darke had suddenly burst in and tried to attack her. Prosecutor Marshall had followed shortly after and intercepted. It’d been storming and while the men were fighting, lightning had knocked the power out. When it flashed again, she saw the silhouette of Darke about to stab Marshall, so she shoved him. Her next memory was then waking up in her sister’s arms.

He did have some requests regarding the testimony, though not for the sake of holding an advantage over the defense for once (co-counsel aside, he was well aware of this information due to their conversation the day prior anyway). One, he asked her not to mention pushing Darke unless Shields pulled it from her during the cross-examination. That little tidbit needed to be saved for a more strategic moment than the opening testimony. He also asked that, under no circumstances, was she to bring up the cloth with her handprint on it. Gant didn’t need to know it was in his possession quite yet.

When the clock ticked out its final minutes, he ushered her along to the bailiff to be brought on stand when they reconvened. He then headed off towards his side of the courtroom, pausing in the corridor to take a deep, calming breath.

You ready? Phoenix asked.

Miles pushed the door open. We’re about to find out.

“Court may now resume,” the judge said when everyone was settled in their places. “Mr. Edgeworth, I believe you have a witness to call?”

“Yes, Your Honor. She was present during the events of the SL-9 incident.”

A nod was sent to the bailiff, who went to retrieve Miles’ witness. A few minutes later, the stand was approached and the judge made a small gasp of surprise. “Oh! It’s you!”

Miles scowled. “I believe I called for a different Skye.”

Lana Skye regarded him stiffly, while his real witness appeared back at the defense's bench with an apologetic expression. “You were warned not to pursue this.”

“Then, you aren’t the witness?” the judge inquired.

“Prosecutor Edgeworth’s witness won’t be required. I can tell you exactly why Officer Marshall had his doubts regarding that case two years ago.” She closed her eyes briefly, as if bracing herself for what she was about to say. “Occasionally... we felt the powerlessness of the law. At least... I did. I became a prosecutor in order to suppress crime with the law. But before I realized it, we were the ones being suppressed.”

“Defendant! Just what are you saying?!”

“Our legal system is… flawed. We’ve seen plenty of examples these past few months alone of the guilty exploiting the system to get their way.” She glanced Miles’ way, likely referring to the cases he himself had handled. “Back then… we couldn’t risk it. We did what we had to... in order for him to get the verdict he deserved.”

“But Lana!” Ema cried out, concerned for the words about to escape her sister’s mouth.

Skye ignored her and pressed on. “Even if it involved forging evidence.”

The courtroom exploded.

Over the cacophony of the gallery demanding answers, the judge was desperately banging his gavel trying to call them back to order. Ema occasionally could be heard as well, calling out to her unresponsive sister.

All of it was a muted buzz in the back of Miles’ mind. He was having a mild crisis of his own. Skye may have forged that evidence, but as the prosecutor in charge of SL-9 that meant that he…

“Bailiff!” the judge forcefully shouted. “You and your officers escort these people out. If we can’t restore order then I’m afraid this trial will just have concluded tomorrow.”

“OBJECTION!”

The crowd seemed momentarily quieted by the shout, but continued their protests when there was no immediate follow up.

The judge turned towards the source, stammering in confusion and alarm. “M-Mr. Edgeworth?!”

Miles himself was surprised by his own outburst, standing in silence. A gentle call of his name from Phoenix was enough to snap him from his self imposed trance.

“Continue the trial,” he said, loud enough to still be heard, then added a belated “Please.”

The judge cast wary eyes between him and the distressed crowd. The courtroom’s security were still carrying out their order by corralling the mob out, though with noticeable difficulty. “But-“

“They will wear themselves out eventually,” Miles interrupted, with a little more ease now that there were fewer people present and their anger was directed elsewhere, “but I worry this trial will only get more convoluted if it’s allowed to draw out another day.”

“This is already the second time poor Uncle Ray’s had his client swapped out on him,” Shields pointed out. “Be nice if there wasn’t an opportunity for a third.”

“And you’re both sure about this?” the judge asked after a moment of pause. They both nodded (Ema didn’t, but Miles suspected she still coming to terms with her sister’s admittance of forgery - just as he would soon have to regarding presenting said forgery).

Miles, are you absolutely sure you’re okay continuing?

Please Phoenix, you can play psychiatrist once all is said and done. For now, let me ignore my problems so I can push through this. He could reevaluate his entire career after the trial was over.

If you insist… he said in a relenting tone, though Miles suspected the firebird would be monitoring him like a hawk.

“Your Honor!” the bailiff called as he reentered the room, slightly breaking the tension. “Everyone has been escorted out into the main lobby. The officer’s are doing their best to keep the crowd contained.”

He nodded. “Very good. Once our audience is calmed down, let them back in. We will be resuming the trial.”

He looked startled, but with a salute he left to carry out the judge’s orders.

“Well, it looks like we’ll be taking another recess already. Hopefully this one won’t last too terribly long,” the judge sighed, tapping his gavel.

 




It took a good fifteen minutes for the crowd to return to an energy level that was sufficient for the courtroom. Miles spent the time more throughly burying his growing anxieties while he suspected the defense team had a rather interesting conversation with their client.

When they returned, the gallery didn’t look especially quelled, but they were at least quiet. That was truly the most they could ask for after that revelation.

“Now, I know the prosecution usually handles the witnesses,” Shields began, “but I think we would all like to hear a little more from my client about that forgery she mentioned.”

With no objections, Skye was brought before the court once more, to explain the events that drove her to such drastic measures.

“When I came into my office that evening, I found my unconscious sister. Nearby were the bodies of Joe Darke and Neil Marshall, one also unconscious and the other… dead from a stab wound in his back. As you may know, Darke was a serial murderer who never left behind any conclusive evidence to his crime, and this was no different. So… I took matters into my own hands. We couldn’t risk any chance of him getting away.”

“But, Ms. Skye, to go as far as forging evidence?!” The judge was aghast. “Surely there was a better option?”

“I did what I needed to,” she reiterated. “Now do you understand why I didn’t want SL-9 being reinvestigated?”

“And what a rousing success that was,” Miles griped.

Miles! Phoenix scolded, echoed by a scandalized gasp from Ema.

“Actually, he’s got a point,” Shields said, causing Ema to gasp again. “I mean, out of the three detectives, why was it Goodman that got the axe? Marshall and Starr had more motive to dredge it up - Marshall even more so. In fact, I’d say Goodman’s murder actually gave him the opportunity to plan that little heist in the first place, otherwise we might have been forced to except your confession on day one.”

Skye watched him, coldly, from her place behind the stand. “Then we shall settle for it on day two.”

“Ms. Skye, what do you mean?” the judge asked.

“Your Honor, I would like to confess to all charges against me. On February 21st of this year, I murdered Detective Bruce Goodman... in the underground parking lot of the Prosecutor's Office.”

“Objection, Your Honor. The defense was getting to how she couldn’t have done that.”

Was that really where that ambling train of thought’s final destination was? Miles had his doubts.

Skye didn’t even look at him. “Then, I don’t require your services any longer, Mr. Shields. I hereby forfeit my right to an attorney. There may still be room for doubt in the prosecution’s claims, but the circumstantial evidence against me should be more than enough to render a verdict.”

The judge considered it. “Well, the defendant certainly has the right to self representation... Her request is legally valid, although this is an unprecedented situation. Indeed, it appears there's no need to continue this trial…"

“Not even if I say, ‘pretty please’?” Shields asked.

The judge shook his head. “It appears the time for the verdict has arrived. This court finds the defendant-“

It was Miles’ turn to cut in with an objection of his own. “One moment, Your Honor.”

He didn’t even look surprised this time. “Yes, Mr. Edgeworth?”

“The prosecution has not yet proven the defendant guilty beyond reasonable doubt. Any ruling at this stage would certainly be premature.”

“Was it not you who was concerned with the length this trial has been drawn out to?” Skye protested.

“I would appreciate it if you did not put words into my mouth… Head Prosecutor Skye. The length means nothing if we leave behind unanswered questions - or have we learned nothing from the plights of Jake Marshall and Angel Starr?"

She held her tongue, but her expression did not mask her disapproval.

“Now, the prosecution would like to move on with its original witness; Ms. Ema Skye.”

“Hold it!” she snapped. “Mr. Edgeworth! I am exercising my right to self representation. I don’t-“

“I don’t care,” Miles interjected. “We cannot avert our eyes to the truth simply because we fear whatever tragedy it may reveal. It will only beget more tragedy.”

I know you’re right, but isn’t that a little harsh?

My decorum doesn't matter. If it ends like this, we risk entering a vicious cycle of scandal and betrayal. Who else is going to lose their jobs - and maybe their lives - to keep this under wraps?


“Lana, please,” Ema pleaded. “Let me testify! It may have taken two years, but I’m ready now!”

“No, you’re not. You don’t even know what you’re getting into.”

“Yes I do! Because it’s my fault you forged that evidence in the first place! All because I couldn’t testify properly…” Skye looked ready to correct her sister, but Ema didn’t give her the chance. “But that’s why I decided to become a scientific investigator. So I could fight crime with my testimonies. And I’m gonna find evidence so airtight that you’ll never have to forge anything again!”

Skye’s expression was tense and torn. “Ema…”

Emboldened, Ema faced the judge with determination. “Your Honor, may I approach the stand?"

Permission granted, Skye’s position was replaced by her younger sister and, with only a few points of hesitation, Ema finally delivered her testimony. She said everything just as they’d discussed, though it didn’t take long for Shields to press her into revealing the portion about shoving Darke.

“I actually only recently remembered that part,” she admitted. “What I saw in the lightning flash… that’s what was burned into my memory.”

“What a terrifying image to have!” His Honor said.

Ema nodded. “That’s why I couldn’t testify back then. I had a drawing, but it wasn’t enough.”

“Drawing?”

“If it pleases the court, I have a replica of the defendant’s drawing.” Miles pulled the sketch out from his files and submitted it. “With confidence it’s identical to the one she’d originally drawn.” The only reason he didn’t present the original, also in his possession, lay in the location Phoenix had gotten the second half from. Gant may not have reared his head yet, but Miles knew he was watching the proceedings from somewhere.

“That's that... that thing! That thing that was dancing in the evidence room!” the judge exclaimed. “I didn’t know it was around all the way back then! And at another murder no less!”

Did the judge just forget nobody actually died in that video?

“Actually, Your Honor, the badger’s a pretty recent development. She must have seen something that looked remarkably similar. Any ideas, Ema?"

She shook her head at Shields. “I only remember that silhouette being there.”

“I believe there are more pertinent aspects of that drawing to be focusing on,” Miles said, clearing his throat. The broken blade, for instance, which Ema insisted was something she’d seen. Shields had come to the exact conclusion Phoenix had - if the switchblade had broken inside Marshall’s wound, then the only broken weapon Ema could have seen in this moment was the halberd from the award.

Which brought up a brand new angle to this chain of events, made plausible by yesterday’s fingerprint analysis.

“Ema, is there a chance you might have pushed Marshall instead?”

“Huh?”

“Well, if that’s the trophy’s sword, then why would Darke have had it? He already had a, at the time, unbroken weapon of his own.” Shields put his hands in his pockets. “Pretty poor trade off if you ask me.”

“I shoved Mr. Marshall? I… oh! The cl-“ she quickly bit her tongue, eyes darting over to Miles, which he could only suspect meant she’d almost mentioned the scrap of leather fabric - fabric that could have easily come from a more ‘western’ inspired ensemble. “Maybe I did push him instead.” Her hands slapped over her mouth suddenly, eyes wide in horror. “Oh no! That means I-“

“Hey, no.” Shields cut her off. “Stop that thought right there. Darke’s actions are on him, and only him. It had nothing to do with anything you did.”

At yet, somehow it still did. Because it wasn’t the forgery Skye had murdered to keep hidden, it was whatever Ema’s role in SL-9 was. And, if her role was truly shoving Marshall to create the opportunity for Darke to strike, it wouldn’t have come to this. She wasn’t accomplice to murder, simply a scared child in a dark room who’d lashed out in defense.

(The parallels to his own traumatic childhood experience did not go unnoticed.)

There had to be a reason Gant ferreted that cloth away…

Hey, I’ve been thinking about that badger look-alike.

And there was Phoenix, off on a completely different tangent. Of course you have.

Phoenix ignored his comment. There might have been something in that room that fits the bill… from the right angle.

Please get to the point.

The firebird huffed at him. The jar. Get Gumshoe to bring in that jar and trust me.

Derailing the trial slightly, Miles announced he had another bit of evidence to submit that might clear up an earlier question and called for Gumshoe. Knowing the urn might become important, he’d had it brought along, tucked safely away in the trunk of his car to be retrieved at moment’s notice. Bringing it out now was risky - part of it was was meant to be locked away in a safe at the moment - but he trusted the firebird.

With the pottery now present for further scrutiny it looked like… a vase. A stupidly designed vase, but a vase nonetheless.

Now what?

I’m trying to think of the best - oh! Can we cast a shadow? Somebody’s got to have a flashlight around here.

Miles looked about. I know you can’t see, but it’s fairly bright in here to be playing shadow puppets.

Then dim the lights?

Miles sighed, imagining the looks he would get for this request. This is ridiculous.

Just… humor me for once.

I humor you quite a bit.

Miles.


He was right, he did get looks, but the necessary prep was made. They determined the best place to cast the shadow would be on the wall behind the witness stand, so Ema temporarily retreated back to the defense’s bench. Getting Gumshoe to hold the urn up, they shone the flashlight upon it, creating a fairly decent silhouette.

It still looked like a vase.

You have to rotate it, Phoenix said, probably picking up on the utter lack of reaction. Remember, I get to see things from angles you don’t.

Miles tried to think of some of the angles Phoenix would be looking from; Up from the floor, down from a high perch, flying by at a slight diagonal. He instructed Gumshoe to slowly turn the jar every which way until something began to settle into place.

“Stop!” he called out, prompting Gumshoe to cease movement.

There on the wall, horns pointed to the side like in her drawing, was the Blue Badger.

“So it was this jar Ms. Skye saw!” the judge said as they returned the courtroom to its normal state.

“The shattered pieces were part of the SL-9 evidence,” Shields commented. “It must have fallen right when the lightning flashed - probably by Marshall being knocked into it.”

But that brought up another discrepancy. It had yet to be really discussed, but the crime had specifically taken place on Skye’s half of the office. The jar would have been on Gant’s. For Ema to have pushed Marshall in that same moment, the entire incident needed to occur there.

“It appears the thing Ms. Skye forged was the crime scene itself,” Miles said. And suddenly he knew why. “Mr. Shields, would you still happen to have that picture you took in the Chief of Police’s office?”

With some finagling, the picture was forwarded to the AV department, who got it up on the courtroom’s screens.

“Why, that’s quite a lovely picture of you,” the judge remarked of the selfie portion of it.

“Thanks. I definitely got my good side.”

“If we could please focus on the photograph behind Mr. Shields. This was taken on the day of the SL-9 incident in Damon Gant and Lana Skye’s shared office. Note the vase in the background. The fight would have occurred here.”

“And… if someone have been knocked into that wall…” Dread was sneaking into Shields’ tone as he picked up the pieces. Ema’s too, as she let out a small shout, hands covering her face.

“Why, there’s a suit of armor there! Holding a very large and… dangerous looking sword…” As usual, the judge was the last to catch on.

“Then…” Ema was visibly trembling, even from across the room. Shields held out his hands towards her uselessly, unsure of how to approach someone in this sort of situation. “Mr. Marshall really did… because of me…” Her words trailed off and her form grew unsteady, before dropping into a dead faint. Shields, because of his hovering hands, managed to catch her, slowly lowering her down to prevent injury while the bailiff rushed out the room to get help.

“This was the truth Ms. Skye was so desperate to keep hidden.” The motive finally matched the extremity of her actions.

“So it was the witness who took the victim's life…” The judge shook his head sadly. “And then proved so with her own testimony! This is unprecedented!”

“OBJECTION!” The interruption, this time, came from the defendant’s chair. Apparently Skye wasn’t giving up just yet. “What are you saying?! Joe Darke murdered Prosecutor Marshall! How could you think Ema had anything to do with it?!”

Miles scoffed. “That’s rich, coming from you.” Skye whirled towards him. “You just admitted to forging evidence two years ago. You moved the bodies onto the other side of the room - was that not to draw suspicion away from your sister?”

She was silent for a moment, watching the first aid team enter to attend to said sister, putting her on a stretcher in order to removed from the courtroom. “I assure you, Mr. Edgeworth, I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“And you tried to have another piece of evidence concealed.” Miles was now realizing the significance of something else they’d uncovered. “A message the victim may have left behind.”

Skye bristled. She couldn’t deny its existence, the incriminating evidence was already in the room. “You cannot prove the victim did not die instantly.”

“And you cannot prove he did,” Miles countered. “Because his message is right there!” he shouted, pointing at the jar sitting innocuously amongst the other evidence.

“That’s the Blue Badger from before, right?” the judge asked, while Skye glowered at it, likely willing her gaze to turn it to dust.

“Some have you may have noticed the blood stains that fleck its surface. Our defendant tried to wipe these tracks away, for fear of what it would have revealed.”

“Objection! It was already broken when I found it! No one could have written anything on it.”

“Can anyone really trust that claim after what you’ve already admitted to? Especially after we reveal this message.”

They needed to display anther picture on the screen - the one Miles had edited to connect the lines on the jar.

“WIll you stop at nothing to prove my sister a murderer?” Skye growled as they set it up.

“Do not be mistaken,” Miles told her. “Our purpose is not to accuse her of any crime. There is only one thing we seek: the truth. No matter how painful it may be.”

Now that everything was setup, the photo was on display for the entire court to see. ‘Ema’, highlighted in red.

“This is the message Prosecutor Marshall left behind.” Miles sighed. It was a hard truth to swallow, but it needed to be said. “The one who took his life.”

In the haunting silence the courtroom had descended into, a single pair of hands broke into applause.

“Very impressive, Worthy.” The Chief of Police had finally made his presence known, crossing the courtroom to take position at the vacated witness stand. “But do you understand the implications of what you’ve done?”

No, but he was going to hear all about it, wasn’t he? “What are you talking about?”

“Two years ago, Joe Darke was sentenced to death for his crimes, but it was his final murder that got him the conviction. A murder you prosecuted, did you not?”

Miles made a strangled noise. He’d been so focused on the trial, on the truth, that he hadn’t even put into consideration what else this situation changed.

Gant grinned. “That’s right, Worthy. Because of you... an innocent man was sentenced to death. Not only that... but you used forged evidence to ensure his conviction!”

Don’t listen to him, Miles! Darke was hardly innocent. He was still a serial murderer!

That’s… not the point…
Because Gant was right. The crowd was realizing it for themselves, gossiping behind his head, working themselves up into another frenzy.

Screw the point! Gant’s just trying to get into your head. Are you really gonna let him?

He let the judge’s gavel interrupt his thoughts, trying to gain order before the crowd got out of hand again.

“Your Honor, maybe we should adjourn for the day,” Shields said. He was sending worried glances Miles’ way, who, from his perspective, hadn’t said a word since Gant’s accusation. “We can regroup and finish this tomorrow when tensions aren’t as high."

“No, please continue.” Miles managed to pull himself together. Gant may have been right, but so was Phoenix. He needed to stick to his original plan and push through until it was over.

“Order! Order!” the judge called, quieting the last of the audience. “Are you sure Mr. Edgeworth?”

“The prosecution stands by its claim that this trial needs to end today. Whatever allegations are thrown at me, I will answer for them when the time comes.”

“And what if that time is now Worthy? With everything we know, can we really trust you to prosecute? What if you’ve forged more evidence, or struck deals with your witnesses?”

“The chief’s concerns are valid… err, no offense, Mr. Edgeworth. However, I’m not sure how else we could progress.”

The obvious answer was to just remove him from the case, but Gant wasn’t going to do that. He wanted Miles to stick it out, to drag his reputation as far through the mud as he could.

Well, two could play at this game.

“The defense is just as capable of presenting evidence and witnesses,” Miles suggested. “It’s unorthodox, but it should assure that I haven’t ‘tampered’ with anything.”

“Such a big responsibility you’ve given me!” Shields exclaimed. “I accept.”

“Well… I supposed that solves that. Now, pro- err, defense! Do you have a witness you’d like to call?”

“Why, as a matter of fact, I do! I call Chief Damon Gant to the stand. And, would you look at that, he’s already here!”

Gant’s grin faltered.

“R-really? What does he have to do with any of this?”

“He was Ms. Skye’s partner during the incident, so I’m sure he’s got some useful knowledge about the incident. And I think we can all agree Mr. Edgeworth hasn’t struck any deals with him.”

“The defense has spoken,” Miles said. “Now then, witness. Please state your name and occupation.”

Gant let out a sigh. “Do you really want to do this, Worthy?”

“Name and occupation. Sir.”

The chief sighed again, heavier this time. As if this was all just a huge inconvenience to him. “Alright. You want to play hardball?” He stared Miles down over his rose-tinted glasses, challenge in his eyes. “Let’s play hardball.”

Miles sent the challenge right back at him. Now that the chief was finally here, they were going to figure out exactly what happened - between the SL-9 incident and Bruce Goodman’s murder.

The real trial was about to begin.

Chapter 25

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“Firstly,” Gant began, all smiles, “I’d like to remind you that I don’t have to give my testimony if I don’t want to.”

…that can’t be true…

No, the Chief of Police does have the right to refuse testimony. Though there are risks it comes with.

“I just thought you might like to grace us with your insight,” Shields replied.

“Shieldsy, are you trying to butter me up?” he asked, though the tone was good-natured. “Just remember, if this ends up a waste of my time…”

“Noted. Well, Your Honor? I think we’ve got an understanding here.”

He nodded. “Very well. Then the witness may begin his testimony.”

Gant kept his recount concise. He found Lana in their office while he’d been chasing after the escaped Darke. She’d already done the altering at that point, meaning he’d no connection to the forging.

That last point Miles knew for a fact was a lie, but it wasn’t one he could exactly object to - besides being on the wrong side of the courtroom for that sort of thing. There was no way to prove that the chief had been harboring evidence in a safe in his office, while Gant himself had made it clear anything Miles presented would instantly be called into doubt (A plan likely put into works the second the completed vase had appeared in court).

Shields, thankfully, wasn’t letting him off that easily. “Connection? Who said anything about a connection?” He gave Miles a wink. They were thinking it for sure, but in truth, no one had voiced any sort of accusation. “I only called you up because you were around that day. Obviously you wouldn’t have any reason to aid in forging evidence.” He paused for dramatic effect, leaning heavily on his desk. “Would you?”

“Obviously,” the chief agreed. “It wouldn’t help me out in any way to dirty my hands rearranging crime scenes.”

“But maybe it might help to hide someone else’s already dirty hands. A former partner, perhaps?”

“Oh, good one Shieldsy,” Gant said with a hearty laugh, clapping his hands together, “but there's only three people I look out for: Me, myself, and I.” He counted these down on his fingers for further emphasis.

Shields leaned in to deliver his next point. “Then why did this trial start with a completely different defendant?”

The audience began their muttering once more. Meekins’ entire presence today had almost been forgotten after the chaos the courtroom had repeatedly been thrown into.

“Now, weren’t you the one who helped Lana get her position in the first place? It’d be pretty nice for the Chief of Police if he had some sort of sway over the new Head Prosecutor.”

“What are you saying?!”

“But you’d lose that if Lana went to jail, now wouldn’t you?” He continued on as if Gant had said nothing. “After all, who knows how cooperative the person who took over would have been? Then Meekins convinced himself he was the murderer and you saw a way that you might get to keep your puppet after all."

“Despite overwhelming evidence and a confession from the defendant herself, charges were dropped based only on the ramblings of an imbecile,” Miles chimed in. “Strings like that could only be pulled by the Chief of Police.”

“What a creative motive, gentlemen!” Gant applauded. “But do you have any proof that I ‘controlled’ Lana? Has she testified that I’ve done such a thing?”

Obviously she hasn’t. She can’t say a word against him! Phoenix barked.

“Chief Gant is right. Without any proof, this is mere conjecture.”

“I doubt we could rely on any testimony from the Head Prosecutor on such matters,” Miles pointed out. “Her behavior has been quite odd during this entire case.”

“Like she was being controlled?” Shields finished the thought. “Why, Chief, you wouldn’t have a role to play in both incidents, now would you?”

Gant looked ready to protest, but the judge stepped in for him. “Order! Order! Mr. Shields, you can’t be serious!” he said, flabbergasted. “To accuse the highest ranking official in our law enforcement agency - why it’s an affront!”

“If that’s the case, we’ve been doing a lot of affronting in this court lately.” A glance was spared to both the prosecutors in the room.

“Chief Gant’s rank does not matter here - no matter how high, he is not above the law. What matters is if Mr. Shields has the evidence to back up his claims.”

“I see,” the judge said, though hesitant. “Alright then, Mr. Shields. Do you have the evidence connecting Chief Gant to the murder of Detective Goodman?”

“If I must. I’d like to bring the court’s attention to a piece of evidence we saw in yesterday's trial.”

“The… ID record?” the judge inquired as it was presented.

“There was one number we never did identify because it belonged to a higher up. You're a higher up, aren’t ya, Chief?”

That’s your proof?” Gant laughed. “Even if that’s my ID, so what? I went into the evidence room on clean up day. That’s hardly conclusive, especially now that you boys corrected that little misunderstanding we had with Meekins. We don’t even know if that evidence room is connected to the murder anymore.”

“Don’t we? You yourself reported that a great deal of the victim's blood was found on scene and Mr. Edgeworth helped prove that he must have been in the evidence room earlier that day, otherwise Officer Marshall wouldn’t have been able to get into his locker.”

Miles watched Gant’s frustration in satisfaction. He’d probably been banking on those details being forgotten in the ruckus.

“But I can go one step further. The bloody handprint on Officer Marshall’s locker wasn’t the only one we found. If we could look at the floor plans for the evidence room…”

A second handprint? Phoenix asked.

Actually, if you recall, that was in that collection of data Gumshoe collected. There just wasn’t much to make of it at the time. The detective had been present during the defense’s investigation of the evidence room, though all he’d been able to report back was the fact they'd uncovered those two handprints via luminol, with extra emphasis placed on the one Shields had just revealed. The reason for this was that the locker it’d been found on was Gumshoe’s own and he’d been afraid they might turn to him as a suspect.

“This print wasn’t on Chief Gant’s locker, was it?!” the judge guessed, gasping slightly.

“No, but the owner of the locker isn’t what’s important here. It’s where it’s located. You see, Your Honor, past a certain point in the day, this particular section of lockers was being blocked by a certain something.”

Ah, so that’s where this was going, Miles realized, though it was taking the judge a little longer to catch on.

“Oh! That badger fellow was there, wasn’t he?” he eventually figured (though perhaps with a slight nudge from Shields, who’d begun to sway slightly in a suspiciously familiar manner).

“Right!” he confirmed, now noticeably stationary. “Officer Meekins was in the evidence room twice that day, and he confirmed with me earlier that his first visit was to drop off that beloved mascot. So, in order for that handprint to be where it is, the victim’s blood must have been spilt before 4:40 PM.”

“Mr. Edgeworth, what do you make of this?” the judge asked.

What did he make of this? If the pieces were truly connecting in this way, then the truth Gant was forcing Skye to conceal was…

“…the autopsy states a time of death between 4:00 and 5:30 that day. The defense’s theory fits within the time constraints.”

“It’s interesting you agree with that Worthy,” Gant suddenly interjected, “because according to that same record, you were in the evidence room before 4:40.”

“This is true.” Miles spoke up before the crowd (or Phoenix) could get too riled up by the accusation. “However, Officer Meekins entered a mere 10 minutes after me. Had I any hand in the murder, that’s hardly enough time to remove the body and clean up without detection.” He refrained from mentioning that the man on stand was the only reason he’d been there in the first place.

“Which only leaves our 7s,” Shields picked back up. “We couldn’t put a name to the numbers without probable cause, but I think we’ve stirred up enough doubt to warrant that information to be revealed - unless the chief here would like to save us some time and confirm it himself.”

Knowing it would only look worse if he tried to deny it at this point, Gant reluctantly confirmed his identification number.

“So you admit it?! You entered the evidence room… on the day of the crime?!”

“... What about it?” he said after a moment of pause, indignant. “I'm Chief of Police. Whether it's the evidence room or the bathroom, what's the difference? I can go anywhere I want.”

“Tell me. When you entered the room... were you alone?” Miles asked.

Gant scoffed at him. “I always go to the bathroom alone... as I do with the evidence room.”

“So you claim Goodman wasn’t with you?” Shields asked this time.

“W-why would he be? I hadn’t seen him in days!”

“Oh, Chief, are you sure about that? Because I’m pretty sure I have proof you actually did see him that day.” From his evidence, Shields brandished a slip of paper. “He had to file this missing item report about that ID card of his. That stuff goes to the Chief of Police, doesn’t it? It’s dated for the day of the crime too, when Marshall stole it.”

“And yet you have it,” Gant deadpanned. “So you don’t know if he filed it or not.”

“Maybe not, but I know he didn’t have his ID at the time of the incident, yet somehow he still got into that evidence room.”

“So… what, Shieldsy? You think I let poor Goodman in there just so I could murder him?”

“Hey, you said it. Not me.”

“But wait,” the judge interrupted, “the Chief didn't necessarily need to accompany the victim. He could have just lent him his ID card.”

Hey, who’s the defense attorney in this trial?!

“Ah, now that you mention it, Udgey, I think I may have done something of the sort.”

“Why Chief, I’m wounded!” Shields gasped. “You didn’t offer to lend me your card when I needed to conduct my own investigation of the evidence room. All I got was that old visitor’s ID.”

The judge blinked. “Mr. Shields, it still sounds like Chief Gant allowed you access."

“Oh, he did. I just find it weird he’d offer Goodman his personal ID, rather than the one specifically made for people who don’t have badges of their own.”

“Maybe he’d already given it to someone else?”

“Sorry, Your Honor, but there’s still a contradiction here,” Miles said. “If Detective Goodman had truly used the chief’s ID to enter the room before his untimely demise, then it should have been found on his body!”

“NOOO!” The chief cried out in frustration.

“Now, The Police Department isn’t the best place for a murder, so obviously he had to move the body elsewhere. And, lucky for us, you already gave us an idea how when you were testifying against officer Meekins."

In the trunk of Miles’ car. The prosecutor slammed a hand against his desk angrily. “That’s why you specifically requested me to store that piece of evidence in my office. So I was guaranteed to return to the Prosecutor’s Office that evening!”

Shields nodded. “And that's where your accomplice was waiting for you to dispose of the body. The ‘stabbing’ that Lana confessed to was her swapping the murder weapon for something a little less connected to the case that started this whole mess.”

“Order! Order! Defense, these are outrageous accusations!” Pleadingly, he turned to Gant, who was silent at the witness stand with an unreadable expression on his face. “Chief Gant, don't you have any sort of rebuttal?”

“… do you remember the start of this cross-examination? When I warned you not to waste my time?” When Shields didn’t come right out with a snappy reply, Gant took it upon himself to continue, suddenly all smiles again. “I’m a busy man, Shieldsy. I can’t just sit here and listen to you rattle off accusations without any proof to back them up.”

“Aw, but we’re just getting started here."

Gant shook his head. “Sorry, but as Chief of Police I’m invoking my right to refuse to testify.”

“W-what?!” the judge stammered. “Chief Gant, that is not a right to be casually invoked!”

Not to mention that’s cheating! Phoenix protested. We’re so close!

Agreeing with his partner, Miles spoke out. “So you’re just running away after all that?”

“Running away?” he laughed. “I've already made my stance. If the defense has the evidence to back up his claims, then he’d better show it. Otherwise, I have some rather important business to get to.”

“I shouldn’t need to remind you that this court will not tolerate any accusations against our current Chief of Police without concrete proof.”

Shields took a moment to go over everything he’d gathered, then let out a slow sigh. “Right now, I don’t have anything conclusive to present.” He carefully met Miles’ eye across the room, but the prosecutor only shook his head. Unfortunately at this stage, Gant could still easily claim anything he presented as a forgery.

Gant let out a loud, obnoxious snort. “There! You see?”

But Shields bounced back quickly. “So, I guess in the absence of evidence, we’ll just have to rely on testimony instead.”

“What?! Have you already forgotten that I’ve invoked my right?!”

“Not your testimony, silly. There’s someone else in this case who we haven’t gotten much a chance to hear from, isn’t there?”

He doesn’t mean…?

She’s the only person left.

But is she even going to cooperate?

There was really only one way to find out.

“The defense would like to call forth Lana Skye.”

 




The trial went to a 15 minute recess (The last recess, the judge insisted, probably eager for this madness to finally end). Normally Miles would be spending that time prepping witnesses, but since that was decidedly off the table, Phoenix suggested he go to Shields to discuss their plans moving forward. Gumshoe, dutiful as ever, tagged along.

Ema had rejoined them as well, released from the medical office upon awaking from her fainting spell. She’d managed to make her way into the gallery from there and thus was thankfully up to speed with the proceedings.

“Now that I’ve had time to reflect it’s... almost a relief, really,” she said. “Knowing what happened, I mean. To think, all this time, Lana’s been following that terrible man’s orders… just to protect me! It really is all my fault.”

“Aw, come on, pal. Don’t be so hard on yourself. If you gotta blame someone, blame society!” Gumshoe chimed in.

Or, y’know, blame Gant. Not like anyone forced him to take advantage of Lana like that.

Ema shook her head. “I’m still the one who pushed Mr. Marshall into that statue, even if they forged the scene to hide it.”

“Speaking of that forging, I had something to ask you,” Shields said, putting his hands together and gesturing at Miles. “You shook your head before, but from Gant’s behavior, I think you actually do have evidence against him.”

“I do,” Miles sighed. “Unfortunately, Gant has made it quite clear that anything I present will be invalidated.”

“Maybe we could present it for you!” Ema offered.

“We?” Shields raised an eyebrow at her. “Shouldn't you be sitting this out?”

“No. I want to go with you,” she protested. “I want to be there when Lana finally tells the truth.”

“…guess I can’t argue that.”

“It doesn't really matter who presents it. Unless Gant provides context, it holds no relevance in its current form,” Miles said in response to the suggestion. “Though if it’s any consolation, it would certainly catch him off guard if you did.” Not enough for a confession, but enough to knock that smug smirk back off his face for even a moment.

Shields scratched at his head. “Just what is this evidence anyway?”

Miles hesitated, which Phoenix quickly picked up on.

You might as well. We’re gonna need all the help we can get for this.

The firebird was right. “There are actually two pieces of evidence in mind. One is that leather scrap that bears your fingerprints.” He nodded at Ema. “The other has already been presented - in a form. A shard of that vase, which wasn’t found in the evidence room with its brethren.”

“Oh! Those are the things that -" Gumshoe began, catching himself at the sharp look Miles sent his way.

“They were acquired from a safe in Gant’s office,’ Miles finished.

“Oh, we saw that safe, didn’t we Mr. Shields? I guess I didn’t put much thought into it at the time.” Then it dawned on her. “Wait, that’s it! If he had that evidence stored away, then it proves he had something to do with the forgery.”

“’If’ being the key word in this scenario. I cannot exactly prove where these items were acquired from.”

“Unsanctioned investigation?” Shields guessed.

“Something like that.”

Sorry, Phoenix muttered.

Don’t be. Gant would have never allowed for it in any official capacity.
And then where would they be? Back at square one with Meekins off to jail because it was decided he was expendable.

Stretching, Shields made an exaggerating noise. “So, for now we just have to see what Lana's testimony yields.” He looked up at the clock on the wall. “Recess is almost up. Ready?”

Miles nodded. “Let’s go and end this.”

 




Even under oath, Lana was insistent that Ema - and Gant - had absolutely nothing to do with her forgery. She rearranged the scene on her own with only the motive of getting Darke convicted.

And while the judge was content to accept that as the truth, the defense did not let her off so easily. Shields soon pressed her into testifying about the vase and admitting to what she’d spoken to Miles about in the detention center - she’d found the shattered pieces scrawled with blood, panicked, and wiped all traces of the message away.

“And there’s that hole we’ve been looking for.”

“Erm… ‘hole’, Mr. Shields?”

“In the testimony, Your Honor. Ms. Skye is quite certain that she wiped away all the blood, but I’m looking at the vase right now and I see a pretty big blood stain still on it.”

“But couldn’t the defendant have simply missed a piece?”

“As big as they are?” Shields countered. “She was a detective and I doubt even a regular person would’ve missed those.”

“Oh, but people miss things all the time. Why, I once spent a whole day looking for my dentures and they were in my mouth the entire time!” the judge laughed.

Why do we trust this man to oversee murder trials again?

Miles tossed in an objection of his own. “We must also consider, Your Honor, that the vase was already broken when she found it. No one could have written that name.”

He stroked his beard. “I’m not sure I see where you gentlemen are heading with this…”

“The only explanation to any of this would be for someone else to have arrived on the scene before Ms. Skye.”

“And who was this other person?” the judge inquired. “Surely you wouldn’t throw that out there without some kind of idea.”

“Well, there’s really only one other person who would have a reason to go into that office. Chief Gant!” Shields accused.

“You can’t mean that. At the time he was downstairs looking for Darke.”

“Ah, Your Honor, but can you really prove that’s where he was?”

“We-well, no, I suppose not…” he stammered. “But why would he break his own jar?”

“Insurance. If you’re gonna blackmail someone, it’s good to have proof laying around. He must have seen the name, broken the jar so he could take a piece of it, and left for the defendant to stumble across the scene. Then he just strolled in all innocent and offered to help in exchange for her obedience.”

“No! I…” Lana protested weakly. “I did it on my own…"

“Sis, please,” Ema begged. “Stop trying to protect him for my sake! I can’t watch you like this.”

“But it wasn’t you, Ema! You didn’t do it! Don't believe anything Mr. Shields says! Defense attorneys make up the the most foul lies to defend their clients!”

“You wound me, Lana!” Shields gasped. “I thought what we had was special.”

“Hmm…” the judge contemplated. “I must say, while he is… unconventional, I’ve never known Mr. Shields as the type to lie.”

But Gant is, Phoenix said, realization in his voice.

What do you mean?

Gant definitely got there first, right? So, maybe the things in his safe weren’t the only things he moved. Maybe the crime scene Lana saw…

…isn’t the true scene either!
Miles finished. It was a stretch, to be honest, but if there was any chance, well…

Phoenix’s wild ideas hadn’t failed him yet.

Taking in a breath, Miles slammed a hand on the bench, drawing the court’s attention. “Ms. Skye, just what are you afraid of?”

“Excuse me?!” she demanded.

“Your sister is willing to stand here and face the past, yet you continue to run and hide from it! To what means?!”

“I… I can’t…” she said brokenly, unable to look him in the face. It was a wonder she was still standing tall at the witness stand, because she looked ready to curl in on herself at a moment’s notice.

“Do you know who has even more reason to lie than a defense attorney?” Miles asked, ignoring a complaint from Phoenix (who seemed more offended than the licensed defense attorney in the room). “A criminal. How can you be sure you’ve been told the truth?”

She started at that, as if the idea had never crossed her mind (or had, and been mercilessly quashed down for fear of giving herself false hope).

“Lana, please. Tell us what happened again. What really happened,” Shields said softly. “Maybe it won’t matter. Maybe it won’t change anything. But you’ll never know for sure if you keep shying away from the truth.”

Skye was silent, chewing anxiously at her thumb. Her deliberation seemed to follow the shifting of her gaze from the prosecutor’s bench to the defense’s. Then her eyes met Ema’s and the sisters seemed to share a long, silent conversation.

“…I’ll do it,” she eventually said. “I’ll testify… about what I really saw.”

And testify she did, finally coming clean about her suspicions and how they’d fallen to Ema when finding the crime scene, as well as how Gant had helped her remove Marshall’s body from the sword and move it across the room. It was just as they suspected the scene to look… now if she only had proof outside of her own statement.

“I do have proof,” Lana said when Miles voiced this aloud, sounding, for the first time since this case began, hopeful. “I gave it to Mr. Shields this morning.”

“You gave me someth- Oh, the book!” he realized, pulling one out from somewhere behind the bench. “With all the ruckus, I’d completely forgotten about it.”

Miles squinted at it and what appeared to be a cartoon bird on the cover. “Is that a children’s book?”

“It’s a children’s evidence law book,” Shields clarified, flicking through the pages, “but something tells me that’s not what’s important here…”

Did she think he needed a refresher? Phoenix asked.

“There was a picture,” Skye explained, just as Shields produced said picture from the back of the book. “I took it of the crime scene as I’d encountered it… in case it might be needed.”

“Mr. Shields, please present this picture!”

It was passed over and the court got to behold the gruesome image of Neil Marshall, speared upon the suit of armor, blood seeping through his dress shirt visible through a large gap of missing cloth from his vest.

Cloth that now rested within his briefcase, waiting for the moment its existence could be revealed.

“Let’s get on with the cross-examination,” Miles said, gesturing towards Skye. “So long as you’re done hiding things, we should be able to determine the real murderer-“

“HOLD IT!”

Speak of the devil himself. The outcry had come from Chief Gant, who’d let himself back into the courtroom, taking position at the defendant’s seat as the witness stand was still occupied. He sat down, folding his hands in his lap like he was meeting a friend for tea, rather than interrupting a criminal trial.

“Come now, Udgey, this has got to be the saddest excuse for a trial I’ve ever seen!”

Phoenix groaned heavily. He’s just gonna keep countering everything we throw at him!

Not necessarily,
he assured the firebird, while Gant was making a plea to the judge for a chance to defend his good name. Do you recall those risks I mentioned?

Vaguely?

Miles raised an objection. “It’s too late for that, I’m afraid. You invoked your right to refuse testimony - which means you also forfeited your rights to make any kind of statements. So just sit back,” he said, Gant icily staring him down, “and enjoy the sound of the noose tightening around your neck.”

Almost in direct response to the metaphor, Gant made a choking noise, but quickly composed himself. “What? You think I’m worried? Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t need to make any statements.”

Miles’ eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

He smirked, leaning more comfortably back in his chair. “Even if I can’t testify, I can still present evidence.”

“Yes, that is true,” the judge agreed with a sage nod, before doing a double take. “Wait! You mean you still have conclusive evidence?!”

“Oh, I don’t, but someone does.” At this, Gant looked pointedly at Miles. “Come now, Worthy, I know you have it.”

Miles stared back. “I haven’t the faintest idea of what you could be referring.”

“And I supposed you just thought I wouldn’t notice how that jar has a piece it shouldn’t?” he asked, disinterestedly pulling at the zig-zagged lock of hair that hung on his forehead.

He pretended to inspect it. “I don’t see anything out of place.”

“Mr. Edgeworth, if you really have more evidence, please present it! You know the consequences of concealing anything… why you’d be facing an inquisitional hearing!”

“I’m sure I’m already expected to go before them,” he replied, with only the slightest hint of bitterness. “Besides, I thought I wasn’t allowed to present evidence.”

“I’m making an exception just this once,” Gant said.

Tempting, but until Gant connected that cloth to himself, he still had plausible deniability. It would only serve as the final nail in Ema’s coffin. “I have nothing to present at this time.”

“What?!” Briefly losing his temper, the chief sharply rose from his seat. “You dare lie?!”

“Chief Gant?” the judge questioned.

“You… you snuck into my office! You went into my safe!”

“Why would you think that?” Miles smirked. Now they were getting somewhere. “I was with you nearly the entirety of my visit to the police department.”

“That vase!” he insisted, pointing to it. “You managed to get your hands on the last piece of it, so you must have the conclusive evidence as well.”

“Say, Chief, since Mr. Edgeworth seems so confused about this evidence, why don’t you illuminate for him?” Shields suggested.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked, practically rolling his eyes at this point, though he did sink back down into the chair. “Take another look at Lana’s crime scene. Notice anything odd about the victim? His vest in particular?”

“It does look like a piece has been removed for some reason…” the judge observed.

“So, let me confirm something,” Miles said, slowly. “Are you saying that you removed this piece of cloth from the victim yourself?”

“You say that as if you didn’t already know, Worthy.”

“And that this evidence, this conclusive SL-9 evidence, was locked away in your safe?”

“Yes!” he snapped, exasperated. “And I’m pressing charges as soon as I figure out how you managed that.”

Good luck with that, he said secretly to his companion, getting a snort out of the symbiont.

“B-but Chief Gant! You’re admitting to concealing evidence! Why, this is going to be the biggest scandal in the Police Department’s history!”

“I suppose so, but I couldn’t just let these two pin me as the murderer, now could I? I was the first to come across the crime scene, and I realized I could use it to control Lana.”

“So you really were manipulating her!” Ema shouted.

He didn’t look remorseful in the slightest. “I know Lana, and I knew how’d she’d react when she found that scene. She’d ask me for my aid. So I told her how to arrange to evidence - to plant the knife and move the body. But, before she arrived, I hid two pieces of evidence.”

“A shard of the jar and that cloth, I presume,” Shields said.

“But… why?” the judge asked, genuinely distressed by the proceedings.

“It was for insurance, but not the kind Shieldsy suggested. I didn’t want anyone to blame me for a murder the girl committed.”

“To have even thought that far ahead…” His Honor said in wonder.

“You don’t just become Chief of Police with dumb luck!” Gant laughed. “I specifically hid the jar fragment with the most legible part of Ema’s name - I just didn’t expect Lana to wipe the rest away.”

“And yet, if all the evidence is fabricated, how do we know that wasn’t?”

“Well, you would know all about that, wouldn’t you?” Gant teased, almost getting a rise from the prosecutor (it was his forged evidence that Miles had been given in court) before Phoenix calmed him. “But if you recall, I kept another piece of evidence just for such reasonings.”

“The cloth…” Shields stated.

“I commend you for holding on this long Worthy, but you can’t deny it anymore. Cough it up.”

This was it. With Gant’s admission on the records and the unexpected addition of Skye’s crime scene photo, it was finally time to drop the hammer. He pulled the cloth out of his briefcase, displaying it for the court. “I suppose you mean this?”

“So it finally comes out in the open…” He grinned.

“Mr. Edgeworth! You said you didn’t have anything to present!” The judge was practically beside himself at this point.

“I believe my exact words were ‘at this time’. When you asked, it was just a piece of cloth with no confirmed relation to the crime. Now it isn’t.” The semantics were always important in court. “Now, I just need you to confirm that this is the cloth exactly as you cut it from the victim’s vest. I have not altered it in the slightest.”

“As long as those fingerprints belong to the real culprit, it’s the real deal.”

“Bailiff! Have these prints sent to the lab for examination.”

“There’s no need, Your Honor. It’s already been analyzed and the prints belong to Ema Skye. That is who you were expecting, is it not, Chief Gant?” he asked, Gant nodding in smug affirmation.

“So you knew?!” Skye called out from the witness stand. “You knew this whole time and yet you-“

“Ms. Skye,” Miles interrupted. “I only said they were your sister’s prints. The chief is the one referring to her as the culprit.”

He barked out a laugh. “Of course she is! Look at that handprint! Only a hard shove could have left an impression like that, especially after all these years. That’s your proof that she shoved him onto the sword.”

Miles crossed his arms, letting a finger tap against his sleeve. “Why don’t I let Mr. Shields take it from here? I’m sure he’s noticed the contradiction by now.”

“Thank you, Mr. Edgeworth,” he said, tipping his hat towards the prosecutor. “Now, that’s a pretty nice handprint there. Really shows that Neil Marshall got shoved at some point. But, if that was supposed to be the killing shove, there’s quite a bit of blood missing.”

“Blood, Mr. Shields?”

“Well, yeah! I mean, just look at that photo. There’s an awful lot of blood coming from our victim, especially where that cloth was cut from, but it looks pretty clean from my vantage point.”

“Why, you’re right!” His Honor exclaimed. “There’s no blood on it at all!”

“I think it’s safe to say this cloth was removed before Marshall was impaled on the sword, and yet after Ema here pushed him.”

“This - this is nonsense!” Gant stammered.

“Oh, you would think that, wouldn’t you, Chiefy? After all, someone else would’ve had to show up before Lana in order for her to have seen what she did.”

“Marshall most likely hit his head from the push and was only knocked unconscious, leaving him completely vulnerable when you came in,” Miles picked up. “Then, after murdering him, you wrote down Ema’s name on the vase and broke it, all so Lana would believe her sister had done it!”

Gant was growling in anger, slowly increasing in volume until his voice rang out in a booming “OBJECTION!” He took a moment to bring his level back down, chuckling out an almost maniacally laugh. “Ohhhhh, that was close! You almost got me there. But that evidence… the cloth it-“

“Was approved by you.” Miles finished. No more derailments. No more interruptions. This trial was over. “Removed from the victim by your own hand and presented just as you stored it in your safe, by your own affirmation. The same goes for the pottery shard.”

Shields came in for the final blow. “The only thing your insurance has ensured is that you, Damon Gant, are the real murder!”

In an explosion of mad laughter and furious clapping, the Chief of Police finally broke down. He admitted to it all, even Goodman’s murder. It hadn’t been premeditated; when Goodman had filed the missing item report, Gant brought him to the evidence room, where he suddenly spoke up about SL-9, begging him to reopen the case. That, on top of constant hounding from Jake Marshall, who’d been making a similar plea ever since the case closed - which had only gotten more brazen as the deadline loomed - and the appearance of the forged knife when Goodman opened his locker, it set him off.

He’d panicked, but the deed was already done. All that was left was to try and conceal it, taking as much evidence as he could, though still leaving behind clues in his haste. And Skye, having just as much at stake were SL-9 to be reopened, was brought on as an accomplice, and eventual scapegoat when Starr caught her transferring the body.

Done with his confession, Gant looked over at Miles with a curious expression. “Tell me, Worthy. What are you doing in court?”

Miles blinked, genuinely caught off guard by the question. “Me?"

“You despise criminals. I can feel it. You and me... we're the same.” The prosecutor in took a sharp breath, but otherwise didn’t say anything. “One day you'll understand. If you want to take them on alone... you'll figure out what's needed!”

Phoenix scoffed. Is he still trying to get under your skin?

Was he? He’d hardly a motive to anymore. He let his mind linger on Phoenix’s voice, on the feel of the symbiont on his back, focusing to trace out his exact outline.

…alone, huh?

With Miles not responding, Gant sighed deeply and turned himself over to the bailiff. “Sorry, Udgey. Guess we’ll have to go swimming some other time, old friend?”

“I’m sorry too… Damon Gant,” the judge said with a sad shake of his head. “I knew you as you used to be, long ago. You were once a fine investigator, and an example to others on the force. I'm sorry to learn that you are no longer that person.”

“Perhaps not,” he admitted, “but I think you’ve still got some shining examples right here. With Shieldsy here… and Worthy. You might just be fine after all.” Then, he fully submitted himself and was led out of the courtroom.

“Lana…” Shields called out to the near forgotten defendant at the witness stand. She hadn’t spoken since Ema’s prints were revealed, watching the trial press on like a deer in the headlights. “It’s done. You’re free.”

“…it is, isn’t it? I can finally admit it all, everything I had to do under Gant’s power.”

“I’ll try to make sure they aren’t too harsh on you… if you’ll still have me.”

“I’d be honored,” Skye said with a slight bow. “I owe you a lot… and you, Mr. Edgeworth. You've suffered every bit as much as I have over these past few days. Believe me, I know how much of an ordeal it's been for you.”

Miles grunted. “It was nothing…”

Liar, Phoenix remarked.

“You really have been quite different as of late. I was worried you’d break under the pressure and yet… It’s not for the first time today that I’ve been glad to be wrong.”

He could barely handle the praise, and the light sniggering from Phoenix was hardly helping matters. “S-stop! I was only doing my job!”

“We could all probably do with some self-evaluation after these events. Now, Ms. Skye.”

“Yes, Your Honor?”

“You have been cleared of murder, but, while you were blackmailed, you were still accomplice to the chief’s crimes. There will be another trial for you at a later date.”

“I understand, Your Honor,” she nodded, unable to keep the mirth out of her voice.

He blinked. “Well that isn’t quite the reaction I was expecting. Did I say something amusing?”

Skye shook her head. “It’s just… it’s been a long time since I’ve felt free from these heavy chains.”

And, for the first time since Miles had known her as Head Prosecutor, she smiled a genuine smile.





Upon Skye getting her Not Guilty verdict and exiting the courtroom, Miles encountered the last two people he was expecting to see in the moment, blocking his progression further down the corridor.

“Officer. Ms. Starr,” he greeted, nodding his head to each in turn.

“Probably not for much longer, pardner,” Marshall said. “Got a hearing tomorrow.”

“I’m… sorry to hear that,” Miles said, because that was usually the type of thing you said in response to such news. Given what he’d done, it wasn’t exactly a surprise.

He shrugged. “Brought it on myself. ‘m just glad it’s finally over. You… ya did good in there. Thanks.” He took his hat off, bowing sincerely to the prosecutor.

“Nngh… I really was just doing my job.”

One day, you will learn to take a thanks.

“I suppose you have my gratitude as well,” Starr said, though it sounded more like a burden than anything. She was turned almost completely to the side, looking away from him. “I still have some reservations about the Prosecutor’s Office. I still can’t trust them after everything, but I suppose you’re not nearly as heinous as the rest… and I won’t begrudge you for following this path.” She turned to face him. “You’ve been hurt by them just as we have.”

“…what’s done is done,” Miles said after a moment’s hesitation. “All we can do is look forward now. I’m glad you two have gotten the closure to allow yourselves to do so.” With a brisk nod, Miles made a move to pass and they slid aside to accommodate. Maybe they had more to say, but Miles wasn’t sure how much more he could handle. Especially when there was one more thing he wanted to do.

No one had noticed him slip into the room, so Miles skulked in the doorway, debating whether or not it was his place to intrude upon the moment. The Skye sisters were sharing a tender hug, one that was probably two years in the making. The elder should have been on her way back to the detention center, but Miles suspected that Gumshoe, who was standing alongside Shields with misty eyes, had something to do with that.

Miles lingered for a few seconds longer, but just as he’d decided to back out, Skye’s gaze locked on him. He froze in place.

“Thank you both for all you’ve done,” she was saying to Shields and the detective as she released her sister. “I’m sure we’ll meet again someday. Isn’t that right… Mr. Edgeworth? Stop hiding and come over here.”

Willing his feet to move, Miles stepped into view, one hand finding its place of comfort at his elbow. “I just came to say congratulations…”

“Thank you,” Skye smiled.

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Edgeworth!” Ema parroted, eyes wet with what could only be tears of joy.

Miles shifted awkwardly under their attention. “Erm, yes… well. I’ll be going now!” Then swiftly he turned about to make a hasty retreat.

Miles! Phoenix chided.

“I hope you don’t blame yourself for what happened,” Skye then said, causing him pause. “We were the ones who acted corruptly, not you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he sighed, trying to deflect. “It’s time for me to go, there are still some loose ends to tie up.” All of which did not require immediate attention, but he really, really couldn’t handle much more in this present moment. The floodgates were barely keeping hold as it was. “Take care, Head Prosecutor.”

“Hey, Miles?” At Shields’ voice, he looked back once more, one hand resting on the door’s handle. “Just so you know… he would’ve been so proud of you.”

Miles bit his lip and uttered his farewell as he slipped out the door.

 




He managed to hold the dam back until he passed the threshold of his office. There, it all came crashing down.

Miles leaned back against the door to shut it and let out a shuddering sigh as he slowly sank to the floor where he stood. The world had finally slowed down enough for everything he’d been pushing back to finally catch up, hitting him full force like a semi on the freeway.

Phoenix was at his side in an instant. “Miles! Are you okay?” he asked, wings hanging half open as if about to reach out.

Miles nodded numbly, not trusting his own voice just yet, but remained where he was.

“Come on,” Phoenix said softly, tugging at his sleeve. “If you’re gonna collapse somewhere, at least do it on the couch.”

With the firebird’s encouragement, Miles dragged himself back to his feet and trudged over to where he could breakdown in comfort. Phoenix landed on the back of the couch while Miles took a seat, practically burning with things he wanted to say, but waiting for Miles to breach the subject himself. So he busied himself otherwise, nudging the prosecutor out of his jacket so he could more easily get settled.

Externally, it was more comfortable, but internally the self-doubt was pulling him apart at the seams. What kind of prosecutor was he, if his entire career had been built on lies? How much of the evidence had actually been forged? How many defendants had been innocent all along? Even his personal creed had been built by the man who’d killed his father in cold blood.

“Oh, Phoenix, what’s even the point?” he lamented to the firebird, who was at his desk chair trying to neatly drape the jacket across the back.

“Hey, I’m doing the best I can without opposable thumbs,” he retorted. “I could just leave it in a heap on the couch, but then you’re just gonna be mad about it later.”

“Maybe Chief Gant was right…"

“Okay, not about the jacket.” Abandoning what he’d been doing, the firebird was back at his side. “Miles, what could that man possibly been right about?”

“Me. How we’re the same,” he answered, looking down at his hands on his knees. He bunched the fabric underneath his fingers. “I do despise criminals - I’d dedicated myself to fighting them. Doing it on my own if need be.”

“But you don’t need to do it alone. You have so many people to help you.”

“That’s the point, Phoenix.” So many had come to his aid in just the past few months alone. Gumshoe. Shields. The Skyes. Maya. Mia Fey, in the brief moment she’d been channeled. Then, finally, the one who’d been at his back, quite literally, throughout it all. He hadn’t needed to do anything alone for some time now. “What if that’s the only thing stopping me from becoming another Gant? Or a Manfred von Karma? What if, given time, I might have pulled the same kind of desperate stunt? The thought terrifies me.”

Phoenix’s response was his head pressing softly against Miles’ shoulder. “Do you really believe you’re that kind of person?”

He sighed. “I don’t know what I believe anymore. I don’t even think I can trust myself.”

He nuzzled in a little further, as if trying to push his specific brand of reassurance directly into the prosecutor’s veins. “Good thing I’ve got more than enough trust in you for the both of us.”

Miles felt his throat tighten a little at the sentiment, sniffling a little. “That’s not remotely how that works you ridiculous creature.”

“Well, too bad, cause I’ve already made up my mind.” Phoenix pulled his head away and Miles found himself missing the contact, but the feeling was short lived as it was only so he could clamber back atop the sofa and wedge himself in the space between Miles’ shoulders and the wall. His head was then placed atop Miles’ and he spoke into his hair. “So let me be your reminder, that you are a good person, that you’re more than the people who used you, until you can believe it for yourself.”

He could feel the tears stinging at the corners of his eyes, and he blinked to keep them back. “And what if I can’t?” he choked out, barely keeping his voice steady. “What if I shouldn’t even carry on as a prosecutor?”

Phoenix didn’t answer right away, but Miles could feel him shifting his position around. Then, two large wings were wrapping around him, blanketed across his chest and shoulders. “I can’t decide that for you, but I’ll be here to help you face it. For as long as you’ll have me.”

Miles hadn't even realized he’d started crying until he saw droplets rolling off of scarlet feathers, but once he’d started, he couldn’t stop. The weight of the past few days, as well as everything else he’d desperately been internalizing since December finally let loose. Phoenix pressed his wings a little tighter and it felt like he was trying to absorb all of Miles’ fears and doubts into his feathers, replacing them all with hope and affection.

They sat there until Miles’ tears had run their course. Phoenix was humming a soothing tune into his hair, shifting his wings with every shudder of Miles’ shoulders, reminding him ‘I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re gonna be okay’.

“Thank you, Phoenix,” Miles eventually said when he felt he could speak again, though his voice was a little raw. He wiped some of the moisture off his face. “You are… far too good for me.”

Miles felt him shake his head. “You’re the one who’s too good. Too good for everything that's been done to you. Besides…” and he could hear some of that cheek sneaking into his tone, “this is a symbiotic relationship. You might as well get something out of literally keeping me alive.”

Miles sighed. He knew Phoenix was trying to make him feel better - and he was, marginally - but he just couldn’t agree with that. With his freed hand, he gently brushed against where Phoenix’s wings overlapped, feeling the dampness there. “Your wings…”

“Hey, I’m a firebird, not a fire bird. They’ll dry.” He paused. “Unless you don’t want wet feathers on you, because that totally makes sense. I’ll just…”

“No!” Miles said, surprising even himself as Phoenix started to move away. He cleared his throat, softly continuing. “No, I… you’re fine.” He really did have work to do, loose ends to wrap up, but right now all he wanted to do was stay just like this. Here, with this firebird who really was too good, too giving, for someone like him. For some prosecutor who sent men to death-row for crimes they didn’t commit, using evidence that wasn’t real. Who let himself be controlled for 15 years by a manipulative murderer, never once questioning his intentions.

Gant had nicknamed him ‘Worthy’, but Miles had never felt less so.

Yet, Phoenix still stayed, settling back into position to cocoon Miles in his warmth as he responded to the unspoken plea. The prosecutor leaned into it, into the steady rise and fall of Phoenix’s chest behind his head, the slight weight of wings on his shoulders, where he could almost lose himself to this feeling. The feeling of acceptance, of forgiveness, of being someone who really was worthy.

“Stay,” Miles finally voiced aloud.

Even if only for a little while longer.

 




A few days later, Miles was at his desk, drafting a letter and trying to keep his emotions as neutral as possible about it.

Just as he’d suspected, he’d been summoned before the Board of Inquiries the day after the trial for a hearing, though nothing had come from it. He hadn’t intentionally presented forged evidence - he’d merely used what the police had given him as he was supposed to - and was sent on his way with seemingly no consequences. He theorized the hearing was mostly a publicity stunt. Something to sooth public opinion as more and more of the legal system’s corruption came to light.

It did nothing to sooth his own unease. The Board may have pardoned him of any misdemeanors, but Miles still couldn’t pardon himself. His mistakes, his failures… they were unforgivable.

He looked over the letter, rereading what he’d done so far. Maybe it truly would be better this way…

He didn’t get much further than that, before the entire reason he’d been trying to keep his emotions neutral came swooping in and snatched it from his hands. Evidently the filing he’d given him to do wasn’t a good enough distraction.

“Give that back!” he snapped at the firebird, who quickly flew to the top of the bookshelf, completely out of reach.

“I can hear you surpressing your feelings from across the room!” He looked down at the letter, beginning to read. “What on Earth are you… even… working on…”

“Phoenix…” he warned.

“Is this really a-“

“-letter of resignation?” he finished. “Yes. I know what the Board said, but I’m just so tired, Phoenix. I can't keep doing this.”

“And your answer is this? To just… give up? Prove every nasty rumor that’s ever been spread about you right?”

“They are right!” he shouted back. “I did use underhanded methods. I did use forged evidence.” He listed those, specifically, in his reasonings.

“But that wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know,” Phoenix tried to reason.

“And that makes it any better? Why don’t you tell that to the innocent lives I’ve ruined. See if they agree with you.”

Whatever Phoenix’s response was, it died on his tongue.

“Why shouldn’t I resign?” Miles continued, unable to stop now that the words had started tumbling out. “Or better yet, why don’t I just let you become the prosecutor instead? The only thing stopping you from being a perfectly capable attorney is a human body, and look what I just so happen to have? After all, being used by other people is apparently the only thing I’m good for. At least I know I can trust you!”

With a heavy shudder, Miles sunk into his chair, elbows resting on the desk as fingers dug into silver bangs. He heard Phoenix land in front of him, but he didn’t look up.

“Oh Miles…” A cool beak gently touched the back of his hand.

“I can’t do this. It feels like something inside me is dying.”

Phoenix wormed his way into the box of Miles’ arms in order to settle into the prosecutor’s lap, head resting in the crook of his elbow. After a moment or so, Miles uncovered his face in order to properly rest his arms around the smaller being.

“I know you just scoff whenever I say this,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, “but Miles, please. Please, you need a break from this. No inquiries, no whispering colleagues, no self-depreciating letters, just a-”

“…vacation?” he sighed, recalling every single time the firebird had begged him to do just that.

“Just think about it.”

And, despite himself, he actually did think about it. He needed to get away from the Prosecutor’s Office, from this entire district’s legal system, if he was completely honest with himself. A system that allowed corruption to rise so high in its ranks in the first place. Were other systems just as bad, or was it merely a fatal flaw in their own? And if it was…

Well… maybe there was still hope for a prosecutor like him after all.

The decision practically made itself from there. Miles needed to leave the district, maybe even the country, and get back to his roots. Define who he was and his own connection to justice, untainted by men who only saw him as a means to an end.

It was set into motion. Unsure of how long he’d be gone, Miles put his personal belongings away in storage, put the condo up for rent - no use paying for utilities that he wasn’t using - and placed Mia Fey's plant (which he was still not going to refer to by name) in the care of Gumshoe. The detective was the only one he was trusting with his exact plans. The rest of the department would be left to wonder.

The night of his planned departure, Miles took one last step into his office. Besides the legal documents, which he had no strict claim to, and furniture, the room was almost as empty as the building itself, as it was well after midnight. He still had one thing left to do and he wanted as few witnesses to his presence as possible.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a single sheet of paper, not unlike the resignation letter he’d tried drafting, but significantly shorter. He placed it on the desk, front of center, an air of finality to the act.

“This is it,” he sighed to the firebird resting on his shoulder, enjoying a last few moments to stretch his wings before he’d need to go back into hiding. Miles glanced at him. “You know you don’t have to come with me. I could still drop you off with Gumshoe and he can bring you to Maya. You shouldn’t have to bear my burdens.”

Phoenix shook his head. “I said I’d be there for you. Besides, how often do you get to travel to Europe for free?”

Miles chuckled. “As long as the TSA hasn’t banned symbionts on flights.”

“Oh yeah, worry about that now.” Jumping onto the desk, Phoenix read over the letter again and all five words it contained. “I’m still not sure about the note. It’s a little… suggestive.”

“If people choose to interpret it that way… then maybe that’s for the best. They won’t seek out a dead man.” He’d never put much stock in worrying about what others thought anyway.

He held out his hand, a wordless question to the firebird. He answered by pressing his face into the palm, then rushing up his arm in a blur of color and heat. Miles looked at his hand, watching the last trace of tail feathers disappear. He did a final sweep of the room before shutting the door behind him and disappearing into the night, leaving only the note behind.

Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth chooses death…

…but maybe, just maybe, with Phoenix by his side, he could rise again from the ashes.

Notes:

And as we wrap up the events of the first game, I just want to throw out a huge thanks to everyone reading this for coming along with me on this journey (especially if you came in on the later chapters and actually binge read this). When I was first drafting this silly AU, I never imagined this kind of response for it. I’m absolutely loving writing this story for you all and every new kudos or comment or drawing absolutely makes my day.

I hope to see you all back here in 2020 for the next chapter of Symbiosis!

Chapter 26

Notes:

We're back!

I'd also like to put it out there, just incase people don't know, or were unsure, I'm dei-ryuu over on tumblr and you all are more than welcome to talk to me about the AU or anything else on your mind over there.

Chapter Text

Miles glared at the painting. The painting glared back - or, at least, it might have. It was always hard to tell with abstract. Were those nondescript spirals looming in the corner eyes or just… spirals? When did he even buy an abstract painting in the first place? Why did he buy an abstract painting?

It took a moment for his sleep-addled brain to catch up, reminding him that he would and did not buy an abstract painting of any sort. This one was merely a feature of the hotel room he’d checked in to late (Extremely late. There had been a severe delay in the flight schedule) the previous night.

He gave the painting one last once over - deciding that no, they weren’t eyes, which rendered the entire exchange a ‘no contest’ - before pulling himself out of bed.

Miles did a sweep of his surroundings, from his master suite to the hints of a living area he could see through the partially open doorway. His companion was not in sight, though his presence was visible in the recliner tucked away in the corner, its seat lined with pillows and blankets (a makeshift nest, though Phoenix got indignant if Miles called it that). It was his usual setup, staying close to retain their bond without physical contact while they slumbered.

Miles wasn’t especially surprised to find himself waking alone. Sleep, like many things for Phoenix, was not a strict necessity, and he’d been doing less and less of it ever since their European tour had begun. The prosecutor set about getting himself ready for the day, knowing that, when he exited the bedroom, he’d find Phoenix pouring over whatever brochures the hotel had provided or staring out the nearest window.

It was the latter he ultimately discovered when he emerged into the living area. Phoenix was perched upon the chair closest to the large bay windows, looking out across the landscape with wonder in his eyes. It was early, far earlier than Miles had need to be up, but old habits die hard, even on sabbatical (‘Vacation’, Phoenix would have reminded him had he heard that) and the sunlight streaking through the window was dyed with the hues of early dawn.

He painted a striking picture, backlit against the sunrise with the light catching in his scarlet feathers. It brought to mind the mythical flames of his namesake - fitting given that it was the city of Athens he looked down upon. While the ultimate goal of their travels was to experience various foreign legal systems, the thematic significance of bringing a phoenix to Greece was not lost on Miles.

Miles observed him silently for a few more moments before Phoenix finally caught on, feathers going slightly on end in alarm. “You’re up,” he stated dumbly.

“I am. I wasn’t trying to be secretive about it,” Miles said as he took the chair relatively across from Phoenix’s. “I’m surprised you didn’t hear me moving about.”

“Guess I got caught up in the view,” he replied, sheepish. “Er, how long were you standing there, anyway?”

“Not long, but I didn’t want to interrupt right away. You looked peaceful.”

He relaxed at that, sighing wistfully. “I’m just… taking it all in, you know?”

He was back to staring out the window and Miles took the lull to glance him over, beak to tail feathers. It was this form that allowed Miles to bring him along so easily, no passport or ticket required, and yet…

“I’m sorry you don’t get to do so properly.”

Were they not attuned to one another’s emotions, Miles might not have noticed Phoenix wilt for a fraction of a second before perking right back up. “It’s fine,” he answered in a tone saying the exact opposite. “The system we have going’s been working just fine.”

The system being that Miles would roll his sleeves up to his elbows (Weather permitting. Even if he was bonded with a living heat pack, it was still early spring in Europe and Phoenix’s body warmth could only do so much), allowing Phoenix to rest upon his forearm and do his best impression of non-sentient body art. Which, for a being who was constantly fidgeting no matter what state he was in, required a lot of focus that could be otherwise spared for enjoying the sights.

“Hey,” Phoenix interrupted, always aware when he was getting too lost in his head. “I know it’s not ideal, but there’s no helping it. Being here alone is already a lot more than I could have ever imagined.”

Miles let out a sigh, but smiled softly. “How are you always so optimistic?”

“It’s a gift,” he replied, grinning with his eyes. “Oh! Speaking of gifts, what’s the plan for today? I wanna look for something for Maya.”

Miles shook his head fondly. Upon remembering that souvenirs were something that existed, Phoenix had decided they should acquire small tokens for Maya at all of their major stops - mostly in the form of postcards or keychains. Miles had yet to send any of these over (aside from a postcard from their layover in New York, which had mostly served to inform her of their plans to head abroad and to check in with Gumshoe should she need anything), since shipping trinkets overseas one by one seemed a bit of a waste. Phoenix could just gift them all in person whenever they returned home.

“I thought we might do some scouting today,” Miles said to answer his question. “Explore the city, see if there are any upcoming public trials to sit in on or legal practitioners who may be willing to take an audience,” he paused, taking in the hopeful expression on Phoenix’s face, “…look at souvenirs.”

The symbiont let out a little cry of victory - as if Miles was ever going to deny him that small request. “Well, whenever you’re ready to go. I’ll be here.”

Miles looked around. “We could probably head out now.” They had only just arrived, after all, so there was nothing that needed his immediate attending. Perhaps getting a little more settled, as Miles had only unpacked his essentials for the night, but that could be taken care of later. “I would, however, appreciate breakfast before we get started. Some tea at the very least.” Neither of which could be found in the room. “Were there any places of note in the hotel brochures?”

“Why do you assume I’ve read the brochures?”

Miles raised a brow at him.

Phoenix made a small, defeated noise. “So around the corner…”



Ooh! What’s that over there?

Miles glanced down at his arm, trying to discern where Phoenix’s eye was angled. It wasn’t warm per se, but April in Greece was comfortable enough that he had his sleeves neatly folded up to his elbows to allow Phoenix a look around. He was wound about his arm like a ribbon, only his head and some of his neck visible past the sleeve. Phoenix complained that it made him look like a boring tattoo, but the less of his body he needed to be concerned with keeping stationary, the better (Besides, as Miles had pointed out, there really wasn’t enough room on his arm proper for what the firebird had in mind anyway).

He followed, to the best of his ability, the symbiont’s line of vision, unsurprised to find some kitschy-looking shop in that general direction. With a shrug, he decided to indulge him. They’d already spent a good portion of the morning in a courthouse so Miles could network. He was lucky enough to run into a local prosecutor who, while too busy to talk as they prepared for an upcoming trial later in the week, exchanged business cards with Miles so they could connect later.

A bell chimed above his head as Miles opened the door to the shop, announcing his arrival to the sparsely occupied store. His eyes adjusted to the dimmer mood lighting the proprietor had set up as he looked around. It was the sort of place you pictured when somebody said ‘souvenir shop’. The sort that’s inventory left no room for doubts which part of the world it’d been purchased from.

This is an obvious tourist trap, Miles groused, sneering at a replica urn that depicted a man and a centaur posing together for a selfie.

Maya likes dumb stuff like this. It’s perfect,
replied the firebird as Miles pushed forward into the shop.

The so called ‘dumb-stuff’, however, started to fade the further in they went. Seemed the tackiness of the storefront existed for the purpose of catching the eye of potential customers. Tourist trap indeed.

Phoenix’s eye was caught by a set of bracelets by the unmanned counter, so Miles moved closer to get him a better look. They were pretty enough, but didn’t leave any particularly strong impressions on Miles, so he left the firebird to his deliberations while he looked around. Nearby the register sat a small bell for summoning assistance, guarded by a clay unicorn equally as small. Miles regarded it for a moment before letting his gaze roam.

The shop appeared to be dedicated to the famous mythos of the peninsula, stocked mainly with plates, urns, statuettes, all depicting beasts, heroes and gods. It was nothing that wouldn’t look out of place in the gift shop of a history museum, aside from the pieces where the artist strayed from the traditional coloration (or, at least what people assumed was traditional) of the ancient artworks. He caught glimpse of another centaur, painted with dark skin and chestnut fur, and was pleased to find it holding a spear instead of a phone.

You see something to get Gumshoe?

No.
Miles rolled his eyes at the question. Phoenix insisted that the detective be brought back at least one souvenir, which Miles would - if he found something practical. He was not about to go around gifting silly little mementos.

A sudden voice called out, speaking something in presumedly Greek. Miles followed the sound to a woman he’d noticed before, but hadn’t spared much thought, rooting through one of the shelves. Miles had taken her for another customer, but it seemed that’d been a false assumption as she moved to stand behind the till, giving the unicorn a gentle tap on the snout as she did so.

“Pardon?”

“Ah, English then,” she said, mostly to herself. “Did you need anything?”

Well, do you? he asked, as Phoenix was the main one shopping.

I’m still thinking.

“Just looking, at the moment, but I’ll let you know if that changes.”

The woman nodded, her eyes flicking downward as she did so and locking in on Miles’ right-hand side. “Is that a phoenix?” she asked, grinning when Miles nodded in affirmation. “You must like them, huh?"

Miles glanced downwards, noticing the subtle tension in the symbiont’s features now that he was being watched. “You might say that.” He didn’t have much opinion of phoenixes as a whole, but he was somewhat fond of this one.

She nodded again, seeming to deliberate over his answer. “Wait here,” she said after a while, before slipping from behind the counter to disappear into a backroom. Miles met Phoenix’s eye and felt him shrug.

She returned shortly with two items bundled in her arms, which she gently set down on the counter. “Made these ages ago. Unfortunately, people are usually in here looking for the big names. Zeus and whatnot, so stuff like this flies under the radar.”

The first thing presented was a vase, one done in the black-figure style, depicting the life cycle of a phoenix in several scenes around the body. It started with the adult bird, soaring free, progressing to when it burned to ashes and was reborn anew, the chick growing until it reached the adult at the beginning.

The other item was a statuette, maybe about half the size of Phoenix himself. The figure emerged from a torrent of sculpted flames, though the paint job made it hard to discern where fire ended and feather began. Its wings stretched up towards the heavens while its beak hung open in a silent cry (Miles mentally tried to fill it in with one of the various noises Phoenix let out when flustered, but found none particularly fit the striking pose).

“They’re beautifully crafted,” Miles appraised, noting the attention to the finer details.

“So’s that tattoo of yours. It looks like it could just leap off your arm at any moment!” she giggled, eyes back on Phoenix.

Wow, imagine that, eh Miles? Phoenix said, to which he had to try very hard not to roll his eyes.

“I gotta ask.” She carefully leaned against the counter so as not to disturb her artwork. “Why wrapped around your arm like that? Kinda weird for a bird tattoo. I almost thought it was a snake at first, except you don’t usually see red snakes.”

“Is it really that odd?” Obviously he couldn’t explain the practical reasonings why the firebird was in that position, but as far as tattoos went, Miles thought it looked fine.

Told you you should’ve let me show off my wings.

Where?
the prosecutor demanded. I’d have to be shirtless for that sort of thing. And that certainly wasn’t happening, even if the weather allowed for it.

Aw, you’re no fun, he replied, forgetting himself for a moment and starting to twine further around Miles’ arm.

Phoenix! he hissed in warning, and the firebird froze in his tracks. This is exactly why you can’t be trusted to have more of yourself on display!

Thankfully the shopkeeper was distracted enough that she didn’t notice Phoenix’s shifting or the way Miles had pulled his arm slightly behind himself. Her distraction however, seemed to be found somewhere on Miles’ face. Belatedly he realized she was waiting for his response to something.

“Er, sorry, what was that again?”

“I asked if it was symbolic. The positioning. Phoenixes are super symbolic, so I wondered if it was chakras or something like that.”

Miles gave her a look. “Do you normally ask your customers such invasive questions?”

“Only the attractive foreigners,” she grinned again, “but I’ll stop.”

“Thank you,” he sighed. The last thing he’d expected when he’d stepped into the shop was an interrogation, even if it was merely benign curiosity in her eyes.

“Well, I’ll be around, sorting inventory, so just yell if you need me. Or ring the bell. Whatever’s easier.” She scooped the vase into her arms, nodding towards said bell.

“Wait, before you go.”

She paused, looking at him expectantly. “Yes?”

“How much is the statue?”



Besides the figure, Miles had also acquired a woven purple bracelet with a blue eye-like pendant attached - Phoenix’s gift for Maya. The shopkeep informed him that it was a talisman meant to ward off misfortune, which had pretty much sold the firebird then and there.

The bracelet had joined the small collection of other souvenirs in his bag (Including, but not limited to, a Swiss snow globe and a gondola keychain from Italy), while the statuette had found a temporary home atop the counter that divided the hotel’s kitchen from the living area. Fake phoenix was currently accompanied by the real one, who was crouched down to its level and had been eying it with heavy scrutiny for several minutes now.

“You’re not being replaced, if that really is your concern.”

Phoenix had jokingly said as much when, when asked or the reason he’d made the purchase, Miles hadn’t given a response (Because Miles didn’t exactly have a reason why he’d done it. It’d just felt right, at the moment).

“I know that,” the firebird grumbled, a tad defensively. “I’m just… thinking.”

“About?”

“Mortality.”

Miles paused in his task, which was getting himself properly situated in the hotel room, to give Phoenix his full attention.

He squirmed under the prosecutor’s gaze and Miles wondered if he hadn’t meant to so casually reveal his thoughts. “I-I mean… it’s just, something you think about! You know? When your mind’s wandering and stuff…”

Definitely hadn’t meant to say that. “Are you having an existential crisis over a statue?”

“I am an existential crisis,” he dryly replied.

“Wha-“

“And it’s not the statue,” the symbiont continued, before Miles really had a chance to unpack whatever that statement had meant. “It’s something I wonder about sometimes. How much of a phoenix I am.”

This wasn’t going to be a simple conversation, so Miles took seat. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” he sighed, “Big, red, mythical bird. That’s what I essentially am, right? But that’s not just what a phoenix is.”

When they’d first met, Miles had done a lot of research into phoenixes. As with all mythology, there was a lot of discrepancy - their appearance, their origin, even the exact nature of their rebirth. Still, popular opinion defined them by the ability to catch fire and then rise again, rejuvenated. Is that, then, what his own phoenix saw, as he gazed at the art piece? Himself in the figure’s place, rising from his own funeral pyre?

“It’s not mortality you’re concerned with…” he realized, “it’s the potential lack of it.”

“I’m not immortal. I mean, I can’t be. I shouldn’t be."

“But you can’t know unless it happens,” Miles supplied, crossing his arms. It wasn’t exactly a theory he could test after all.

Phoenix gave him a wry look. “I’m not in any hurry to get myself killed. Despite what you think, I do have a sense of self-preservation.”

Even though there was plenty of evidence that said otherwise, the whole discussion was a bit heavier than either of them were in the mood for, so Miles let it end more or less there.



Two days later, Phoenix did something to once more contradict his own claim.

It was the middle of the night when Miles shot awake, stirred not by a nightmare, but by an inhuman noise that rang out in the darkness.

“Phoenix?” he called out, because there was only one being he knew of capable of such a noise. When there was no response and he couldn’t immediately find him in the room, the panic began to set in. He practically threw the covers off rushing to his feet to check the living area, some relief returning when he quickly spotted the firebird on the couch.

But only some, because Phoenix was at full hackles, eyes trained on the hotel’s door. The door which was, currently, wide open, allowing light to pour in from the hallway and illuminate the space. It was the main reason he had been able to spot him so quickly in the first place.

“Somebody…. somebody broke in,” he said tensely, registering the prosecutor’s presence.

“Are you alright?” Miles asked, switching on the light to properly assess the scene. Phoenix flinched at the change in lighting, but his guard did not go down.

“Yeah I… I’m fine. I scared them off, I think.”

The state of the room suggested as much as well, for nothing seemed to be out of place besides the door. He moved across the room to investigate (Hotel doors usually pulled themselves shut, so their intruder must have propped it open. But why?) and found that the door stopper had been put into place. Miles hesitated to move it, as it was technically tampering with the scene, but ultimately he felt more uncomfortable with the door wide open.

As he flipped the stopper back into its idle position, he noticed something on the ground - a balled up sheet of paper. It was a note of some sort, Miles realized upon picking it up, though illegible from the rumpling of the paper and the way a lot of the ink was smudged. Not to mention it was written in Greek to begin with. Presuming it was dropped by the intruder, it’d be a useful clue for the authorities whenever they arrived.

Contacting them was the next step. Miles sat down on the couch beside Phoenix, reaching for the phone on the end table so he could call the front desk. As it dialed, Miles looked over to Phoenix, still on edge. Slowly he reached out, giving the symbiont all the time in the world to react before placing a hand on his back.

When the receptionist answered, Miles explained the situation, feeling the firebird’s form steadily relaxing beneath his fingers, feathers laying flat once again. After being assured that someone from security would start looking into it immediately, Miles hung up.

“Someone will be by shortly,” he told Phoenix, pulling his hand away. The firebird made a slight disappointed sound at the loss of contact and moved his head to the prosecutor’s thigh as if to make up for it. “Now, what exactly happened?”

“I heard talking and it woke me up. I thought, I dunno, people were in the hallway being loud, so I was gonna go look out the peephole. Instead, I find the door wide open and somebody just standing there. They must’ve seen me move, cause they whipped a flashlight in my direction and startled me. I dove at the couch and they ran off when I yelled in surprise.”

“Well, screeched,” Miles pointed out, unable to help himself. The bird noises always came out when Phoenix was alarmed.

The symbiont was bristling again, but not out of fear. “Oh, you’ve got some nerve. You make just as many weird sounds as me!”

“What? I do not.”

“Nngoh,” Phoenix said, making his voice go deeper (Miles might’ve complimented him for matching his pitch were he not currently being mocked).

“I’ve never done that in my life,” Miles sniffed.

“You keep telling yourself that…”

“And what of you?” Miles countered, if he was going to tease him. “Where are those self-preservation instincts you insisted you had a few days ago?”

“I didn’t know it was a break in!” Phoenix glared at him, though some of the effectiveness was lost with the way his head still rested on Miles’ leg.

Fair enough. He would give him that much. “Do you think they got a good look at you?”

“…I don’t know,” he answered quietly. “It happened too quickly.”

Miles nodded. If they were lucky, Phoenix had gotten out of view before the intruder could get an actual glimpse of him. And if they weren’t… well, they’d burn that bridge when they got to it.

Gently shooing Phoenix off to the side, Miles stood to throw some day clothes on. He wasn’t especially keen on receiving their incoming guests while still in pajamas. The firebird let himself be moved without protest, moving to a higher vantage point on the couch. He was back on vigil, and would probably remain so until security arrived, but at least he seemed calmer about the whole ordeal.

Telling Phoenix to ‘squawk' if he heard anything (and getting another halfhearted glare for it), Miles disappeared into the bedroom to find something presentable to change into.



“Wow, this handwriting’s bad.” The security guard they’d sent over was inspecting the note, scratching his head in confusion. He looked like the sort of barely qualified person that got hired because they needed coverage for a graveyard shift and no one else wanted the position. “And you said the thief left this?”

“Certainly wasn’t me, as I do not know any Greek.”

“Well I do, and I can't hardly read this. There’s something about a snake… think that’s our hotel’s name… ah, rock…. egg?” He pulled the paper closer to his face, as if proximity would yield more clarity. “Mean anything to you?”

“Not in the slightest.”

The man squinted at the note again, then shrugged, putting it down on the table. “Well, the, ah, officials can figure than out when they get here. I’m mostly just checking the locks.”

Guess you can’t send a security guard to do a detective’s job, Phoenix commented as Miles watched the man walk back over to the door. He pulled it wide open, pushing the stopper back into position so it stayed that way. Then he started fiddling around with the locking mechanism, checking for signs of forced entry.

He likely doesn’t have the authority to, Miles said, moving over to inspect his work as, he too, wanted to know how the intruder had even gotten in. A brief glance was spared to the prosecutor, but he didn’t say anything outside of the occasional grunt to himself in Greek. Miles let him work in peace, settling for whatever he could deduce on his own.

It was a proximity lock - the sort with a panel you tapped a card against in order to gain access. Miles didn’t know much about the intricacies of the system, but as far as he could tell it looked the same as always. The door itself didn't appear to be damaged either.

The guard seemed just as perplexed. “You don’t have another key around, do you?”

Miles shook his head. “I only requested one, which is currently in my possession.”

He asked to see it, so Miles retrieved the card sitting on his nightstand. The guard turned it over a few times, inspecting it. He then held it to the sensor, which beeped and light up a green light, causing the latch to retract itself as intended. The guard sighed and handed Miles the key back.

Before he could inquire of the findings, the man pulled out a two-way radio and started up a conversation that Miles couldn’t understand a word of. However, something important must have been exchanged at some point, because the person on the other end suddenly sounded very alarmed, shortly echoed back by the security guard. They shared a few more frantic words before he clipped the radio back to his belt.

“One of the other guards knows who broke in here!” he said, hurriedly gathering himself. “I’m going as back up incase she needs help rounding this guy up.”

“That was certainly fast,” Miles commented, unheard by the guard who was already rushing out of the room. He kicked the stopper up and pulled the door shut behind him with a bit more force than was probably necessary. If his neighbors hadn’t been awoken by the earlier commotion, the resulting slam had probably done it.

Miles tapped a finger against his crossed arms. That was it, he supposed. They’d go apprehend this suspect and hold them for the police when they arrived. He wondered how long that would be, and if it were worth going back to sleep until then, as they’d need to talk him when they did.

With the coast clear, Phoenix had come back out and was now up on the counter.

“Well?” he asked.

“Well what?” Miles didn’t look at him, searching instead for the book he’d left on the coffee table, because who was he even kidding. He wasn’t falling back asleep after this, even if he tried. He found it on the floor, probably knocked down by Phoenix, but thankfully the bookmark had not been dislodged.

“You’re just gonna leave it at that?”

“Yes?” He retook his seat on the couch, setting the book in his lap. “I’m not a cop… or a security guard, in this specific instance.”

“But you’re a prosecutor. Don’t you want to know what’s going on?”

“They will inform me when the police arrive, as they need my statement of the actual break-in.” Which would technically be Phoenix’s account, given Miles hadn’t actually seen anything.

Phoenix glided over, perching on the arm of the sofa. “Aren’t you curious about that conversation? How they decided who did it so fast?”

“Of course I am,” he muttered, opening the book, “but it's not my place to intervene.” When the time came, he’d be informed, probably alongside some form of compensation for having his privacy breached in the first place.

“But it could be,” the firebird said hopefully, forcing Miles to finally look at him. “Think about it Miles, this is a perfect opportunity to do an investigation on your own terms. You’re not bringing this case to trial and you don’t have any superiors to appease. There’s no pressure for you to figure this out.”

Miles sighed, shutting his book. “But I have no jurisdiction-“

“I’m not asking you to take over the investigation,” Phoenix interjected. “Just, go find out what’s happening. Offer your insight. You want to know who you are as a prosecutor, well here’s a chance to start figuring that out.”

“And what if I’m still the prosecutor von Karma raised me to be?” He looked Phoenix in the eye, challenging his response to what he was about to say. “What if I’m still that person who would do anything to ensure a guilty verdict?”

But the firebird’s expression only softened. “Then it’s like you said; you don’t have the jurisdiction. Greek law enforcement will be making the ultimate decision, not you. But, for the record,” He leaned in closer, voice dropping to almost a whisper, “I don’t think you are. I don’t think you’ve been that person for a long time.”

It was Miles who broke eye contact first, letting out a shaky exhale as he dipped his head. “I don’t suppose I have much of a choice after a speech like that.”

“Good, because I wasn’t really giving you one,” the symbiont grinned.

Grabbing his organizer, Miles made a note of everything they knew so far. The intruder had broken in right around 2:30 at night (the time he’d noted on the bedside clock when he’d been startled awake) with no signs of forced entry. They probably had a couple of minutes alone before disturbing Phoenix, during which nothing had been stolen.

They’d been talking to themselves, so either they were confident, or had reason to believe the room might have been empty. The door had also been propped fully open.

Phoenix had only glimpsed a brief silhouette in the light, so there was not much in the way of a physical description. A lean build, average height or shorter if he had to make any guesses, but nothing distinct. Besides that, their only other clue came in the form of a crumpled note that hardly anyone could read, potentially referencing a serpent and an egg of stone. As their only evidence, he put in the organizer incase it was needed.

With his organizer under one arm and Phoenix on his back, Miles exited out of his room. He didn’t know where the guards had gone off to, but the lobby was probably his best choice to have any questions answered, so that’s where he was headed.

Phoenix, Miles questioned as he walked towards the stairwell, running through the facts and finding little correlation between then, why can’t we ever get involved in a straight-forward crime?

Chapter 27

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

As late (or early, depending on who you asked) as it was, there were a few assorted guests in the lobby when they arrived, though some were clearly inebriated and had probably just stumbled into the hotel from who knows where. And while those that were lucid and about at this hour were certainly of interest, Miles was more concerned with the scene that had captured the attention of most everyone in the room.

The security guard from before had beaten him down to the lobby, accompanied by a tall woman dressed in the same uniform. Between them was a man that Miles could only assumed was the suspected intruder. He was fairly unremarkable - light brown hair, medium bangs, broad shouldered - aside from one detail revealed by the short-sleeved (albeit somewhat obnoxiously colored) shirt he wore. There was a dark green snake inked into his skin, wrapping around his right arm. He wasn’t sure if the silhouette Phoenix had described matched this guy, but the tattoo was already checking a box.

The man was currently in a very heated argument in Greek with the second security guard, while the one Miles had met hung back, eyes awkwardly darting around for some kind of escape from the conflict. He found one when he spotted Miles slowly approaching them and quickly broke away.

“Ah, sir!” he called out. “There’s no need to worry, we’ve caught the suspect.”

This caught the attention of said suspect, who quickly snapped his head towards Miles, a new target for his grievances identified. The guard barked something at him, displeased that their ‘discussion’ had been interrupted, but he was ignoring her at this point.

“So you’re the one who sent these guys after me?!” he demanded, in English, and Miles made a small mental note that he sounded like he was American. “Listen, I don't know who you are, but you’ve got some nerve accusing me!”

“Miles Edgeworth,” he said as way of greeting, “and I don’t recall accusing you of anything. In fact, I was here to inquire about the exact reasonings behind your apprehension.”

The woman shouted something, still in Greek, at Miles, who could only look back in confusion.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t-“

“Oh! She said, ‘You're the victim here, why aren’t you happy we caught him?’” the other guard cut in. “Sila - I’m Charis, by the way - understands English for the most part, but she can’t speak it, if that makes sense.”

Miles nodded. He had a similar relationship with French. “To answer your question,” he said, directed towards Sila, “as the victim, I would like to know who targeted me and why. Are you absolutely sure you have the right person?”

She scratched her head and spoke again. “‘Most people would just let the courts deal with that,’” Charis translated.

He was going to do that at first, but Phoenix was right. He needed to see to this for himself. “I suppose I’m not most people then.” Plus his current relationship with courts was… strained, to say the least. “Now then, I would like to hear your logic.”

Her expression was perplexed, but she started talking. “‘I patrol the lobby area at night - the receptionists feel safer with a guard around after dark. At some point that guy comes up to me, asking how to get into the gym. I tell him, then that’s that. Until Charis calls about your break-in. He mentioned that note - how it talked about a snake - and it reminded me of him and that he was out and about this late at night.’”

“I just wanted to work out,” the suspect said, sighing. He sounded tired, like this entire ordeal was keeping him from sleep. It probably was. “It’s a 24 hour fitness center, right? If you’re gonna be suspicious of people taking advantage of your hours, then maybe you should change them.” He then made a grand gesture to their small audience. “Besides, I don’t see you questioning any of them for being up.”

Ugh, who wants to work out at this time though? Phoenix questioned.

It’s not that unusual. People with odd, or perhaps just busy, schedules would squeeze in a visit to the gym whenever they could - even if that time slot happened to be at a ridiculous hour.

Sila had said something else, though the suspect had let out an outburst of “It’s a tattoo, not a personality trait!” before Charis had a chance to interpret. “You can’t just use some note you haven’t even read to blame me!” he continued.

“You mean this note?” Miles said, pulling it out of his organizer. Sila took it, squinting over it much like her partner had and muttering something that probably pertained to the illegibility.

After a moment she lowered it from her face. “‘There, now I’ve seen it, and it definitely mentions a snake. I bet it’s a codename.’”

“My name, first of all,” he practically growled, “is not ‘Snake’. I’m not some… gangster or whatever. It’s Drinker. Charles Drinker. Secondly,” he practically snatched the paper from her to look it over himself, “can you even read this?! It’s so smudged.”

“Can you read Greek, Mr. Drinker?” Miles asked. “Pardon my presumption, but your accent sounds American.”

“I am American,” he confirmed. “And yes, a little. I’ve got a colleague who’s local. Learned from him.”

“So, that means that this note could’ve been addressed to you,” Charis reasoned.

“Oh for the love of-“ Drinker tossed his hands up in defeat, letting the note flutter free. Miles snatched it back up and returned it to the organizer.

“Before we continue jumping to conclusions, we are still missing a few details. What was the exact time you spoke to Mr. Drinker?”

Sila took a moment to ponder her answer. “‘I don’t know, but I wasn't out here until midnight and it was well into my shift.’”

“So, 1:00, 1:30 perhaps?” Miles guessed. She shrugged, making a vague gesture that amounted to something along the lines of ‘probably’.

“…it was 2:00. That’s about when I left my room,” he confirmed with a rough grumble. “To work out.

“But we don’t know if you stayed there the whole time,” Charis pointed out. “Unless there was someone else in the fitness center to confirm your alibi.”

“There wasn’t,” Drinker begrudgingly admitted.

Because it was 2 in the morning! Phoenix stressed.

Miles sighed internally. “Why were you working out at that specific time?” If the firebird was going to remain hung up on that detail, he might as well ask.

Despite all his outrage regarding the accusation, Drinker managed to look embarrassed as he gave his answer. “I… couldn’t sleep. Been dealing with jet lag ever since I got in a few days ago and sleeping pills weren’t helping. So I figured to try exercising to exhaust myself.”

Miles looked him over again. Now that he’d mentioned it, the prosecutor did notice the slight bags under his eyes from a lack of sleep. The tiredness in his tone, previously assumed to be from his exasperation with the security guards, now took on a different meaning.

Sila huffed. “‘A likely story. You just want people to believe that’s where you were. I bet that’s why you came up to me in the first place.’”

“I needed directions! Your signs don’t make sense.”

Their signs were a little confusing, Miles had to admit, mostly employing pictures and vague directional symbols for the sake of international guests.

“‘You needed a witness. Someone who could say they sent you to one location while you went off breaking into other guests’ rooms!’”

Miles frowned, arms crossed. Is that what he was trying to do? The sweat stains on his shirt suggested that he actually had been working out, though they could just as easily argue they were accrued while fleeing the crime scene.

I mean, if he is lying about what he was doing, Phoenix said, that’s a pretty weak alibi.

It’s also a risky alibi.

How so?

He spoke the next bit for the benefit of everyone. “You’d be banking on no one else walking by or into the room during that time period - late hour aside,” he added, before Phoenix brought it up again. “All it would take is one person to have a similar idea, and the whole plan is ruined. He could have stayed in his room the entire time and likely achieved the same results.” Perhaps even better ones, provided no one had seen the snake tattoo beforehand.
 
“Maybe he’s an inexperienced criminal?” Charis suggested.

“Yes, we could assume that,” Miles said. “This entire investigation - and I use that term very loosely - seems to be based on assumptions already. Ms. Sila, I know you seem confident, but the evidence is hardly decisive and your suspicion of Mr. Drinker is incredibly superficial and wouldn’t hold up in a court.”

Drinker sighed very loudly. “Finally. Someone believes me.”

Miles tutted. “Please don’t put words in my mouth. For all I know, she may have correctly guessed how the night’s events played out. My issue lies in the fact that is it exactly that - a guess.” Because he knows he’s done the same - filled in gaps in the truth with assumptions. A means to a quick end, a flawless victory. He knows better now. “You don’t have a single shred of evidence against him.”

“‘It’s not my job to look for evidence, it’s to keep you guests safe. I see a threat, I hold them until the police get here. They can find your precious evidence.’”

“There’s no evidence to even find!” Drinker insisted. “You can even check my room. It’s 136. You won’t find anything suspicious in there.”

Charis gave him an almost sympathetic look. “Sorry, but I have to side with Sila. It’s not really our place to do that. We’d better wait.”

But what if we miss something waiting on them? Phoenix asked. If it’s not Drinker, then the real culprit might be out there destroying that evidence.

Miles crossed his arms. They have a point Phoenix. No one here has any investigative authority.

And?

Miles thought about a counter argument for a moment, before giving up. This was the same person who’d fairly recently conducted an extremely illegal search of a head of law enforcement’s office. There was likely no reasoning with him on this topic.

He spoke to the security guards instead. “Might I request then, in the meantime, someone to patrol the premises? In the event that this assumption is wrong,” Here Sila glared at him, but Miles gave her little heed, “there may still be suspicious behavior afoot.”

They glanced between each other, Charis motioning Sila over to form a little huddle as they discussed quietly amongst themselves, backs turned to their audience to carry their voices away (with Sila still clearly keeping a watch on Drinker from the corner of her eye).

Oh, she does not sound happy, Phoenix commented. The hushed tones they were speaking in meant nothing to a firebird who relied on sounds to interpret his surroundings, though he obviously couldn’t understand them.

She’s probably offended that I’m doubting her.

A point that was soon confirmed when the huddle broken and Charis approached him once more.

“Sila doesn’t think it’s needed, but you make a good argument, so,” Here he sighed, drooping his shoulders dramatically, “guess I’m going on patrol.”

“Allow me to accompany you then.” It wouldn’t quite be an investigation, but maybe they’d find something.

He shook his head. “Oh no. You’re a guest. I can’t ask that of you.”

“I insist,” Miles said, with a slight flourish. “It was my idea after all. I am also a prosecutor, so I do have some experience in similar matters.”

That feels like a stretch.

Charis gave him a considering look. “Suddenly a lot of things make sense. Well, alright, as long as you’re insisting, who am I to argue.”

“Wait!”

They weren’t even two steps into their patrol when they were interrupted. The voice had belonged to a young man (though he probably wasn’t much younger than Miles himself), one of lobby’s occupants who’d been watching the events unfold. Miles had idly wondered if any of them were going to intervene.

“Couldn’t help but eavesdrop, you guys were talking really loud.” He spoke in English, though his accent was not unlike Charis’, so he was probably also Greek. “I think everybody here knows exactly what going on, whether they wanted to or not.”

“Oh, Mr. Notte, I didn’t notice you before,” Charis said. “Don’t worry, we’ve got everything under control.”

“Really?” Notte, as the guard had called him, grinned cheekily. “This guy over here doesn’t seem to think so.”

Miles regarded him, already disliking his attitude. “And who exactly are you?”

“Argo Notte,” he said, stretching as he spoke and letting his hands come to rest just behind his neck. “And I just so happen to be that witness you were looking for earlier.”

Sila snapped something at him, causing Notte to hold a hand up in a placating manner.

“Hey, whoa, calm down. I didn’t say anything earlier because I just barely noticed the guy. I wanted to make sure I remembered right.”

“And what did you remember?”

“So I’d been out here in the lobby for a while. At some point I needed to use the bathroom, right around 2:20 - I checked the time because I was debating whether or not to keep working or just go to bed. You have to walk past the elevators to get there and I saw your suspect just getting into one when I passed by. That tattoo was the main thing that caught my attention, otherwise I don’t think I would’ve really noticed him.”

Miles looked between Drinker’s tattoo and his shirt, a neon tie-dye that was honestly a little hard to look at. Of the two, the tattoo hadn’t been the first thing he’d taken note of, especially from a distance.

“What?!” Drinker snarled. “I haven’t been anywhere near those elevators since I came down!”

Notte tutted at him. “Well obviously you’re going to deny it. You’re under suspicion, why should we trust you?”

“On a similar note, why should we trust you, Mr. Notte?” Miles asked. If one of the criteria for suspicion was being active at this hour, then he fell under this umbrella as well. “Why were you out here in the first place?”

“What? Am I a suspect now?” he grinned, faltering when Miles’ expression betrayed no amusement. He gave a pat to the satchel hanging at his side. “…working on a programming project. My room’s a bit too quiet for my likes, so I come here instead. Reminds me of the common area at university.”

“He really is around here all the time,” Charis confirmed. “When he checked in he specifically asked us if it we didn’t mind him doing that. We told him it was fine so long as he wasn't bothering anyone.”

Thank you,” he stressed, nodding. “See, unlike some people, I was actually where I said I was. Ms. Sila even saw me tonight, didn’t you?”

“‘Of course I did,’” she grumbled. “‘I make a note of everyone who’s in the lobby when I start my shift. He was sitting off in the corner, staring at a laptop.’”

Phoenix snorted. Hypocrite. How is his alibi any different from the other guy's? 

Precedent.
If Drinker had made a habit out of working out at this time of night, his movements might not have raised any alarms - provided that was even the truth. One of the testimonies had to be false and Drinker’s was the weaker of the two. He also would have been within eyesight the entire time.

Well, except for that bathroom trip. That would have been a little weird.

Weird is… one way to put it.
Though he did have a point wrapped up in that statement. There was a period of time Notte would have been out of anyone’s view.

“Ms. Sila, you keep track of all movement in the lobby during your shift, correct?”

“‘Of course.’”

“So, that means who would have seen him leave for the restrooms and return.”

“Hey, come now,” Notte interrupted. “Are you actually doubting me right now?”

“I’m not sure what your concern is, Mr. Notte. She should just be providing backup for your claim… unless you haven’t been truthful with us.”

Sila had taken the moment while they were talking to pour over what she had seen over the night’s vigil. “‘I might’ve seen him get up at some point, but I wasn’t really paying attention to him,’” she said, shrugging. “‘Like Charis said, he’s here all the time. You tune him out after a while.’”

Oh? Suddenly Notte’s alibi wasn’t looking so solid. “Meaning he had the same opportunity as Mr. Drinker.”

Notte paled when eyes turned on him, wringing his fingers around the strap of his bag. “Okay, fine. So what if she didn’t have eyes on me the whole time? She could’ve been watching me the entire time, so why would I even be here if I was up to something? I would’ve just stayed in my room.”

“I’m starting to wish I’d done that.” Drinker let out another long, tired sigh. “There’s no chance of me getting any sleep tonight, is there?”

“‘Not unless you get a chance to at the police station,’” Sila hissed at him.

Guess her opinion hasn’t changed, Phoenix remarked.

Drinker hasn’t made much of a case for himself. His guilt still seemed obvious at this point, though he didn’t especially trust Notte either. Everything about him was rubbing Miles the wrong way.

Yeah, but he’s sticking to his story, even though he could very easily find an excuse for being seen in that elevator. When that happens in court, they’re either really confident it’ll hold up or telling the truth. Usually the latter.

And which do you think it is?

I’d like to think it’s the truth. If not, then that’s a really bad lie to put so much faith in.

Which meant, in Phoenix’s scenario, that Notte was the one lying in order to ensure Drinker’s suspicion - perhaps instead of his own. It was the only motive that made sense given their current information, as the two men appeared to be strangers. Could he be their true culprit, lying in wait in a location where his nefarious movements could have been easily tracked? There were pieces that weren’t quite connecting on either side.

Unless… there was a situation where both testimonies were true.

“Mr. Notte. Might it be possible that it wasn’t Mr. Drinker you saw?”

“What? No, of course not.” Something in his expression changed. “Unless you claim someone else was walking around with a snake tattoo on their arm.”

“There is that slim possibility,” Miles replied. For instance, there was a tattoo on his arm occasionally, but not of a serpent. “but that is not quite what I'm getting at. You did say you just barely noticed him - why are you so certain of what you witnessed? Especially given the fact that you’ve neglected to mention any other details. Hair color. Skin tone. What they were wearing.” Though his answer wouldn’t matter as much now with Drinker right in front of him. “Do you seriously expect us to believe you noticed a marking on his arm before that monstrosity of a shirt?”

“What’s wrong with my shirt?!”

Miles gave him a disbelieving look. “Have you seen it?”

Is it really that bad? Phoenix asked.

You’d have to be colorblind not to notice it.


Miles then paused to consider his choice of words. Had Notte chosen to focus on this one detail in favor of all others because he couldn’t describe them? At least, not in any accurate form. “Mr. Notte… are you colorblind?”

“W-what?!” His posture stiffened, chest puffing out. “No. Why would you even think that?”

“Then you shouldn’t have any problems telling us what colors Mr. Drinker’s questionable fashion choice is.”

Notte gave it, as well as its owner, a long moment of consideration. Then, exhaling all the air in his lungs, he huffed. “Fine. So what if I am? I don’t need accurate colors to know what I saw, and I saw that man getting into an elevator to the 5th floor! That’s where your room is, isn’t it?”

Finally a new detail. Miles quickly latched onto it. “It is, but how did you know that?”

“The elevator tells you?” he replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Or do you expect us to believe you never noticed the screen that shows what floor it’s on or going to?”

“I prefer to take the stairs,” Miles said. Still, no one else was objecting, so he trusted this was true.

That still doesn’t line up if he was just passing by, Phoenix pointed out. I don’t think Drinker would’ve selected a floor yet.

“…I might’ve watched him a bit longer than I said,” Notte defended when Miles reiterated Phoenix’s statement. “I really did catch that tattoo out of the corner of my eye, but I stopped to look because I couldn’t tell what it was in a glance.”

A reasonable progression of events, yet Miles still felt his eyes narrowing at the young man. “Then why didn’t you tell us this from the start?”

Notte groaned. “Look, what do you really care about; what I saw or the weird details around it?” he replied, dodging the question entirely. “I’m just trying to help you guys out. I didn’t

need to speak up since you aren’t police.”

Then why did you? Phoenix said flatly.

Clearly our man wishes to be a good samaritan, Miles replied, tone betraying his actual opinion on the statement. If he really just wanted to help, he would have come forward straight away (Miles wasn’t buying that ‘remembering right’ nonsense. It’d hardly been 30 minutes since it all happened and he’d barely seen anything according to his own story). Instead, he’d waited until the conversation had neared its conclusion, when Miles and Charis were about to make their rounds. As if he were trying to prevent it…

“Mr. Notte… I apologize. You are absolutely correct,” Miles said to the shock of everyone present - except for Notte, who looked smug at the affirmation. “You merely wished to offer to aid to the situation.”

Alright, what are you up to? Phoenix asked once the initial surprise had worn off.

“Mr. Charis? I believe we should call off that patrol and wait for the arrival of the local authorities, as your partner suggested. There’s little point in investigating when the suspect is already here.” He glanced over to Sila, who made an exasperated motion that said in every way but words ‘Now you listen to me?’ Charis only sighed his relief at not having to do part of his job.

Notte’s face lit up and Miles felt his suspicions being confirmed. “Happy to be of assistance. Aren’t you glad I just saved you all that trouble? Now,” He pulled a phone from his pocket and quickly checked the screen, “it’s very late and I’m going to regret it if I stay up much longer. But I expect full updates later.” He began to back away, pointing finger guns at the ensemble.

“Hold it!” Miles called out. “Why not get your update tonight? You need to speak with the police when they arrive just as much as anyone else here. You are a valued witness after all,” Miles said, trying oh so hard to keep the smirk out of his voice.

“Erm… I guess I am,” he replied, a little less confident. “But don’t I actually have to wait, do I? Can’t you just call me when they get here?”

“They could arrive any moment,” Miles reasoned. “Seems a waste to return to your room only to be summoned right back.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’ll still be a while.” His bravado was continuing to fade, tripped up by his own ploy. “I could get a quick nap in or… or work on my assignment! Those programs aren’t going to write themselves!” he practically shouted when his eyes dropped to the bag on his shoulder while looking for excuses.

Miles raised a brow. “By your own admission you work better in this environment.”

“Yeah, well… the atmosphere’s a little tenser in here than usual. I think I’m just better off leaving.”

“So you can finish what you started?"

Once again Notte froze in his tracks, a few steps closer to the lobby’s exit. “I did say I might work on my assignment,” he answered innocently.

“So you did, but which assignment? The one on your laptop… or the one that lead you to steal into my room in the middle of the night?”

Sila said something and it took Charis a moment to remember himself and translate for her. “‘I thought we agreed that Mr. Drinker did it?’"

“We agreed to wait for the police, as the culprit was already present. And that culprit is you, Argo Notte!” he proclaimed, pointing.

“How can you suspect me when I was just trying to help?!” he demanded. “Are prosecutors always this ungrateful?”

“The only person you sought to help was yourself by hindering our movements. You obviously didn’t get what you were looking for tonight so you thought to try one more, but first you had to make sure we would stay put so you wouldn’t get caught in the act again.”

“Oh? You think you figured it out?” Notte challenged. “What was I after then? I’ve got no reason to steal from you.”

Money? Phoenix suggested. He is a student.

European students typically aren’t as concerned with loan debt.
Besides, Miles didn’t think he’d been broadcasting himself as especially well-off. No more than any of the other hotel guests certainly - of which Notte counted himself amongst the ranks of. If he was spending his days in a relatively fancy hotel, he probably wasn’t desperate for funds.

“That… I’m still working on.” This had definitely been a targeted attack - random burglaries tended to favor locations on lower floors or near escape routes like elevators. Their room, 5th floor and relatively central on the overall map, did not check either of those boxes. Yet Miles was a stranger to this country so he could fathom no motive for Notte, or anyone, to target him.

Notte let out a haughty laugh. “What was all that you said before? About evidence and assumptions? At least they have that note on Drinker, you’ve got nothing!”

The note. Their only concrete piece of evidence, as indecipherable as it was. Currently all they had was vague illusions to what sounded like the beginning of a myth and, weak a connection as it was, Drinker’s tattoo was the closest thing they had.

Miles’ own, far more sentient, tattoo was fidgeting as he thought. He could feel him slithering around from his shoulders to lower back as he paced the small expanse he was currently limited to, letting the occasional unfinished thought leak out between their bond.

Slithering… like a snake…

Eureka.

Phoenix, get into position.

Huh, why?
he asked, already complying.

“There likely is no motive regarding me,” Miles said. Once he felt Phoenix was in place, he began to roll up the right sleeve of his sweater. “Perhaps then, the target was another.”

“Oh, you’ve got a tattoo, too. It’s a… bird?” Charis asked, leaning in closer to inspect.

“Phoenix,” he clarified.

“Ah. It’s very pretty.”

“‘But what’s that got to do with anything besides you showing off?’” Sila asked with a frustrated growl. “‘No one said anything about birds!’”

“Oh! Maybe it has to do with the other part of the note we could read. The rock egg. Do phoenixes hatch from rocks?"

Miles didn’t need a translation to guess Sila had just answered him with a curt ‘No.’

“Wait, back up there,” said Drinker, entering the conversation. “Did you say rock egg? Like an egg made out of rock?”
 
“Yes. Does that mean anything to you?” Miles asked.

“Would a fossilized dinosaur egg fit that description? Because I have one in my suitcase.” He flinched when Sila exclaimed in his ear. “I’m a paleontologist, that’s why. I found it on a recent dig and brought it over to my… colleague to check out, since he has the better lab equipment.”

Charis furrowed his brow, looking at Drinker’s arm now. “Then why a snake? Why not a dinosaur?”

He shrugged. “I like snakes. I also study herpetology on the side.”

“Thank you, Mr. Drinker.” As he spoke, Miles could feel the smirk playing along his lips. “That is exactly the sort of confirmation I needed. I was never the intended victim of this crime. You were.”

“Me?!” the man sputtered.

“I would like to refer back to the note we found and what we can still read of it. The hotel name is self explanatory. The egg, then, is what they’d intended to steal.” It may have also accounted for why the door had been inexplicably left open. Depending on the size and weight of this egg, it might have been quicker and easier to kick out the door stop upon escape if his arms were going to be occupied. “The ‘snake’, however, was assumed to be the recipient of this memo, but in reality it is an identifier for the real target. Were it not so smudged it would probably say something akin to ‘snake tattoo on arm’. Somewhere along the line I must have been falsely identified as Mr. Drinker.”

“What, because you’ve got a bird on your arm?” Notte sniped. “You just said they were looking for a snake. That goes against your whole argument.”

“You would think so at first, but I remembered a conversation I had with a woman the other day. You see, at first, she thought my phoenix was a serpent. It was the coloration that made her second guess. Someone who then couldn’t factor in the color might go with their first guess.”

Wait, so it was me? I was the snake all along?!

Miles rolled his sleeve down, allowing Phoenix move around once more. Unintentionally, but yes. I believe that’s how the mixup came to be. “This also adds some context to Mr. Notte’s placement in the lobby. He wasn’t here to work on an assignment, but rather to stake out his target. He was watching people come and go, looking for you - or looking for someone with a snake tattoo at the very least.” Miles didn’t think he and Drinker looked particularly similar (unless Notte’s colorblindness muddled some of their other differences as well), but he may have been more focused on his arm than his face.

“Wouldn’t have done him much good,” Drinker said. “Between the jet lag and the research paper I have to write regarding that egg, I haven’t left my room much.”

Which would have made Notte even quicker to latch onto the first person who matched any of his descriptors. Now Miles was convinced he must not have gotten a good look at his face. “Once he’d incorrectly identified me it was only a matter of discovering which room I was staying in. He probably tailed me returning at some point.”

While most people favored the elevators, Miles did know there were a few times he had not been alone in taking the stairwell. It was simply another method of traversal between floors, not his own private route.

I bet he was also watching the lobby to see when you would’ve been out of the room so he could sneak in, Phoenix added.

As the rest of the puzzle began to slot into place he turned to Notte. “You saw Drinker, your real target, in the lobby when he went to ask for directions and realized it was your opportunity to enact your heist. You must have waited a while to make sure he was actually working out, then snuck up to what you thought was his room. Only, it wasn’t as empty as you expected it to be.”

That’s why I heard muttering! He was probably just thinking aloud and figured it didn’t matter because no one was supposed to be there.

Miles nodded. “You then scurried back to this lobby - probably to regroup after that failure. When Mr. Drinker was accused an opportunity arose. Not only could you pin your crime on your intended target, but with him out of the way there’d be nothing stopping you from getting what you came for. Did I get that right?”

“Everything but the part where I didn’t do it!” Notte protested, his previous bravado all but lost in the face of accusation. “And you can’t prove it! I’m a computer science student, what would I want with some dumb dinosaur egg? How would I even know he had that?”

“Kope.” It was Drinker who chose to answer, drawing the focus back on him. “There’s only one person who knew I had that fossil here and it was Élos Kope - the colleague I’m here to see. Although ‘bitter rival’ is probably more accurate. We’ve sabotaged each other’s research more times than I care to admit.”

“And you think this Kope is involved somehow?”

“Gotta be. He’s a university professor here and getting one of his students to steal my findings is exactly the type of crap he’d pull. Never did like doing his own dirty work.” Drinker scowled in Notte’s direction. “So, kid, what’d he offer you? Money? Full marks in his class? A footnote in his next journal publication?”

“Nothing,” he challenged. “I’ve never heard of this person before.”

The scowl turned pitying. “You know we can just look up student records, right? I’m sure the cops’ll be happy to do it whenever they bother to get here.”

Notte’s brow began to sweat. “That still won’t prove anything!” he insisted. “Maybe I’m in one of his classes. So are 100 other students. It’s a coincidence. You can’t charge me on a coincidence.”

“She was ready to charge me on a coincidence!” Drinker protested, pointing at Sila.

She shrugged. “‘Made sense at the time. Still does.’” Her suspicious gaze hadn’t left Drinker entirely, but glances were being stolen Notte’s way now.

“No, I admit that without evidence it’s only a guess at this point, but,” he quickly continued before Notte started getting cocky again, “there is enough plausibility behind it to warrant a thorough investigation by the proper authorities.”

Miles knew he could leave it there. As someone who was technically the victim in this case, he’d already done far more than his role had required. It was up to the police from here to find the case-making evidence the prosecution would need when this was brought to court.

And yet he also knew he wouldn’t be able to rest while there was still one major question left unanswered; How had Notte gained access to his room in the first place? If he could solve that, then maybe it would lead them to that final missing piece that would solidify Notte’s guilt.

Miles gathered everything he knew. His door had been, seemingly, untampered with. His own key still unlocked it as it should and it was visibly undamaged. The locking mechanism was also powered by chip-reading technology, so there was no tumbler to be picked. Logically, the only way for him to have entered was if the door had simply unlocked for him.

“I have one more question.” He turned to the security guards. “There has to be some form of master key for the building, correct?” Housekeeping had to get into occupied rooms somehow after all.

“A few,” Charis answered. “And I think I know where what you’re getting at, but I already checked. All of them are where they should be.”

“‘One did go missing, temporarily, a few days ago,’” Sila said. “‘We don’t know who lost it, but it got turned into lost and found maybe… an hour after housekeeping had finished their rounds?’”

“Still coincidence,” he snapped. “I obviously don’t have it now, do I? When it matters.”

“Then you won’t mind us inspecting your room card, would you?” Miles said.

“W-what?” He grabbed at his bag, angling it away from the prosecutor. “Why? You just established it’s not one of the master keys.”

“I wasn’t expecting it to be, but I do wonder if it might hold the capabilities of one.” Notte needed to be able to pull off his heist at moment’s notice - he couldn’t guarantee his ability to swipe the key and the egg in one fell swoop. That meant his entry method had to be prepared in advance. Stealing a master key for any extended period of time was not an option if he didn’t want security on high alert.

Like a copy? You think he might have brought it to a locksmith, Phoenix pondered …can they do that for keycards?

I don’t see why not.
Trades tended to evolve with the technology, so a locksmith would still be the go-to, even if the lock in question was electronic. They’d just need to employ people with programming and engineering backgrounds. Although… he might not have needed to.

Huh?

“You have mentioned programming several times and, while I made no claims to understand the intricacies of electronic locking mechanisms, exploiting that system might be within your skillset.”

“Don’t you think that’s a bit… advanced for me?” he said with a nervous chuckle. “I’m still just a student after all.”

“We’ll be the judge of that.” Miles held out his hand. “Your card, if you will.”

And Notte, having found himself all out of excuses, did what any reasonable person would do in such a situation.

He bolted.

Or he tried to anyway, before he was stopped by a rather unexpected force. Charis, with reflexes that completely contrasted all his previous lethargy, launched from his position and firmly clamped his fingers around Notte’s wrist. He jerked to a sudden stop, unable to free himself from the guard’s grip.

With a sigh of defeat, he stopped resisting. “Fine. It was me.”

The note was something he’d written when he’d first been given the task, hurriedly scribbling out the relevant details he’d need. In full it listed the location, the target (he’d written rock egg rather than fossil just to remind himself he wasn’t looking for bones), a few quick ways to ID Drinker, as well as the estimated deadline before Drinker left the country. On his first day he’d stolen a master key and used his coding skills to copy its signal to his room card, all in prep for his heist. He’d then established a lookout station in the lobby. It was only by chance he’d even seen Miles - there had only been one day he’d gone out with Phoenix visible and Notte had caught him when he was returning. He followed at a distance so as not to be noticed, never seeing him from the front. At the fifth floor, he lingered in the doorway to the stairs until Miles disappeared into his room. He wrote down the number and then, knowing where he needed to go when the time came, it was only a matter of waiting for that opportunity.

“I wasn’t even expecting to do it tonight. I came out here earlier to watch, but I also do have an assignment to work on. I got a little too focused on that and lost track of the time. Are you all satisfied?” There was a small collection of nods. “Good, cause I have a question for you now.” With the arm that wasn’t being held, Notte pointed at Miles. “What the hell was in your room?!”

Uh-oh… Guess he did see me.

“What was what?” Miles asked, feigning ignorance. It wouldn’t do to react just yet as they still didn’t know how much he’d actually seen.

“That… thing! I saw something moving in the dark, but it darted away from my flashlight last minute. And don’t say it was you, that shadow was too small to be a person!”

Good, so he hadn’t gotten a good glimpse. Miles shook his head. “I feel it may have been just that - shadows. Flashlights do tend to make odd shapes in the darkness.”

Notte looked skeptical. “But it made a noise! A-a screeching sound! And I thought I saw wings!”

Phoenix fidgeted nervously, but Miles still had explanations to give. “The sound was me. I bumped a chair in the darkness when I was awoken by your movements. It dragged along the floor. As for the wings…” He paused, Phoenix grumbling a mild complaint at being compared to a squeaky chair (Again. It wasn’t the first time Miles had made that connection), to think if there was something else in the room he could compare the firebird to. The answer nearly slapped him in the face with how obvious it was. “Did you happen to notice a statue in the room?”

“A statue? No.”

Perfect. “It was an impulse purchase,” Miles said - one that he was now very glad he’d made, “but there is currently a replica of a phoenix in my hotel room, wings aloft. Might you have briefly cast your light upon it, causing the shadow of its wings to glide across the room?”

“I saw that!” Charis piped in to corroborate the tale. “Matched your tattoo.”

I barely resemble that statue, Phoenix huffed.

“So it was just shadows,” Notte replied after taking a moment to think it over, sounding oddly relieved to have been proven wrong. “No creatures or… baby dinosaurs lurking in the night…”

Drinker gave him a startled look. “Did you think the egg hatched?”

“I didn’t know what to think, okay!” he snapped, at which Drinker loudly laughed.

“‘If we’re finally done here,’” Sila interrupted, her head nodding towards the lobby’s main doors, which were currently being flooded with blue light. “‘It looks like the authorities have arrived.’”



The officers were given a brief rundown of the current situation and Notte passed into their custody. A brief search located the offending card within his laptop bag, which was given to one of the officers for testing. Sila offered to accompany them in confirming the security breach.

“He forced me to do it,” Notte sniveled, once the night’s events had been fully recounted for the remaining officer to record. “Professor Kope. If I could get that fossil he said he wouldn’t turn me in for something else I did.”

So it was blackmail, was it? Miles had certainly seen a lot of that recently. “And what exactly did you do?”

Notte made a nervous glance over to the police officer writing in a notepad and leaned a little closer to the two men. “Let’s just say your room wasn’t my first break-in.”

“Sounds like ole Kope, all right.” His stern expression then softened. “Sorry, kid, but I don’t think he would’ve let you off the hook then. So long as he’s got something on you, you’re his minion.”

“A lovely individual you’ve chosen to associate with,” Miles remarked, side-eying Drinker.

His arms folded across his chest. “He’s a brilliant paleontologist, ruthless as he is. I’ll admit I’m no saint either - we’re similar in that regard - but he was always far more willing to get others involved in this game of ours.”

Notte only seemed to shrink down more on himself. Without all his posturing, he looked like a completely different person. “So basically, no matter how this night ended, I was screwed.”

Drinker made a contemplative hum, then turned to Miles. “Hey, Edgeworth, right? You’re a prosecutor. Can’t people make deals with the police for lighter sentences in exchange for information?”

“It depends on the situation, but yes. That does happen.”

He grinned, clapping a hand on Notte’s shoulder. “Then you’re gonna get Kope charged for masterminding this whole scheme and hopefully a lighter slap on the wrist for it. I’ll even help you make sure he doesn’t get away.”

Notte’s eyes were wide. “But why? After everything I did?”

“Wasn’t personal. Plus I feel kind of responsible. You shouldn’t have been caught up in our stupid rivalry.” His grin then turned wicked. “It’s just a bonus that I’ll get to see that bastard knocked down a few pegs.”

Miles took a step back as the two moved over to the officer to discuss future plans. This insane night wouldn’t be over until the police finished up and dismissed the involved parties, but with the brunt of it past he finally had a chance to take a breather.

So… that’s really it then, Phoenix said after a moment of silence.

Were you expecting something else?

Not really? I guess I’m just used to cases involving murders. Feels weird that nobody’s dead for once.

Miles pursed his lips, opting not to reply. Had Notte’s intention been to murder Drinker then, given how events had actually played out, they would have had an answer for Phoenix’s immortality queries.

He tried not to think about it.

When the other officer returned with Sila (the results of the card test were positive - it’d opened every door they’d tried), the two of them regrouped. They gathered contact information from all the relevant individuals before they left, taking Notte along with them. With the excitement over, the small audience that had amassed in the lobby dispersed.

Those remaining briefly acknowledged each other before going their separate ways, Sila and Charis returning to their stations while Miles and Drinker retired to their rooms. He’d soon be seeing them again, if not in the hotel, then when Notte’s fate was ultimately decided.

Five flights of stairs, a latched door (just to be safe) and a change of clothes later, Miles was settling back into his bed. Phoenix sat at the foot of it, trying to feign a nonchalance that their empathy bond was not allowing for.

Miles rolled his eyes and shut off the bedside lamp, dousing the room in darkness. “Nothing else is going to happen. Now, go to sleep. I can feel you worrying.” He nudged him with his foot for good measure.

“You’re telling me to sleep?” Phoenix said with mock outrage. “Who are you and where’s the real Miles Edgeworth?”

“On vacation,” Miles mumbled partially into a pillow as he looked at the beside clock. It was well into the 3:00 hour at this point. “He may even sleep in for once.” A night like this certainly warranted it.

Phoenix laughed softly at that. He hadn’t moved from the end of the bed, but that anxious energy was subsiding.

“Sleep,” Miles once more bid before he shut his eyes and willed his own body to succumb to it.

Only just barely did he register the rustle of movement against sheets or the warmth that had settled near his side before drifting off into a dreamless slumber.

Notes:

Got this chapter done later than I would have liked - I was not expecting it to be as long as it was (especially since this is kind of taking the place of a tutorial case)!

On the names, as they are all dumb and I love them:

Sila and Charis (Last names? First names? Who knows) - Scylla and Charybdis, two sea hazards that adventurers in Greek myth have to sail through. One famous example being Jason and his Argonauts. 'Argo Notte' here managed to get past their security.

The paleontologists are a reference to the Bone Wars between Edward Drinker Cope and Othniel Charles Marsh. Much like how a lot of fossils got mixed and matched during their competition, their names are a mashup of the two men's. Kope's was altered to look more Greek by switching the 'c' to a 'k' and Google translate states Élos is Greek for Marsh (I hope anyway, though it's an AA name, so I think I'm allowed some leeway).

Chapter 28

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Phoenix was acting odd.

Normally that statement wouldn’t account for much - ignoring the obvious, Phoenix was already a bizarre individual - but his behavior had grown weird by even his standards.

It had started with a declined offer to sight-see. Currently, Miles was playing a waiting game; Argo Notte’s case was on hold while they gathered evidence against the real mastermind of the heist. So, aside from prowling the courthouse or aiding the investigation (something he was content to leave to authorities and those familiar with Élos Kope), Miles had little available to him in this state of legal limbo aside from the sprawling Mediterranean countryside waiting to be explored.

As it was a relatively nice day, Miles offered up a bare arm to the firebird before heading out. Phoenix was at his elbow, nearly in position, when he swiftly changed his mind, darting up and around Miles’ shoulder while telling him not to worry about it.

Which he did, in the moment. He wasn’t picking up any worrisome emotions from their empathic link and the whole arrangement was for Phoenix’s benefit after all. If he wasn’t up for it, Miles wouldn’t push the issue. He had been under a fair bit of scrutiny recently - far more than he was typically used to. He probably just needed to be out of sight for a bit.

The theory held until he forfeited an argument in favor of staying hidden.

It was the next day and the argument hadn’t been over anything of substance. Miles had made a passing comment about a ladder, which Phoenix had automatically corrected to step-ladder despite having no visual reference. Miles didn’t care about the semantics (because they absolutely did not matter), but he did take issue with Phoenix literally making a blind argument. He could at least look at the blasted thing before insisting he was right, and Miles told him as such. However, instead of rising to the challenge, the firebird conceded to the possibility that Miles was the correct one and changed the subject.

If he wasn’t even willing to be visible for a few seconds, then something deeper was going on. Miles decided not to bring it up right away, but now he was paying attention, speculating where the issue truly lay.

When they visited the courthouse, as his contact had finally gotten back to him, Miles also noted Phoenix was being quieter than usual. Past instance of their foreign legal sessions featured commentary on what they were learning from the defense’s perspective, but he’d barely spoken throughout the meeting. It was an introspective quiet - the kind he got during cases when he was deep in thought.

Miles connected the points of logic on his behavior; staying out of sight, the introspectiveness, and all prompted by the incident in the hotel. He was overthinking something that happened that night and Miles could only sigh at where his suspicions were leading him.



“Talk.”

Phoenix nearly leapt out of his skin as Miles very suddenly slammed a hand down on the table between them. Over the top of his computer he’d been watching the firebird stare blankly at the open pages of a book that hadn’t been turned in at least fifteen minutes.

He’d hoped Phoenix would snap out of this funk on his own, but enough was enough. It was time to intervene.

“What was that for?!” the firebird whined, now considerably fluffier. He looked mournfully down at his book, which a flailing wing had sent careening to the ground. “Now I’ve lost my page.”

“You’ll find it again,” Miles said, unsympathetic. “Now talk.”

“Ugh, but that’ll take forever. Do you know how hard it is to leaf through pages with a beak?”

Miles crossed his arms, tapping a finger impatiently. “Phoenix.”

The firebird rolled his eyes. “About what?” he asked, stretching down to retrieve his book.

“You know what about. You have been sulking about ever since that incident.”

“I’m not sulking, I’m…” he paused, probably to run through the list of excuses he’d been feeding to Miles for the better part of a week now.

“Throwing yourself a pity party?” Miles finished for him. “Honestly Phoenix, how long were you expecting to carry on with this nonsense?”

Phoenix winced, causing Miles to reign himself in. Perhaps his direct measure was a bit too direct.

“You are clearly going through something, stop attempting to convince me otherwise. Do you really-“ Miles cut himself off, catching the accusatory tone he was slipping into. This was Phoenix, not a troublesome witness (though still troublesome in his own right). The firebird tilted his head inquiringly at the pause, and Miles sighed. “You are far better at these… emotional matters than I.”

“Hey, you’re still unlearning years of whatever that jerk did to you. I kinda suspect von Karma wasn’t too big on touchy-feeling things.” Miles snorted. That was an understatement if he’d ever heard one. “And you're not nearly as closed off as you used to be.”

“Well, I have you to thank for that, so at least afford me the opportunity to try and return the favor.”

Phoenix was mulling it over. “…it sounds like you might have already figured it out.”

“I have a theory,” Miles confirmed, “but I want to hear it in your words so I can tell you how absurd you’re being.”

“Absurd?!” Phoenix hopped to his feet. “You got targeted Miles!”

“It’s not the first time,” Miles said, recalling many threats he’d received over the course of his career. Desperate ploys to keep cases from going to trial or to get him to forfeit. “It’s not even the first time since we’ve been together.”

“But this wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for me. Don’t you think it might be better for me to just stay out of sight for a while?”

“No,” he bluntly replied, “unless you really expect that incredibly specific situation to arise again.

“I’m being cautious,” he protested. “You’re the one who complains I don’t do that enough.”

“I say that in reference to your own safety, of which you have worryingly little regard for at times. However, I will offer you this much. The next time I get caught up in some fiasco because an individual with red-green colorblindness was looking for a man with a snake tattoo, I will admit you were right.”

Phoenix huffed. “Well it sounds stupid when you say it like that.”

“Because it is stupid. Hold on, I’m not finished,” he added as Phoenix poised to interrupt. “Yes, this probably wouldn’t have happened if you‘d been out of sight. It also wouldn’t had Notte not been colorblind, or bothered to look at my face even once. Or if Drinker had chosen a different hotel in the first place. Or if nearly every odd that could have been against us wasn’t, so stop insisting you need to punish yourself because of poor happenstance.”

Phoenix exhaled all the air from his lungs, his entire body drooping from the act. “I’m still sorry.”

Miles tutted. “Did you facilitate the room being broken into?”

“What, no! Obviously not!”

“Then you shouldn’t be apologizing for something you didn’t do,” Miles said matter-of-factly, picking his laptop back up to give the firebird time to think on it.

“Miles… you…”

He looked back up. Phoenix was staring at him, beak slightly open and eyes wide. The prosecutor frowned. “I…?”

Phoenix shook his head. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Miles rolled his eyes at him, hiding a small smirk behind his screen as, grumbling, the firebird started searching for his lost page. He watched long enough for Phoenix to find it and determine that he was, probably, actually reading this time. Miles turned back to his work, content that, if not successful, it was at least a step in the right direction.



The next time Miles offered an exposed forearm to him, Phoenix accepted, gradually forgetting any residual concerns over the arrangement as he got himself lost in the sights of city life, making up for lost time.

Miles listened to him excitedly chatter with a fond shake of his head, checking their surroundings to make sure they were still heading in the correct direction. They’d not previously ventured to this part of the city, but there was something in particular that Miles had wanted to visit - just not while his companion had been in that funk.

His companion, meanwhile, hadn’t seemed to pick up that there was a specific destination to their travels, content to be along for the ride. Miles continued on at a determined pace until his goal finally came into view.

Are we at the beach?! the firebird gasped.

Miles chuckled at the reaction as he approached the boundary between sand and pavement. He paused to remove his shoes and socks, lest they become riddled with sand, and stepped onto the beach proper. It seemed a shame to come to Greece and not experience the Mediterranean up close… though the weather could be more desirable. While there was no threat of rain, the sky was particularly overcast, nearly blotting out the sun entirely.

Hey, a beach day is still a beach day, Phoenix optimistically pointed out. Unless you were hoping to work on your tan.

Miles started to point out that, even if he’d wanted to, he hadn’t brought any supplies for that sort of thing, before realizing the firebird was most likely teasing him.

You know, I actually was, Miles then replied, in the flatest tone he could manage. I was going to test whether or not if I’d get a tan line shaped like your head.

…would you? Phoenix asked, going quiet as he thought about it.

Miles let him mull that over as he walked closer to the shore line, dodging around a group of vacationing teenagers who were tossing a frisbee amongst themselves. A plus side to the poor weather was that there weren’t too many people out so, walking parallel to the waves, he set about to find a less occupied area.

I think you’re putting too much faith in my ability to stay completely still long enough for a tan line to even occur.

Miles had to pause at the abruptness of the statement. Phoenix, I had to have said that ten minutes ago. Have you been thinking about it this whole time?

…maybe.

No wonder he’d been so quiet. He’d just assumed Phoenix was taking in the sights.

Miles let out a sigh and took a seat on a nearby rock, far enough from the water that it was untouched by the tides. His stroll had brought them to a rocky portion of the beach, just at the base of the overlooking cliffs.

Just look at the view, you ridiculous firebird, Miles told him, arms crossed in front of his chest in a way that would allow him to do so.

I am! It’s beautiful! But - no never mind.

What?

It’s dumb, I’m fine. I shouldn’t be thinking like that anyway, all things considered.

Miles pressed fingers to his temple. Just spit it out.

Well, what if I was viewing from a more… 3-dimensional perspective?

He jerked his head down in surprise, meeting Phoenix’s eye. You want to come out here?

See, like I said, it was dumb,
he very quickly replied, almost hysterical. It’s fine. This is fine. Forget I said anything.

With a frown, Miles scanned their surroundings. They were very much alone where they were and the long stretches of empty beach meant plenty of forewarning should anyone approach.

Just… stay close.

I- Phoenix blinked slowly. Really? Are you sure?

He wasn’t, but Miles nodded anyway. The symbiont didn’t get many opportunities to be outside, they should take this one while they could.

Phoenix didn’t immediately come out into the open, first slowly sliding further down his arms - as if to test the proverbial waters. It was another moment before he detached himself, landing in the sand with a small flutter. He gently padded his feet around, feeling the way the sand shifted between his talons. His eyes fell shut as he tilted his head back, breathing in a lungful of that crisp sea air.

Then he released it all in a boisterous laugh that nearly startled Miles off of his rock.

“Glad you’re having fun,” the prosecutor commented, readjusting.

“You never get the full experience as a tattoo,” Phoenix stated as he came down from his high. He stretched his wings out to the fullest, letting the breeze ruffle through his primaries. He flapped them a few times, nothing strong enough to give any lift, before folding them back.  “Limited field of vision for one. Less room to move around too.”

As he spoke, Phoenix was wandering about their little expanse of beach, steadily getting further and further.

“I just told you to stay close!” Mils futilely called after him, the firebird continuing to totter away. He rolled his eyes in an exaggerated arc before standing to go after him. Thankfully it only took a few strides to match his ambling pace.

Phoenix came to a stop when Miles appeared at his side and started to look up to address him, but he was quickly distracted. The waves had lapped up to where they were standing, splashing at the soles of their feet. Miles moved to higher ground, but as the water began to recede, Phoenix began to follow.

Miles put on his best unimpressed expression. “If you get in that water I’m not taking you back.” He wasn’t especially in the mood to deal with a wet bird. His tail feathers, which normally dragged behind him, were already soaked.

Phoenix turned around, challenge sparking in his features. Making full eye contact with Miles he began to step backwards into the sea until the water level reached his knees, lapping at the bottom edges of his leg feathers. Wings were back out as he stared on defiantly. Miles started to call back out, but no sooner as the first syllable of his name had left his lips, Phoenix was falling backwards into the spray.

“Cold! Coldcoldcoldcold!” he squawked, immediately resurfacing to frantically flap back to the beach.

“What did you expect?” Miles asked, smug, going back to sit upon the rock.

“It to be warmer obviously!” Phoenix said as he plopped down nearby. He slowly lifted one wing, heavy with water, and gave it a half-hearted shake. Drenched as he was, his feathers clung tight to his body, making him look much lankier than he normally did. He stood again, bracing himself with his head low to the ground, wings partially opened.

Miles’ eyes widened slightly. “Oh no, don’t you dare-“ he said, too late as Phoenix shook himself off, showering Miles in droplets of salt water. The prosecutor threw up an arm to shield himself to the best of his abilities, glaring at the symbiont from under his forearm.

“Oh it’s just water, you’ll be fine,” Phoenix said, feathers no longer flattened to instead stick out in every possible angle. He folded in on himself, shivering a little.

Miles raised an eyebrow at him. “That bad?”

“I’m a phoenix, not a penguin,” he chattered, hopping up onto the rock to crowd into Miles’ space - probably looking to leech off his body heat. Even though he was always warm to the touch, that warmth, as Miles had slowly learned, was of little benefit to himself. He had absolutely zero tolerance to the cold.

“And you should have considered that before getting in the water. Now stop that, you’ll get my clothes wetter than you already have.”

“Not if I do this.” He pressed his head to Miles’ forearm and slipped back into 2-dimensional form, leaving a patch of water and sand in his wake. Phoenix made his way up and around his shoulder, reemerging on the other side completely dry - if still a little unkempt - and looking incredibly pleased with himself. “If it’s not part of me, it doesn’t come with."

“Fascinating,” Miles said, shaking off his arm. It was, to be fair, but he was little too irked to appreciate it at the moment.

Another shudder ran through Phoenix’s body (dry didn’t mean warm just yet), and he pressed against Miles again while he tried to get himself presentable again. Miles shifted back into a comfortable position as they sat together, listening to the crash of the waves.

“So, what are our plans going forward?” Phoenix asked after a little while.

Miles thought about it. “I’m not sure yet.” He’d gotten word back that Notte’s - and by extension, Kope’s - trial would be taking place in two days. It was unsure how long it would stretch on for, but afterwards their business in Greece would be concluded. “I worry that the language barrier might get more difficult the further east we go, so perhaps it’s time to start heading back westward. Italy’s close - maybe we’ll start with different region there.”

“What about Germany? As far as language goes, you are fluent.”

“We don’t need to go to Germany,” Miles quickly answered. Too quickly, if Phoenix’s reaction was any indicator. “The point of this trip is to learn from other legal systems and practitioners. I’m already very familiar with how German courts conduct themselves.”

“Just that, huh? No other reason.”

Miles sighed, knowing he should get it over with before Phoenix nagged the truth out of him. “Unlike these other countries, I have connections in Germany who are probably aware of von Karma’s downfall.” The man was renowned state side, but he was practically a legend in his home country. “I’d rather not risk encountering any of them.”

His head tilted to one side. “Not even your sis-“

Especially not her.” Miles cut him off with a finger on his beak. Her reaction was the one he dreaded most.

Phoenix had only heard vague mentions of Franziska von Karma, daughter of his former mentor, from the few times Miles had been willing to divulge scraps of his childhood. Enough to know she existed. The two had been raised together and, while von Karma had never framed their relationship as anything more than student-teacher, Franziska had been quick to adopt him as her little brother - despite being the younger by 7 years.

Still, regardless of how companionable the bond they’d forged throughout their years together was, Franziska had always been extremely proud of her father and her family name. He had no idea how she’d respond to his presence in the wake of the major development.

Given the rather… violent… way she tended to cope with her emotions, probably not well.

Phoenix looked up at him with sad eyes, so he continued. “It’s not that I don’t wish to see her, but I’m still coming to terms with all that’s happened. I’m not ready to face her, especially if her response is as negative as I fear it may be.”

The firebird turned his head back to the sea, leaning more firmly against Miles. “I was scared Maya would blame me for not protecting Mia. Not exactly the same kind of situation… but, I get it.”

“Enough to not pester me about it?” Miles asked.

“Maybe.”

“…I’ll take what I can get,” he said, glancing up at the sky. It was still overcast, but the bits of sky that were managing to slip through the cracks were tinged orange. “It’s getting late, are you ready to head back?”

“One second.” Phoenix hopped off the rock and stretched his wings out again, letting them hang open. Then, with a strong flap, he pushed off into the air. He flew only a few feet above Miles’ head, gracefully circling downwards before coming to a landing on his shoulder. He ducked under the prosecutor’s shirt collar, traveling downwards until settling once more on his forearm. Now I’m ready.

Miles shook his head at the theatrics as he stood, taking a moment to brush off excess sand from his clothing before scooping his shoes back up. He turned his side to the sea, starting their trek back from whence they came before the sun abandoned them entirely.



The trial ended without much fanfare, much to the apparent dismay of Charles Drinker.

“Can you believe Kope is getting out of this scot-free?!”

The two were in the hallway just outside the prosecutor’s lobby, having being called in as witnesses to the case. Miles had decided to hang back a bit, at least until everything was assuredly wrapped up, where Drinker had spotted him and evidently decided he’d be perfect to lend an ear to his venting.

Miles rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t call a €25,000 fine ‘scot-free’. Additionally, provided the university that employs him has any kind of standards, they won’t continue to associate with someone who is willing to blackmail the student body.”

“You have a point, but,” Drinker clapped his hands together and then pointed them at Miles, “counterpoint. I don’t think it’s enough of a punishment.”

Miles walked away.

“Hey! Come on!” he called out, catching Miles with a heavy clasp on the shoulder (where Phoenix had, unfortunately, been chilling. He grumbled and switched sides). “Hear me out. You don’t think he should be getting jail time or something?”

“What I think, Mr. Drinker,” Miles said, removing his hand, “is that you have a personal vendetta. The judge and jury have made their decision. If you have grievances, bring it up with them, not me.”

Drinker paused to consider his options. “Maybe I’ll just go make sure the university upholds their standards. Planned to be here for a least another week anyway.”

“You do that,” he replied with a sigh, as Drinker went on to describe his plans.

Thankfully this was interrupted by the arrival of Argo Notte, accompanied by the bailiff. He was also there as a witness, as Notte had settled his case completely out of court with a guilty plea in exchange for his cooperation in apprehending Kope. Since Miles had no interest in pressing charges against a student in over his head (and the hotel wasn’t going to raise a fuss if he wasn’t), his sentence was to be carried out in community service.

“Hey kid, how’re you holding up?” Drinker asked.

Notte blinked, surprised he was being addressed, and looked at the bailiff, who gave a quick nod to indicate they had time to chat.

“Fine, I guess. They’re still deciding what my service is going to be.”

“Shouldn’t be too bad, since you’re kind of a victim in this too.”

You know, did we ever establish why he was being blackmailed?

…I don’t believe we did, Miles realized and went ahead and asked him.

Notte’s shoulders slumped. “I was set to graduate this year - unless I failed the biology core class that Professor Kope teaches. Which I was… or, am, I guess. So I decided I could just… hack his computer and change a few grades, just enough to barely pass. He has hundreds of students, he’d never notice.”

“Except he did, obviously,” Miles pointed out.

“In my defense, it was after office hours and I thought he’d left for the day. He walked right in and caught me red-handed.”

Wow. He’s really not good at timing this breaking-and-entering stuff, is he?

If only more criminals could be so incompetent. It’d make my job much easier.


“He was holding that over me for a month,” Notte continued, “waiting for something to come up. Then you showed up with that egg. Speaking of, what was so special about that egg anyway?”

“You mean he didn’t tell you?” he asked, groaning when Notte shook his head. “Typical. Well, that egg has an embryo inside it! Do you how rare it is to find that - especially in a condition to study?!”

“I take it very,” Miles said, judging from the man’s sudden enthusiasm.

Notte blanched. “So there actually is a baby dinosaur…?”

“It’s still fos- did you have a traumatic experience with Jurassic Park as a kid? Why are you like this?”

“These are stressful days!”

Drinker gave Miles a side-long look, as if to say ‘Can you believe this guy?’ “Alright,” he tossed an arm around the young man's shoulder, guiding him back to the bailiff, “I’m going to have a very long chat with you about how fossilization works - yeesh, no wonder you’re flunking biology.”

“I shall leave you two gentlemen to that discussion,” Miles said. Matters seemed to have come to a sufficient enough end that it was probably best if he made his leave as well.

“Oh, hey, before you go. Thanks again for your help, Mr. Edgeworth. You definitely didn’t have to, but I don’t want to think about what might’ve happened if you hadn’t accidentally gotten mixed up in this mess.” He held out a hand, which Miles took, giving it a brief, but firm, shake.

“Yeah, sorry about that…,” Notte mumbled, bowing his head in embarrassment.

Miles wasn’t the main person who needed apologizing to, but he couldn’t exactly tell him that.

“The truth was uncovered in the end. That’s all I care about."

At that they went their separate ways, with Miles heading straight back to the hotel. With the official conclusion to their business in Greece it was time to finalize the plans towards their next ventures.



By mid June they’d found themselves renting a cottage in Hungary. He’d picked the location for the privacy it afforded, as well as its high ceilings (especially in the main area, where it extended up to the second floor), which allowed Phoenix a little more room to stretch his wings than normal.

Currently Phoenix was stretching his wings in a different manner - by letting them drape over, and partially off, the couch as he lay on his back beside Miles, head just barely brushing his thigh. Miles was currently doing some research based on one of the journal articles he’d accumulated over the months, as he’d worked up a bit of a backlog recently.

“Phoenix, are you familiar with warbaa’ds?”

The firebird picked up his head as his voice cut through the comfortable silence they’d been ruminating in. He tilted to one side, as if the change of angle would somehow add context to the abrupt question. “With what?” he asked, answering Miles’ question.

“Warbaa’ds.” He turned his computer towards him, showing Phoenix an image of a large, crane-like black bird with red accents, including a fiery mane of feathers circling the base of its neck like flower petals. Phoenix righted himself to get a proper look. “I think you somewhat resemble one.”

He tilted to the other side. “I… guess?”

“It’s a very rare species. Found only in the kingdom of Khura’in.”

“Khu…ra’in? Not like, Kurain? Khura’in?”

“The country's religion, as well as government, seems to be heavily based around spiritualism and channeling, so I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a connection. You’d have to ask Maya.”

“Huh,” he stated, shutting his beak with a resounding click. He leaned in a little closer, carefully studying the image, then looked at Miles. “So why the sudden interest?”

“Ah, I was reading into the Khura’inese legal system.” Miles switched back over to his article. “They have something called the ‘Defense Culpability Act’ which states that any defense attorney that fails to acquit their client will be treated as a co-conspirator and subjected to the same punishment as the accused.”

Phoenix visibly shuddered. “That seems harsh.”

“It arose after their queen was assassinated to quell a potential uprising. The side effect being that now there are very few who are still willing to defend in the country. I’m sure you can imagine there is much criticism from outside sources.”

“There’s criticism in this room! How can they properly uphold justice if no one’s defending the accused?! How many innocent people are getting sent to jail?”

“I did not say that I agreed with their system, but it is a fascinating read.”

“If you say so,” Phoenix muttered, sprawling back out into a comfortable position and letting his eyes fall shut.

Miles watched him for a moment, switching back to his Warbaa’d image. The similarities were only slight, but given what small ones there were, plus the link to spirit channeling, Miles couldn’t help but wonder if it was connection or coincidence. He made a mental note to catalogue the possibility in his notebook in a moment.

A moment which turned into several hours as Miles got entirely engrossed in his research. Phoenix had gone from quietly keeping him company to full on asleep, now tucked neatly into the corner of the sofa.

The spell was broken by the noisy ring of Miles’ phone against the glass coffee table it rested upon, the noise jolting Phoenix awake with a snort.

“Whuzzat?”

Miles frowned when the caller ID displayed Gumshoe’s contact information. “Now what could he possibly want?” he asked before accepting the call on speaker. “Detective.”

“Sir! I was worried you weren’t going to answer for a second there. Timezones, you know? But I guess you weren’t asleep, so it must not be too late or early wherever you are.” Miles glanced at his laptop’s display. It was 12:30 in the morning, so he probably should have been at least preparing to go to sleep. “Unless I woke you up. Oh no, I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“You didn’t wake me up,” Miles said, watching the slightly groggy firebird shake himself fully awake. “Now, for what reason are you calling me?”

“It’s about Maya, sir.”

“What about Maya?!” Phoenix interjected, practically climbing into his lap - despite the computer already there - to get closer to the phone. “Is she okay?!”

“Oh good, you’re here too, pal. This concerns you too. Turns out Maya comes from some spirit channeling family and she’s about to do her first channeling.”

“Well, first official one, anyway,” Phoenix said, obviously referencing the time the late Mia Fey had paid them a visit. “But that’s great! She said she wanted to train real hard and become a proper medium.”

“Is that all, though?” Miles gently nudged Phoenix back onto the couch itself. “I doubt the detective would be calling merely to inform us of this occasion.”

“Oh, right. Maya has your number. She could've just told us directly... unless Kurain's service is worse than I thought.”

No, pal. Mr. Edgeworth’s right. I think it was some sort of test for her client. She sent him to me with the message that she wouldn’t do it unless I could get 'those two’ to come.”

“Oh, an invitation. Let's go, Miles!” Phoenix exclaimed.

“What? You want me to drop everything and suddenly book a flight back to California?”

“Yes? It’s not like we have any urgent business here.”

“That is besides the point. I’m trying to keep a low profile at the moment.”

“It’s Kurain,” Phoenix argued. “It’s basically the middle of nowhere. No one you know is going to be there, besides Maya.”

Gumshoe chimed in. “Please say yes, this guy scares me. He keeps yelling about the weather girl like he wants me to arrest her.”

“Sounds like a lovely individual," Miles deadpanned.

“Then it should be interesting,” the symbiont pointed out. When Miles didn't respond, he head-butted him. "Come on, this has gotta be a huge deal for Maya. We should be there to support her.”

Miles crossed his arms as he weighed the options. While they had been doing a lot of travel, hopping between neighboring countries was an entirely different beast to the transatlantic flight they'd need to take. There was also the matter of how long they'd even be staying. A channeling would take, if he had to guess, an hour at the longest. Was such a trip even worth it for an event that would occupy barely a fraction of a day?

But, then again, the trip wouldn’t just be about the channeling, would it? It would be for reconnecting with a friend - family, in Phoenix’s case (He suspected the firebird might have been projecting just a tad with his interest in Miles’ reuniting with his own adoptive sister).

“It would allow me to be rid of these trinkets taking up space in my luggage,” Miles reasoned after his moment of thought.

Phoenix perked up. "Does that mean-?”

“Detective,” he said, loud enough for the man listening on the other end, “prepare for our arrival in a week's time.”

Notes:

Hey everyone, hope this update finds you well in these trying times .

Couple of things of note, I've got more fan art to share, from meladromatic over on tumblr! https://meladromatic.tumblr.com/post/613065703500791808/just-started-reading-dei-ryuus-aa-fanfic

Speaking of tumblr, I'm gonna push my own again (dei-ryuu btw). Everything related to this fic is under the tag symbiont-au. It's also a good place to ask me questions if I don't respond to them here, cause I tend to treat comments as thinking aloud. I might not give a straight answer, depending on how spoilery it is, but I'll at least know it wasn't just you speculating.

Chapter 29

Notes:

More fanart! garkium submitted this to me over on my tumblr

https://dei-ryuu.tumblr.com/post/619237766268665856/yesterday-i-binge-read-all-of-symbiosis-and-id

Chapter Text

Miles stepped back as he allowed Detective Gumshoe to take his luggage from him, quietly supervising to make sure he was careful as he loaded it into the trunk of his car - a green sedan that was a good ten years out of model (and that was being generous) and probably hadn't seen a proper service since.

“Oh man, it’s so good to see you again, sir!” the man cheerfully said as he arranged suitcases. "I almost didn't recognize you without your suit and ruffles.”

Miles was still in a suit, but one of a dark grey with a tie in place of his preferred neckwear. The look was plain, but plain was what he needed right now.

“Good. If it worked on you, it should work for everyone else. Until I'm ready to return to the courts, no one needs to know I’m here.”

“Mum’s the word, sir.” He saluted with one hand and closed the trunk with the other. “I gotta say though, it’s been really weird with you gone. You wouldn't believe the amount of times I’ve found myself going up to your office out of habit and then having to turn back around.” He chuckled at this.

“No doubt wasting everyone's time as well,” Miles replied as the two of them entered the vehicle, Gumshoe wincing at the jab as he pulled on his seatbelt.

“Not you too, sir.” The car started up with a loud rumble as Gumshoe turned the ignition, waiting for a cue from the attendant before he pulled out of the loading area. “The boss has already been chewing me out about my tardiness.”

“As he should," he commented, making adjustments to the passenger seat until he found a comfortable configuration. Once he was settled and the car was pulling away, Phoenix made himself known. He manifested from Miles' sleeve (Gumshoe lurched a little in alarm, but kept the car steady) and, after being cooped up for the entire 15 hour duration of their transit, immediately clambered into the backseat where he’d have a little breathing room to himself.

“I’m never going to get used to that.”

“Be glad you don't have to live with him then, Detective.”

“You know I can hear you,” Phoenix snapped, fighting through the various clutter the detective had tossed back there to find a comfortable spot. “Yeesh, do you live out of your car or something?"

“Sorry pal, most of that’s usually in the trunk, but I had to make room for luggage," Gumshoe said, glancing at him in the rear view mirror. “You can move anything if you need. Nothing back there you can hurt.”

“Thanks. I think I’m good, though.”

Miles looked over his shoulder to see Phoenix had perched himself atop a pile of plastic bags and cloth, just between a couple of battered old boxes full of electronic components. For his own sake, he chose not to comment.

“So, Detective, besides your memory lapses, what else has happened in my absence?"

“Well, the district office is still working on damage control after Chief Gant and Head Prosecutor Skye's arrests, but everything’s died down for the most part. The press did notice after a while that you'd stopped appearing in court and tried to raise a fuss, but I think they lost interest cause I haven’t heard anything recently.”

“How have they been handling my disappearance?”

“Mostly by ignoring it. Only a few people know about the note you left - DA's keeping it real hushhush - since there’s no evidence that you, uh, went through with what it says.”

"See, I told you they were going to read it that way!" Phoenix chimed in.

“As long as they don’t report it as such, especially given there's no body to find, I don't really care. The district office must be trying to sweep as much of this under the rug as possible, including any talk regarding me.”

“Everyone's stayed quiet about it," Gumshoe agreed. “There’s an occasional whisper or rumor that goes around, but the only one who’s saying anything out loud is Ms. von Karma -“

Miles immediately cut him off. “Franziska von Karma? Franziska is here?!” he exclaimed, seething at Gumshoe’s hesitant nod. "And you didn't think to mention that first?!”

“I’m sorry, sir! I've just gotten so used to her presence that it didn't even occur to me.”

Miles sighed, letting his head hit the headrest. "How long?”

“About a month. She showed up to handle affairs after her father’s passing in prison and just asserted herself.”

Miles blinked, slowly. Manfred von Karma… was dead? Could the day hold anymore shocking news?

“You okay, sir?” Gumshoe asked, reacting to his sudden silence.

“I need a moment to… process.” Because despite being the catalyst for nearly every tragedy in his life, at the end of the day Miles had still spent a majority of his life looking up to this man while under his, for lack of a better word, care. Complicated was understating the types of emotions involved there.

After a brief silence to at least acknowledge his death, Miles allowed Gumshoe to continue his report on Franziska's movements. Ever since her arrival she'd been inserting herself into department affairs. She’d only taken one case as a prosecutor, against Shields of all people (which Miles noted to look in to), that had resulted in a guilty verdict. Otherwise her time was spent asking questions - questions about Miles, about her father, and about the recent cases involving them - assigning herself to seemingly random investigations, and keeping an annoyingly close watch on Gumshoe.

“It’s like everywhere I go, she's there 15 minutes later. It's a little scary,” Gumshoe had commented just as he was pulling up to the hotel Miles had chosen to stay at. “Though I guess I wouldn’t mind as much if she didn't bring the whip with her."

“Whip?” Phoenix asked.

"I'm sure she’s up to something," Miles inferred, "though I'm not sure what her end goal could be.”

“Are we seriously just gonna gloss over that whip part?”

Miles hushed him, bidding the firebird to return to tattoo form so they could exit the car. He complied with a grumble.

Gumshoe was already unloading the trunk, placing his bags on the sidewalk leading to the lobby. “There you go, sir. Let me know if you need anything."

“Thank you, Detective.”

What about the thing?

“Ah, yes. Before you go.” Phoenix having jogged his memory, he partially unzipped one of the suitcases and pulled out a small paper shopping bag. “This is for you.”

“A present? For me, sir?" He took the offering with tremulous hands, face overcome with emotion. “I love it, sir! I'll treasure it always.”

“... you haven't even looked at it.”

Inside the bag was a small day planner, decorated with Hungarian iconography as he'd gotten it the day before their departure. Hardly anything to write home about as far as souvenirs went, but it was practical, and, most importantly, had gotten the symbiont off his back (metaphorically) about shopping for the detective.

Gumshoe still loved it.

He thanked him profusely until Miles practically had to shoo him back into his car. After another reminder to contact him should he need anything, he drove away.

Check in went by smoothly, and soon Miles was in his new hotel room. Since they didn’t plan to stay particularly long, he'd forgone the usual apartment style suite for a one bedroom with connecting bath. He set his bags off to the side and took a long, much needed stretch. His back and legs had not appreciated all that sitting.

Phoenix had already taken up residency on the bed when he turned around, watching the prosecutor intently.

“I’m not going to seek her out."

"I didn't say anything!” he exclaimed.

“You didn’t need to.” He nudged Phoenix to the side so he could set one of the suitcases at the foot of the bed to unpack. "I told you two weeks ago I wasn't ready. That hasn't changed.” He retrieved some clothes for when they went to Kurain tomorrow and moved to the closet to hang them up. “Don’t worry about me and my sister. This visit is for Maya, remember?”

“I know…” He shuffled his wings, “but if there's an opportunity for you to get some closure… I just don't want you to miss out on that."

Miles snorted. “I'd rather not have closure at the risk of physical assault,” he mumbled.

Phoenix frowned. “Okay, is there actually a whip in this equation?”

“Riding crop, if we're being specific.”

“Why?!”

He could have said self-defense, but he'd always suspected that was an excuse. Franziska had never been the one who needed defending. “I believe she likes the weight it adds to an argument.”

He watched the journey of emotions Phoenix's expression took before he spoke again. “...have I ever told you that you are amazingly well-adjusted given the people you grew up around?”

“You've said something to that affect before,” Miles chuckled.

Miles finished all the unpacking he was going to do for now, Phoenix helping where he could, and decided to lay down for a while. Even though the day was technically just beginning, still before noon, theirs had started over 15 hours ago. With tomorrow promising to be an eventful day, now was the time for rest.



Maya had not been kidding whenever she said she lived in the mountains. Even though the drive technically wasn’t that far out of the city - about an hour - it’d felt like ages since Miles had left the main road before finally reaching any semblance of civilization.

He pulled into a dirt lot that he assumed was a parking area given the few other vehicles in it. He removed a bag from the passenger area, giving Phoenix time to hop onto his arm as he did  so, before locking the car as he approached the main gate.

“So, this is Kurain Village?”

Before him was what was a surprising large village despite it's remote location, the traditional Japanese architecture and lack of any pavement outside of dirt and gravel making Miles feel like he'd stepped into a time capsule - so long as he wasn't looking at the cars behind him or the phone booth near the bus stop.

Must help out with the reception, Phoenix said when Miles drew attention to it, hanging out just past Miles’ sleeve so he could get a look around as well. Maya always says it’s awful.

Miles pulled out his own phone for confirmation, seeing that it was struggling to hold on to a signal. Well, I shouldn’t need to make any urgent phone calls while we’re here.

They’d been walking around for a little bit in what Miles was almost ready to call a ghost town, before they encountered their first resident - a little girl dressed in robes just like Maya’s, though in pink. She’d appeared practically out of thin air, grinding to a sudden halt when she noticed Miles. She stared searchingly at him with wide eyes, remaining silent.

“Hello?” Miles ventured as the awkwardness of the situation settled in.

She blinked once before disappearing as suddenly as she’d appeared. Odd.

“Hey! Pearly, wait up!”

Miles turned his head at the sound of a voice to see a familiar figure clad in purple coming towards them.

Her eyes lit up in recognition and she started moving faster. “Edgeeeeeeyyyyy!” she called out, practically throwing herself into his arms for a hug.

“Ah. Maya.” He dropped the bag to the ground before she knocked it out of his hand and sent the contents spilling out into the dirt. “It’s nice to- E-Edgey?!” Miles quickly pulled away, staring at her in mild horror.

“Well, yeah. That’s what your friend calls you,” Maya said, pouting.

“Larry…” Miles growled under his breath, after taking a minute to even remember what ‘friend’ of his had given him that ridiculous nickname.

“And I can’t just keep calling you ‘Mr. Edgeworth’ all the time. It’s too formal,” Maya continued, “but just saying ‘Miles’ like Nick does is kinda weird too. So, Edgey.”

“Could we at least settle on ‘Edgeworth’?” he proposed, while Phoenix chuckled at them.

Maya tapped her chin. “I’ll consider it.”

She’s not gonna consider it.

“Anyways, that’s besides the point. It’s so good to see you! And you too of course, Nick.” She directed her attention down to the sliver of red peeking out between his wrist and sleeve. Her expression then intensified and, with a furrow of her brow, she took her own step back, looking Miles over from head to toe. “Whoa…”

“What?”

“I like… know Nick’s there. I mean, obviously I know, but I can actually sense him!”

Miles glanced at the arm where Phoenix currently resided, as if expecting something to look different. “You can?”

“Yeah, he gives off a faint, almost spiritual energy. Nick, you’re not some kind of ghost, are you?”

Why would I be a ghost? he deadpanned.

“…he doesn’t seem as surprised as you are by this revelation.”

Cause I’m not. Mia always had this vague awareness of me. I guess now that she’s properly honed her powers, so does Maya.

“Oh, that makes sense,” Maya said after this was reiterated for her. “Sis might have mentioned that once or twice now that I’m thinking about it.”

Yet another thing to add to the list of Phoenix and his weird connections to the Feys. “While we’re on the topic of your powers, tell us about this channeling that, might I remind you, you summoned us all the way from Europe to attend.”

“Oh, don’t give me that look. If you couldn’t have made it, I would’ve still done it. I just wanted an excuse to see you guys. Plus it’s my very first official one! I invited Gumshoe too, but he said he couldn’t take the time off work.”

“At least he’s taking his job seriously.”

Yes, I’m sure work ethic is the only factor there, Phoenix said, the eye roll in his tone.

“As for the client himself,” Maya continued, “his name is Dr. Turner Grey, and he’s here about an incident that happened at Grey Surgical Clinic about a year ago. Heard of it?”

Miles began to shake his head ‘no’, but Phoenix chimed in. Oh, I think I remember that! A bunch of patients lost their lives due to malpractice, and then one of the nurse's died in a car accident. There were rumors the head of the clinic - this Grey fellow I suppose - might have caused it to silence her.

Miles confirmed with her that this was the same incident, with a few added details, wondering how he’d missed this story.

I don’t know how much the normal news covered it, but it was all over the tabloids for a while. Especially the conspiracy bits.

Tabloids?” Miles asked dubiously.

“The best place to get news from! Kidding!” she added at the unimpressed brow raise. “No, I actually got most of the details from Dr. Grey. People believe he killed those patients and drugged his nurse so she’d crash, so his clinic’s been losing business. He wants me to channel her so he can clear his name.”

“…I’m not sure how his clientele will feel about an affidavit from a ghost.”

Maya shrugged. “That’s what he wants, and he came to the right town for it! Did you know this place is also called ‘Medium Valley’ because everyone who lives here is a spirit medium?”

Everyone’s a medium?” Miles questioned, again dubiously.

“Well, the women anyway,” she amended, which Miles still felt was an exaggeration. Even with that stipulation, it appeared to be a fairly large village (assuming all the houses were occupied, anyway. He'd still yet to see anyone). A handful, he could believe, but potentially half the populous?

Then something occurred to him. “Wait, Maya, does that mean there are others here who could potentially sense Phoenix?”

“Oh.” She blinked, pondering it.

If there are, they’ll probably just assume you’re being haunted.

That’s not reassuring. For either of our sakes.


“We probably don’t have anything to worry about,” Maya said after thinking it over. “There are other mediums, but spiritual powers run strongest in the main family - well, with the exception of Pearly - and that’s just me now.”

“Hold on. Pearly? Isn't that what you called the little girl from earlier?”

“Yeah, that was my cousin, Pearl. She’s a genius when it comes to channeling! Oh, but I wouldn’t worry about her. My aunt drilled it into her to avoid suspicious looking people, so she’ll probably just pretend you don’t exist.”

“How am I suspicious looking?” Miles asked, looking himself over. He wasn’t as dressed up as he would be for court, but his clothes still looked professional.

“Well, you’re not wearing training clothes, for one…”

“Why would I? I’m a visitor.”

You’re always glaring at everyone? Phoenix suggested.

Maya patted him on the arm. “Don’t take it personally. She’s just really sheltered. My aunt doesn’t even let her leave the village.”

Jeez. Even I get out more than this girl.

“Anyway, it’s getting close to time for the channeling, so I should get going. But, before I do,” she slid a little closer, grinning mischievously, “don’t think I didn’t notice that bag you’re hiding behind your leg. Did you bring me something?”

“I wasn’t intentionally trying to hide it,” Miles said, scooping up the bag and handing it over. “I didn’t need you scattering things everywhere with your decision to leap at me.”

“Things? As in plural?” she asked, peering into the bag. “Oh my gosh, are these souvenirs?!

“It was Phoenix’s idea,” Miles muttered, worrying at his sleeve.

“Maybe so, but Nick didn’t buy these, now did he?” She grinned at him and grabbed something out at random. “Ooh, a bracelet. And it matches my clothes, too! Here, put it on me,” she said, thrusting something into his hands and then presenting a wrist.

Miles looked down at the bracelet in question, the one they’d picked up in Athens alongside the statue (which was, if Gumshoe had followed his instructions when he'd shipped it to him, in storage alongside the rest of his personal belongings). He tied it on with a loose knot, just past the bracelets already woven around her wrist, so she could later remove it without cutting the cord.

She pulled back to admire it, examining the eye-like blue pendant. “Pretty. So what’s the story with this?”

“It’s Greek,” he stated bluntly.

Oh come on, at least tell her what the lady at the shop said! About how it's supposed to ward away misfortune.

“Well, so long as it's not warding away spirits. Kinda need those.” She looked it over a few more times before beaming. “Thanks guys! We can go through the rest after the channeling’s done. Maybe over some burgers.”

Before running off to get set up, Maya informed them that the channeling was occurring at Fey Manor, the largest and most elaborate of the surrounding buildings, where she lived. Once she was gone he turned to enter the manor, stepping into what could only be the main hall. It was a large, open room, meaning Miles quickly noticed that it was also already occupied. A man in a plain brown suit met his eye when he entered and immediately approached.

“Ah, are you who Ms. Maya sent for?” he said gruffly, raising a hand as if to extend it in greeting, only to then adjust his glasses.

“That depends on who’s asking,” he replied, just as bluntly, though he had an inkling to this man’s identity.

“Oh, of course. Dr. Turner Grey. I’m a surgeon and the one who requested this channeling.” This time he held his hand out to Miles.

“…Edgeworth,” he replied, after debating whether or not to give this man his name.

He nodded, stepping away and pushing his glasses up again. “Very well, Mr. Edgeworth. Did you happen to watch the weather report today? That stupid weather girl said, with a perfectly straight face that ‘it will rain cats and dogs today’. Have you seen outside? Not a cloud in sight! I can’t believe they allow such misguided reports on the public airwaves!”

Wh… what…?

It took a second for Miles to even register what had just occurred. “I wasn’t aware we were discussing the weather.”

“I’m sorry. I just thought I’d open with some friendly chatter."

That was friendly?! came Phoenix’s bewildered remark.

He straightened his tie a little. “No matter. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Edgeworth, but I was under the impression there would be two people coming?”

“Maya is fully aware of the situation, rest assured,” he said, subconsciously pulling his sleeve down just a little further, to Phoenix’s mild protest.

He huffed. “I guess it makes no difference to me. A shame for them to miss out. This manor alone is worth the trip.”

“It is an impressive structure,” Miles agreed. They were surrounded by high walls of strong wood and decorative calligraphy, ancient, yet well kept. He almost had to remind himself that this was Maya’s house, rather than a temple or shrine.

Wow, sounds like something that’d be nice to see right now, Phoenix complained, though Miles knew he at least had enough common sense not to move to a better vantage point. He reassured him that Maya probably had some plan to properly show them both around later.

“Not as impressive as Ms. Maya herself. I hear only a select few can learn to bring forth the dead, and even then it requires rigorous training. I also heard she’s the daughter of the Master, so she’ll be the Master herself one day. The Master. What a responsibility to bear.” He paused to clear his throat, resetting from the gradual crescendo his tone had dipped into. “Though, seeing as she sent for you personally, you must already know all this.”

Miles gave him an inquiring look. “I’m curious to how you know all this, Dr. Grey. How did a man of science find himself turning to the mystic?”

“Well what else do you do when only person who can solve your problem is dead?” he asked. “I remembered an acquaintance of mine studies the occult in college. She introduced me to Ms. Maya and this village after I talked to her. Once I knew I could have her channeled, I knew what to do. I’m going to make that nurse sign a written confession to her negligence and finally clear this rain falling on my soul!” He finished with a manic expression on his face, glasses completely down to the tip of his nose.

I think the doctor needs a doctor.

Miles cleared his throat, fixing Grey with an unreadable expression until he decided to compose himself once more.

“Well, I hope you see an end to this soon,” Miles told him.

“Yes. Thank you. I’m anxious myself to get started. I spoke to Ms. Maya’s aunt not too long before you arrived and she said they plan to begin at 3 o’clock.”

Miles glanced at his watch. 2:42. So they had around fifteen minutes before it started.

Grey spoke again. “She’s through that door, where people and spirits meet.” He nodded his head towards the large set of double doors that were practically the focal point of the room. “Would you care to meet her while we wait?”

Please, Miles. Please go meet the aunt. I don’t know how much more of this guy I can take.

“No. I’d rather not disturb her if she’s making preparations,” he said, causing Phoenix to groan. “I think my time might be better spent looking at more of this manor.” There was an open doorway just to the right of the channeling area which had caught his eye when he’d entered, bright sunlight pouring in and hints of what appeared to be a garden past the frame.

“Do as you like. I’ll be here.”

Miles left him at that, stepping out onto the sunlit walkway that did indeed look out over a small zen garden. Tucked away in the back was a small incinerator, which looked out of place amongst the bamboo and stone lanterns, but given how far they were from municipal services, it was probably the best method for disposing garbage.

At the end of the railing, up against the wall to the connecting building, was a table with a conspicuous vase perched on it, which Miles paused before in order to take a closer look. It was an ancient piece of pottery, absolutely riddled with cracks, with the word -or perhaps name - ‘AMI’ inscribed upon it.

Phoenix, look at this, Miles said, raising his sleeve back up a bit to give him a place to see.

The symbiont sidled into view. The… urn? It looks old.

Do you suppose it’s some valued family heirloom? Judging by the state it’s in I can’t see many other reasons to put in on display like this.

’s probably got someone’s ashes in it.
Phoenix gave a sort of disinterested hum, twining about his arm to try and get a look around. Miles indulged him and moved away from the urn. He could always ask Maya about it later.

They progressed further down the walkway, through the wide open screen door of an adjacent side room. It appeared to function as some sort of break room or guest room judging by the two futons spread out on the floor - one of which had a suspiciously human shaped lump buried under its covers. Miles quietly stepped back out before they disturbed whomever it was, quite nearly colliding with someone who must have just come around the corner.

“Hey! Watch where you’re going, now!” they snapped with the twang of a heavy southern accent.

Oh… I’ve heard that voice before…, Phoenix muttered.

Miles turned around, only to have his vision flooded with poofy red hair. He had to take a step back to find the face beneath.

“Well, I’ll be,” she said, her cross expression replaced with one of surprise. “I know you! Ya’ll were that murderer from the trial back in December. Edgeworth, right?”

Well, so much for not being recognized, he said to Phoenix.

And how was I supposed to know the crazy photographer from Gourd Lake would be here? It’s not like we were expecting to ever see her again.

“As I recall, I was cleared of all charges.” He crossed his arms as his memories of her brief role in his trial returned. “No thanks to you, I might add.”

“Hey, my testimony helped get ya out of being guilty - y’know, eventually.” She withered a little under his glare. “A-anyway, how ya been?”


“Why are you here, Ms. …” Miles paused, trying to come up with her name and failing.

It’s Lotta… something, Phoenix supplied. Hair? Maybe.

“Oh, you’re a cold man, Mr. Edgeworth. Colder than an icebox. Don’t even remember a gal’s name.”

“I barely even learned your name to begin with,” he grumbled.

“Now, don’t you go forgettin’ this time. It’s Lotta. Lotta Hart. And I’m here to get my big scoop!” Hart held up the large camera around her neck for emphasis.

“Big scoop? In this sleepy village?”

“You betcha! I’m gonna be a world famous paranormal photographer! Oh, that’s right!” She let her camera hang freely once more. “This ain’t no time to be flappin’ gums, the channeling’s about to get started!”

“Oh? Is it that time?” According to his watch they still had a good ten minutes.

“Shake a leg, Mr. Edgeworth. We need to hurry on back to the Meditation Room before they start without us!”

Miles did not ‘shake a leg’ as it were, but he did follow after her at his own pace, letting her rush ahead and out of sight. When he reentered the main room, Hart had already found Grey and appeared to be attempting to interview him, though it looked more like an interrogation from where Miles stood. Standing at a distance, a rather severe looking woman was supervising them. Clad in kanji covered robes and hair done up even higher than Hart’s afro, she could only be a local.

“And who might you be, good sir?” she asked as Miles approached her to introduce himself, looking him over cautiously.

“Miles Edgeworth,” he replied, giving her a respectful bow.

“Oh… you are that lawyer, are you not, good sir? I have heard much about you from Mystic Maya.”

“All good things, I would hope.” Though, knowing Maya, one could never be sure what kinds of things were going to come out of her mouth.

‘Mystic’ Maya?

She made no attempts to confirm this. “I am Mystic Maya’s aunt, Morgan Fey.”

Ah, so this was the aunt Grey had mentioned. Facially, he could see a slight family resemblance. “A pleasure.”

“I must say, good sir, I was quite surprised to hear Mystic Maya utter the name ‘Edgeworth' after so long, given what happened to my dear little sister. That failure brought disgrace upon the Kurain technique and upon our family name.” She sneered at him as if he’d some direct involvement in the incident, despite being allowed nowhere near the channeling and nine years old. “Though, Mystic Maya says that you were the prosecutor to bring the man who broadcasted our family’s disgrace to justice, so I suppose I owe you some gratitude in that regard.”

She doesn’t sound very grateful to you, ‘good sir’, Phoenix said, imitating her dry intonation.

Don’t you start.

Yet, I have also heard that you owe a great deal to Mystic Maya in turn. Please don’t rely on her so much, good sir. It is most unbecoming, I’m afraid.”

“…I’ll try not to.”

She appeared satisfied enough with that response. “The past is past though. Let us focus on the present. Soon it will be time for Mystic Maya’s first channeling. She will enter once she is done with her final preparations.”

“Excuse me, but you keep referring to her as ‘Mystic’ Maya. Is that an honorific you use for mediums here?”

“It is her proper title,” she sniffed. “You must refer to her as such.”

That still didn’t answer his question, but thankfully Maya had come in to spare him from trying to interact with her aunt any further. She waved cheerily when she caught his gaze and went to speak with her client.

“We will now begin the channeling,” Morgan said, addressing the room. “Mystic Maya and honored guest, please proceed into the Channeling Chamber.”

Grey petered off into another of his manic rants, trying to get an uncomfortable looking Hart to agree with whatever nonsense he was spouting about flies and apologies.

Morgan ignored them. “Mystic Maya, do you have the Channeling Chamber key?”

“Yup, right here.” From her pocket, Maya produced a large, ornate metal key.

“That is most satisfactory. That key is one of a kind, so please take care of it well.”

“It’ll be fine, Aunt Morgan. I’m not gonna lose it.” She slipped it back into the pocket from whence it came. “Okay, Dr. Grey. Let’s get started.”

“Finally!” He pulled away from Hart, who released a heavy sigh of relief. “Let’s go!”

They stepped behind those large doors from before, shutting them behind them. Shortly after there was a loud, metallic ‘click’ that echoed off the walls as Maya locked it.

As they set in to wait for the channeling to end, Morgan produced a tray of refreshments to those that remained - himself and Hart.

“Now hold on there, Granny,” she snapped, refusing the offering. “How come we ain’t allowed in there?!”

Morgan’s already thin smile narrowed. “Dear madam, you have quite the … impressive… grasp of English. From where did you learn it?”

She was caught off guard by the question. “I’m from the Heart of the Heartland!”

“Is that so? Then I humbly request you return there, posthaste,” she said, glowering at the undignified squawk Hart had managed as a response. “This is Kurain Village. If you cannot follow our rules and traditions, we request that you leave!”

Hart slumped in defeat. “S…sorry.” She picked a strawberry treat off of the tray and shoved it into her mouth.

Wow, she shut up Lotta. I’m impressed.

“Now then,” she approached Miles, who retrieved one of the cups of green tea, “let us wait.”
 
The wait was, unfortunately, not very long.

Miles dropped his teacup in surprise when a loud bang sounded from the other side of the door, freezing in realization. He’d know that sound anywhere.

“H-hey! That’s a gunshot,” Lotta cried out as a second went off. “That was a gunshot, wasn’t it?!”

Maya… Maya’s in there! Phoenix exclaimed.

Miles made a dash for the Channeling Chamber, pulling on the doors’ metal handles, which did not yield for him. Of course. Maya had locked them behind her.

He spun around to Morgan. “Is there another way in?”

She shook her head. “There is only one entryway, and one key, to that room. Even I am powerless to open it."

“Whataya mean? Of course there’s another way!” Lotta said. “You gotta break your way in!”

Miles took a good, long look at those large, sturdy doors - the only things between them and whatever danger Maya could be in. If there was truly no other way… “Alright. Ms. Fey, please stand back,” he said, rolling his sleeves up past his elbows in preparation. “Ms. Hart, I’ll need your help.”

“M-me?” she squeaked, scurrying over without a second word at the look he shot her.

“W-wait! Please,” Morgan begged. “That sort of recklessness-!”

He was unswayed. “On my count. 3… 2… 1!”

It took three attempts before the doors’ reinforcements splintered under their combined force. Miles pried the wreckage out of their way and stepped into a gruesome scene. A tatami mat sat in the middle of the floor with Dr. Grey splayed atop it in a pool of his own blood. Looking at him with her back to the new arrivals and a gun in her hand… was Maya.

“… I… was… murdered….” she said slowly in a voice clearly not her own.

“What…?” Miles questioned, vaguely registering the flashes and clicks behind him of Hart’s camera going wild.

“That man… murdered me…” Slowly she turned around, revealing her blood-stained front and unfamiliar face. “So I… killed… him…”

The nurse…! Phoenix said in realization.

There was another click just past his head.

“Ms. Hart, please!” he snapped, unwilling to turn back to glare at her as it would take his eyes off of the clearly armed stranger.

“What? This is the perfect time to be taking shots! But… I don’t get what’s going on. This girl… that can’t be Maya, can it?”

“Step away from there!” Morgan shouted as she forced herself into the room, before Miles got a chance to read to anything else. “Please, leave this area to me. Go, quickly! Inform the police!”

“But-!” Miles protested. There was still very real danger here! Did she expect to handle this on her own?

But Hart had grabbed him by the elbow. “Come on, City Boy! Leave this to the granny!” she said. Miles gritted his teeth, allowing his initial protests to make way for logic. Aside from further provoking the spirit inhabiting Maya’s body, there was nothing he could do. He could only hope Morgan Fey knew what she was doing as he allowed himself to be led from the Channeling Chamber.

Chapter Text

Due to the poor mountain reception, they’d been driven back to the main gates searching for enough signal to call the police. Hart ended up using the phone booth.

“Cops’re sending some people over,” she said, hanging the receiver up and stepping away from the booth. She crossed her arms protectively across her chest, looking pensively up at Miles. “So, uh, can’t say I pegged ya for the tattoo type.”

He abruptly shoved his sleeve back down. He hadn’t given Phoenix any kind of warning before he’d pushed them up earlier, too focused on getting into the Channeling Chamber and to Maya. Which also meant the firebird, who hadn’t moved from his forearm, had seen everything.

Phoenix… he began.

Later. I need to know she’s all right first.

He nodded and began to turn back towards Fey Manor.

“Hey!” Hart called, and Miles paused long enough to hear what she had to say. “That gal… Maya. She wasn’t really the one to pull that trigger… was she? But there were only two of them in there, so it had to be…”

Miles left without answering, all but running back into the Meditation Room. When he reentered, Morgan Fey was standing near the wrecked chamber doors, visibly unharmed.

“Ah, Mr. Edgeworth,” she said calmly.

“The police are on their way. Is she…?”

“Mystic Maya has returned to our world. The Spirit Severing Technique was successful."

But is she okay? Did she get hurt? Phoenix asked.

“Would it be alright if I checked on her?”

Morgan shook her head. “She is still unconscious. I humbly request that you wait outside for her recovery.”

“I understand,” Miles said, his firebird companion groaning in distress at the situation. Still, from what he could infer, it sounded as though Maya was, at least, uninjured from the gunshots. The ramifications of having one’s body hijacked by a malevolent spirit, however, he could not comment on. They’d just have to wait and see.

Shortly afterwards the police arrived on the scene - a small group of officers headed by someone Miles had not expected to see so far out of the city.

“Detective Gumshoe, what are you doing here?”

Despite being told exactly what his plans for the day were, Gumshoe looked a little startled to see him there. “Oh, sir! You know, it’s kinda funny, but I was in the area for a business trip. Thought about trying to swing by to see how that channeling went before I left, but I guess not so well, huh?”

“Considering the goal was to recall a spirit, not create one, I’d say so.” Miles crossed his arms, his gaze straying over to the small gaggle of officers that had accompanied Gumshoe, all of whom’s eyes immediately averted as they continued to whisper amongst themselves. “Shouldn’t you be investigating the crime scene?” Miles barked at them, purely out of instinct.

“Shall I show them the way?” Morgan interjected, already taking it upon herself to lead the cops to the Channeling Chamber.

“Sorry about them, sir,” Gumshoe sighed once they were out of view. “I think they’re just surprised to see you.”

“…ah.” In all his concern over Maya’s situation, he hadn’t even considered how summoning the police would reveal his presence.

“Should I tell them to keep quiet? I could say that you’re on a top-secret assignment that no one’s supposed to know about,” Gumshoe asked, excited by the prospect.

“Don’t bother. I’m already attached to this incident as a witness.” And there were more important matters to pool their energy towards than his continued confidentiality.

“Speaking of that, sir, what even happened here?” Gumshoe asked. “The radio just said there’d been a shooting at Kurain Village."

Miles sighed. “Dr. Grey, the person who requested Maya’s services, was shot and, unfortunately, the evidence is likely to find her guilty of the deed.”

Phoenix made a noise of protest as Gumshoe gasped in alarm. “How can you say that, sir?! Maya wouldn’t shoot anyone!”

“Of course she wouldn’t, but that does not account for the vengeful spirit inhabiting her body.” He looked up at the detective and his perplexed expression. “She didn’t explain what this channeling entailed when you were invited, did she?”

When he shook his head ‘no’, Miles gave his vague understanding of the Kurain channeling technique, with some backup confirmation provided by Phoenix.

“So she, like, turns into the deceased?” he asked with a nod of understanding that likely did not correlate to his actual comprehension of the topic. “That’s… uh…”

“Unbelievable?” he offered. “At one point I would have agreed with you, but I’ve since come to accept such matters.” He let a hand rest gently on his forearm, Phoenix squirming at the unexpected touch. “But we saw her face. It wasn’t Maya in there anymore.”

He nodded again, brows furrowing. “But then… that would mean that spirit lady definitely did it!” Gumshoe decided, triumphant.

“And how do you suppose we indict someone for a crime committed a year after her death? Besides, while her appearance may change, the body as I understand is still Maya’s. The prints lifted from the weapon, I suspect, will be her own.”

Gumshoe slumped his shoulders, making a pitying sound.

There has to be some way, though. That wasn’t Maya! Phoenix implored.

I don’t like it anymore than you do, but this is an unprecedented situation and the police are going to follow what the evidence tells them.

The symbiont huffed. So, what? We just give up on her?!

Miles turned to Gumshoe, letting his next actions be his answer. “I want you to go join the investigation. I expect a full report on the findings.”

“You got it, sir!” he said, saluting, “But, uh, why can’t you just oversee us? You’ve probably still got authority, even if you have been MIA.”

Miles shook his head. “I plan to conduct my own investigation later, after the police have finished up.” Because, if there was ever a case Phoenix deserved to partake in investigating directly, it was this one. “For now I believe I’ll talk to the other witnesses.”



Sometime during Miles’ discussion with Gumshoe, Morgan had vacated the immediate area, so speaking with her would have to wait. Hart, however, was easy enough to find given she hadn’t moved an inch since he’d left her.

“Ms. Hart-“ he began, only to be cut off by a startled scream as the photographer practically leapt in alarm.

She leaned against the phone booth for support, clutching at her chest. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!” she exclaimed, panting heavily. “You darn near scared me half to death!”

“I approached you from the front,” Miles replied, perplexed.

“Well yer just lucky I’m so tough, otherwise you’d have another dead body on your hands - mine!”

Miles groaned softly. “Disregarding that, I would like to ask you about the crime.”

“What’s there to ask? We were both there,” she said, crossing her arms. “I just know my poor stomach ain’t cut out for handlin’ this kind of thing.”

“Murder?” That was unsurprising. Few people were.

“No! This… curses ’n ghosts ’n stuff coming back to get ya. It’s too much, ya hear?”

“…didn’t you say you were an occult photographer?” Miles deadpanned.

“Yeah, and I think it’s time for a career change. Might try to be a celebrity photographer instead,” she said, perking up. "Hey, Mr. Edgeworth, ain’t you some sort of big, hotshot prosecutor? Maybe you could be my first subject.”

She lifted her camera up in his direction and Miles immediately put an arm up to block his face, turning away. After a few seconds where no flashes came, Miles risked a peek. Hart still had the camera in her hands, but instead of poising to take a picture, she was merely staring at it.

“What is it?” he asked, cautiously lowering the arm.

“I just remembered I took some hot pictures earlier!”

H-hot pictures? Of what? Phoenix asked, his tone concerned.

It was here that Miles remembered that her camera had gone off a couple of times earlier, at the crime scene. He’d even chastised her for it, in the moment. “That could be valuable evidence!” he remarked.

Hart, however, was not paying attention to him. “‘The Séance Murder’… I sure do like the ring of that,” she said dreamily. “It’ll be a sensational story!”

“Ms. Hart!”

“Sorry, but my journalistic sense is burnin' inside me! Hate to cut and run, but I'm headin' back in! Gotta beat those cops to the scoop of the century!” She ran off, laughing manically all the way to Fey Manor before disappearing inside.

What about the pictures?

Miles sighed heavily, massaging his temples. They can deal with her. I’ll just get the photographs from Gumshoe after she inevitably has to turn them over.

Next on the agenda was locating Morgan Fey to ask her for her perspective on the incident - which was easier said than done. Fey Manor was huge and, presumedly, her home. She could be anywhere.

Miles wandered back out into the garden area he’d passed through before. Across the way the screen door leading to the side room was still wide open, reminding Miles that someone had been sleeping in there. He wondered, with only a garden separating them from the channeling area, if they’d been awoken by the gunshots. Deciding it was worth pursuing, he crossed the walkway to check if they were still around.

He entered, spotting a red haired woman - who wasn’t Hart - standing off to the side, fiddling with a bear statue that rested on the shelves. She turned around when he cleared his throat.

“Like, how can I help you?” she asked, doing an odd sort of shuffle with her arms as she spoke. “Oh, is it about to start?”

Miles frowned, confused. “Is… what about to start?”

“You know, like, the channeling!” she replied, which pretty much answered Miles’ question regarding what she might know then and there.

“There’s been a change of plans, I’m afraid. A murder has occurred.”

“Oh,” she said, tapping at her forehead. Not the reaction he was expecting. “So, like... a murder is that thing where, like, one person kills another, right?”

Nor was that the response he was expecting. It took Miles a moment to even gather how to answer her.

“That… yes, that is the basest definition of a murder.”

“Oh, that's... Uh... What are the words I'm looking for…?” She pressed her temples in thought again. “It's like... ...like totally a bummer."

That’s all she has to say?!  Phoenix commented in disbelief.

Miles grimaced a little, already regretting his decision to come here.

The woman suddenly gasped. “Oh, I like, totally forgot to introduce myself. My name is Ini Miney. Um, at the college I’m like… researching and studying ‘parapsychology’.”

“Parapsychology…” Miles said, sounding the word out. “Oh, you must be Dr. Grey’s contact.”

You got that from ‘parapsychology’? Phoenix asked.

Her constantly swaying arms suddenly froze. “I - I don’t know any Dr. Grey!”

“Really? He said an acquaintance who was studying the occult in college introduced him to this village to begin with.”

Oh… that’s what that means, the firebird realized. Miles snorted softly at him.

“Huh?! W-well…” Miney stammered, “like, a long, long, time ago, I was, like, a patient. Yeah.”

Miles frowned at her. It sounded like she was hiding something, but he let the issue drop. There wasn’t any concrete evidence to suspect her, especially given how surreal the conversation had started. “I am Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth.” He glanced to the side, where the futon she’d been using lay undone, blankets thrown about. “Have you really been asleep here this entire time?”

“Oh yeah, since, like, lunch,” she said, yawning for effect.

“Even through two gunshots?” Unless she was an especially heavy sleeper, that would have awoken most people.

“Is that what, like, happened? I wasn’t feeling good.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I'm, like, allergic to sesame seeds,” she elaborated. “They, like, must've put some in the food they served for lunch. So I came in here to, like, sleep it off.”

“And slept off the entire murder as well, evidently.”

Miney poked her tongue out, making an embarrassed expression. “I totally feel, like, I've wasted my time. So who was, like, killed?”

“Dr. Grey,” Miles told her.

“Wow…” she said, betraying no other emotions, “bummer.”

“Thank you for your time, anyway,” Miles said, knowing he wasn’t going to get much useful out of this space cadet.

“Yeah, like, no problem. Like, peace be with you and all that jazz,” Miney bid him.

“…verily,” Miles muttered, stepping backwards out onto the walkway and pulling the screen door shut for good measure.

That… was weird, Phoenix decided once they were in the clear. And she’s definitely lying about knowing Grey for some reason.

His personality?
Miles offered. They’d only spoken briefly, but he suspected Grey was not the type of person people would readily acknowledge their association with. Especially with that scandal looming over his head like a raincloud.

Come on, don’t speak ill of the dead, Phoenix scolded, hiding a small snort of amusement.

Heading back towards the main hall, Miles bypassed that urn again. Moments ago, he hadn’t paid it a second glance, but approaching from a different angle, something looked… different.

He could’ve sworn it hadn’t read ‘I AM’ before.

He considered asking the firebird’s opinion, but Phoenix had been far more interested in the garden, so Miles doubted he’d be of much use here.

As he stood there, observing, Miles began to notice something else - a peculiar creeping sensation beginning to crawl its way up his spine. He glanced around, yet they appeared to be alone in this area of the manor.

I feel as though I’m being watched, Miles remarked as the feeling lingered, still looking around to be absolutely sure.

Well, I’ve certainly got my eyes on you,
Phoenix cheekily replied.

I’m serious. He checked the surroundings again. Doors? All closed. Windows? Maybe, but the few that were around were covered by paper screens, so it was unlikely someone would be watching through them.

Then he spotted, peeking out from behind a wall in the zen garden, the eyes of a small child, wide like a deer caught in the headlights. Though she was mostly hidden from view, he could see her hair, two braids done up in loops above her head that he’d seen scampering away from him earlier that day.

“You’re Pearl, correct? Pearl Fey?”

She made an alarmed squeaking noise and then ducked completely out of sight.

Did you scare her away again, you suspicious looking person? Phoenix teased.

He scoffed internally. She must really be uncomfortable with strangers. Not that he had any business with the child, but he did wish she’d stop staring at him so.

Miles reentered the main hall, where Gumshoe was talking to a disgruntled-looking Hart. Morgan Fey stood off to their side, returned from wherever it was she’d disappeared to, observing the exchange. Miles approached her, in which she gave only the slightest incline of her head to acknowledge him.

“I would like to ask you what occurred in that room after we’d left.”

“Oh, that awful tragedy,” Morgan said in a far off voice, as if recalling something hadn’t happened just an hour ago. “I had to strike Mystic Maya on the head, to neutralize the situation. Then, I performed the Spirit Severing Technique.”

“You mentioned that before,” Miles pointed out. “I assume it does exactly what the name implies?”

“That is correct, good sir. The spirit of the nurse was inside of Mystic Maya’s body. I had to send her back to the other world.”

Can the police use that kind of testimony as evidence?

It’s unlikely.

“After that, I left Mystic Maya to rest and returned here to wait upon the police’s arrival.”

Which is when Miles reentered the picture. “And Ma- Mystic Maya,” Miles said, catching himself when he noticed the way her eyes were beginning to narrow. “She is presumedly still resting?”

“Actually, I needed to talk to you about that, sir.” Gumshoe, now finished with Hart, cut in, “Could we, uh, step to the side, first?”

They moved to the opposite end of the room, presumedly out of earshot of the two women. “Well, what is it, Detective?”

“Just wanted to give you the heads up first, sir. Maya woke up not too long ago. One of the officers should be talking to her right now. Anyways, it looks like this investigation may be running late into the evening, but we’ve already got the scene documented and someone’ll be here soon to pick up the body for forensics.” He then slumped. “And to bring Maya into custody.”

What?! Phoenix cried out in alarm.

The prosecutor sighed. It was just as he’d feared.

Miles, you can’t let them do that!

I can’t do
anything without evidence, he stressed to the firebird, and all we have to work with is a channeling story the court is not going to accept.

Phoenix made a frustrated noise, pacing in a spiraling motion around his shoulder.

“Do what you have to do for now,” Miles told the detective. “We’ll figure something out.”

Gumshoe nodded and returned to the center of the room to make an announcement to everyone, just as a yawning Miney stumbled in. Upon hearing of the late investigation, Morgan offered everyone overnight shelter at the manor and left to see to arrangements, Miney doddering after her with some question about her current ones.

Just as Gumshoe had said, the auxiliaries were not far along. They finally managed to see Maya, catching her just before she was turned over, thankfully changed out of those bloody robes she’d last been seen in. Miles, with that small bit of allotted time, gave her the same reassurance that they were going to work something out. She, in response, gave him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

From there, Miles put his energy into something he was good at - ordering around the police. He couldn’t get Phoenix’s assistance in the investigation until they left, but he could at least get the victim data from their initial observations.

According to Gumshoe’s report, Dr. Grey had died from the bullet to the forehead, but they also found he’d been stabbed in the chest with a knife. This was likely where that significant blood splatter had come from. Both weapons - presumedly smuggled into the channeling by Grey himself - had been found, alongside the blood covered robes Maya had been previously wearing, which were submitted to the police by her aunt. These had been sent alongside the body to forensics for analysis, so he’d likely have to wait until tomorrow for a follow up on those results.

Also on hold for tomorrow were the photographs Hart had taken. As predicted, barging onto an active crime scene screaming about a scoop and pictures had only gotten her her camera confiscated as evidence. She’d given Gumshoes quite the earful over it, but it was being returned to her possession once the film was developed.

Under Miles’ watchful eye, making sure no suspicious nook or cranny was overlooked, the investigation ended up running a couple more hours, as Gumshoe had reported. The police packed up their equipment and filed out of the room, where they were greeted by Morgan offering refreshments (that didn’t sound especially refreshing) and room assignments.

Though she’d found sleeping quarters to accommodate everyone, the officers, including Gumshoe, had to return to the main office to get their findings filed away and follow up with forensics. Miles, however, had chosen to stay. He could have returned to his hotel - the offer more for those who would be stranded due to buses and trains no longer running at later hours - but the idea of traversing those backwood, mountain roads in the dark was unappealing.

Morgan showed him how to get to his room, as well as any other facilities he may need to make use of. He thanked her, then returned to the scene of the crime now that it was finally empty, setting the firebird free. He glided down, giving the blood stain Dr. Grey had left behind a wary eye as he landed on the far end of the mat. Candles flickered as he beat his wings to steady himself, but ultimately stayed lit.

“Fire hazard much?” Phoenix commented as he looked around at them. “Don’t they ever put these out?"

“The candles appear to be the only light source in here,” Miles said, gesturing to the windowless room and lack of any electrical fixtures. “I assume someone will once we’re done.”

Phoenix leaned over one, casting his already fiery plumage in a warm, orange light. “Must save them a lot on the power bill."

Miles rolled his eyes. “Do you see anything that we might have overlooked, or not considered?”

Phoenix hummed in thought, beginning to poke around while Miles did another look himself now that he didn’t have officers to focus on. Besides the blood and the candles, there were two things of note - one of which was an alter covered in sacred objects likely used for the channeling.

“While I don’t see it factoring into the murder, we didn’t examine any of that in detail,” Miles told Phoenix as he was getting a closer look.

“It does feel important - to the room itself anyway,” Phoenix noted before moving away, agreeing that it was probably best to leave it be unless they had reason to do otherwise.

Mindful of his tail as he stepped over the candles, he went over to the next thing of interest- a large, ancient-looking folding screen, every inch of its front covered in Japanese calligraphy.

“What’s this hole?” Phoenix asked, gesturing to a small puncture in the rightmost panel, just shy of a foot off the ground.

“Something I suppose we overlooked,” Miles admitted, shrugging. He certainly hadn’t noticed and the police had made no mention. “Though, given the screen looks about as old as the rest of the village, I’m surprised it doesn’t have more. It’s probably been eaten at by a bug.”

Phoenix lowered his head so his eye was level with the hole. “I don’t know any bugs with eating patterns like this though.”

“I wasn’t aware you were an entomologist.”

The symbiont didn’t respond, fully engrossed in examining the damaged screen. His head turned towards it and he leaned in a little closer, before he abruptly reared back, violently sneezing.

“Did - did you just sniff that?!” Miles asked incredulously.

Phoenix snorted loudly, shaking his head. “Yech. Dust aside, it smells… burnt.”

“Why would you even think - wait. Burnt?” There may have been a lot of candles around, but if Phoenix didn’t think it looked like bug damage, Miles didn’t think it looked like fire damage either.

“Yeah, or maybe…” he paused as if to get another whiff, but thought better of it. “…sulfury? I can’t quite place it.”

“Gunpowder!” Miles realized. “Could it be a bullet hole?”

A light-bulb went off for Phoenix as well. “We heard two gunshots! If Grey was only shot once-“

“-then the other bullet was fired elsewhere,” Miles finished. He mentally traced the trajectory, which would have come from someone in his position, closer to the doors with their back turn to them. Low as it was, the person firing would have either been aiming downwards or on the ground themselves. Unless it was a misfire, he couldn’t imagine what they were aiming at.

Phoenix, meanwhile, had snaked his head around the other side of the screen to look behind it. “It’s dark back here. The candlelight doesn’t reach at all.”

“If you’re looking for the bullet,” Miles guessed, "I wouldn’t bother. I sent an officer back there with a flashlight. We might have missed the hole, but I can confidently say there’s no stray bullet in here.”

“So we’ve got two gunshots, but only one bullet…” Phoenix muttered.

Immediately Miles felt his mind flashing back to December and DL-6. “Thankfully, I think ‘lodged in the real killer’s shoulder’ can be safely ruled out.”

Phoenix cringed visibly, coming back into the center. “Oh, uh… that’s…”

“A coincidence, for once,” Miles filled in for him, nonplussed. He’d overseen enough trials to know that sometimes details overlapped, and a bullet going missing was not an uncommon one. “I’m more concerned about why there are bullets, missing or otherwise, to begin with,” he said when Phoenix continued to give him one of his looks.

The firebird's expression shifted, head tilting. “Huh?”

Miles shook his head, refusing to elaborate. Any scenario regarding why Grey felt the need to attend a channeling armed did not bold well for the innocent bystander - Maya - actually doing the channeling and he didn’t want to raise Phoenix’s anxiety any further. “I think we’ve done as much as we can here. Let’s adjourn to the room.”



The room was nearly identical to the one Miney had been napping in earlier, though deeper into the manor itself. Similarly, a futon had been lain out for him, though he had been informed that there was extra bedding in the cubbies against the wall should he need it. The futon, he decided, was fine as it was for just one night, but he did pull out a blanket and pillow at Phoenix’s request.

“Are you sure, Phoenix?” he asked, setting them down on the floor as the firebird came back out so he could do with them as he pleased. “These doors don’t exactly have locks on them.”

The symbiont nodded. “I’ll just hide if someone barges in, I’m not gonna sleep. Don’t think I could if I tried.”

Miles acknowledged the sentiment with a nod, then turned his back to Phoenix as he peeled off his outer layers in preparation for sleep, leaving him in an undershirt and boxer briefs. “I haven’t asked how you’re handling this.”

“’s not my first crime scene,” Phoenix replied.

“You know what I mean.”

Phoenix was quiet at first. “I was shaken, in the moment. Mostly cause I wasn’t expecting anything like that to happen here. Now, I’m just wondering how Maya’s holding up,” he mumbled, voice distant. Shirt midway through being folded, Miles looked over his shoulder at the firebird, whose back was to him, face partially covered by the blanket he was moving. “You barely got to say anything before they took her away.”

In his mind’s eye, Miles saw the forlorn expression she’d worn when he’d last seen her and turned back to his folding. “Maya is a strong young woman. She can hold on until we figure out how to go about helping her.”

He heard the firebird sigh heavily. “I know she is, but…”

“You're still worried. I know you are.” Because that was just the type of person Phoenix was. “First thing in the morning we’ll check on her.”

The promise seemed to quell his nerves a little. “Really?” he asked.

Miles made a quiet noise of affirmation. Clothes neatly folded, he set them on the shelf for tomorrow and then gave a small smirk to Phoenix. “You know, I can only hope you spared at least half as much worry for me while I was in jail,” he teased.

“Of course I did!” Phoenix snapped, bristling as he spun to face him and Miles jumped at the unexpected reaction. “You know I didn’t want to leave you alone back then, but you were right. I was better off helping the investigation. Just like I am now! We’re gonna find the truth and prove that Maya didn’t do it!"

Miles didn’t know what to say with Phoenix holding him in such a determined gaze. He found he didn’t need to. As if remembering himself, the affronted fluff of his feathers quickly turned embarrassed and Phoenix busied himself with the bedding again.

Shaking his head at his odd behavior, Miles crossed the room in order to shut off the lights, then slid himself into the futon. He reached over for his phone, laying a little ways away, and removed it from the charger he’d retrieved from the car.

“There’s one other thing I did wish to look into.”

Phoenix looked up from his cushion arranging. “What?”

Miles didn’t answer right away as he was busy typing in ‘Dr. Grey’ and ‘malpractice’ into a search engine. It took a moment - his internet having a similar struggle to find connection as his cell reception - but eventually he tracked down an article regarding the incident.

“‘14 patients killed in medical malpractice,’” Miles read aloud, scanning the article for any relevant information. “The nurse - oh, interesting,” Miles said, interrupting himself, “suspected to be involved the deaths, was in a car wreck later that same month with her sister. Only the sister survived.”

“So… what? She had a sister?”

“The nurse’s name… was Mimi Miney.”

“Miney, Miney,” Phoenix muttered, sounding out the name before it clicked. “You mean like-!"

“I believe our parapsychologist may have something to hide after all.” He looked through the rest of the article but it didn’t yield any more striking information. He returned his phone to the charger after a moment more of skimming. “Well, we've certainly got our work cut out for us.”

“Then you should get some sleep.” Phoenix finally settled down atop the cushion. “At least one of us should be well rested for tomorrow.”

Miles refrained from pointing out his lack of need for sleep. “I’ll trust you to stand guard then.”

“Aye aye, sir,” Phoenix replied, barely unfolding his wing to salute. “Heck, maybe I’ll even connect some of these pieces overnight.”

With as many details as this case was churning out, Miles hoped he would. Pulling the covers over himself, Miles settled into a more comfortable position himself. “Goodnight then,” he muttered as he shut his eyes off from the world, barely catching Phoenix’s equally quiet response.

If he’d thought today had wound up unexpectedly hectic, he didn’t want to picture the type of run-around tomorrow’s investigation would put them through. For now, though, he didn’t have to. For now he let the events of the last several hours stay fresh in his mind, replaying over and over as he mentally prepared himself to tackle whatever tomorrow might bring until sleep finally decided to come.

Chapter 31

Notes:

Woo, I'm back! Took a writing break after participating in narumitsu week (You may notice this story is now a part 1. I took the AU prompt and did something for this verse so check that out if you're interested)

While you're at it, also check out this fanart from sablegear0! https://sablegear0.tumblr.com/post/621600866191933440/just-finished-spirit-of-justice-and-couldnt

Chapter Text

Miles swung by their hotel room first, in order to take a quick shower and change into some fresh clothes (Proper clothes. Full three piece suit and cravat in place). Then, just as he’d promised, their first stop was the detention center. It was still slightly before normal visiting hours began, but he wasn’t exactly a visitor.

“I’m here to see Ms. Maya Fey.”

The guard in charge looked like he’d seen a phantom, staring at him with bugged out eyes. “P-prosecutor Edgeworth! You’re-“

“Officer…” Miles interrupted, tone low and dangerous, hoping his absence hadn’t quelled any of the fear the lower ranking officers had of him.

“Right away, sir!” he squeaked, scuttling off.

Miles met her in the interrogation room, where they could speak with at least the illusion of privacy (They would likely be watched through the one-way mirror, as his sudden reappearance was causing stirs). Maya, when she entered, looked tired, like she hadn’t gotten even an hour of sleep. She probably hadn’t.

“E-Edgey!” she exclaimed, apparently surprised to see him.”I-! I…”

Miles gently shushed her, handing out a placating hand. “Relax, Maya.”

“Relax?! Edgey, what am I going to do?! I never imagined it would turn out like this!”

“Maya, please. Deep breaths.” He knew she was scared, but hyperventilating wasn't going to do her any favors. She paused long enough to take his advice, Miles continuing once she was calmer. “Now, we need to discuss what happened yesterday.”

“What’s there to discuss?” Her shoulders slumped and she stared at the table between them. “I did it… I killed him.”

Miles put his forearms on the table, leaning towards her. “You know that wasn’t you.”

Maya, responsively, leaned away. “It might as well have been. I was too weak… I couldn’t control the spirit’s power…

“That would, at most, make you an accessory to murder…”

Miles… Phoenix groaned. Not helping.

“…but, there must be some way to look at this that will absolve you,” he amended. He just wasn’t sure what that was short of adding new laws specifically for ghost-related crimes. “Now, we really do need to talk.”

Maya sighed heavily. “There really isn’t anything to talk about. I went in with Dr. Grey, locked the door, sat down…” She counted off her actions on her fingers. “Then we closed our eyes, I started channeling and… that’s it.”

“That’s it? What do you mean, ‘that’s it’?”

“I mean,” she said, “that's the last thing I remember. When I’m channeling, I lose myself to the spirit. I go unconscious.”

Phoenix made an affirmative noise. It’s not like this, where you’ve still got me rattling around in your thoughts.

“Then,” Miles paused to process, “there was nothing you could’ve done, was there? Not if you were functionally unconscious.”

“No… a stronger medium would have regained control…” Maya pulled face, looking uncomforted by the idea. "I came to in my aunt’s arms and…. covered in blood.” Her expression shifted to squeamish and she shuddered at the memory.

Miles still didn’t understand, but he moved on for now. “And that's everything you remember?”

“Well, I did have a dream…”

….dream? Phoenix questioned.

Maya continued to speak. “I don’t remember it all that well, but… I was dead, and buried in the ground. I couldn’t move, it was suffocating. Unbearable. It went something like that.”

Miles felt his skin prickling at her description, shadows of unpleasant sensations in the depths of his mind. He shook them away. “Maya… you are aware of how disturbing that is, right?”

“I didn’t say it was a good dream!” she huffed. “Although… there was this really familiar scent. That was kind of good.”

“The dirt?” Miles ventured quietly.

“I couldn’t quite place it, but I know I’ve smelled it before,” she replied, either having missed his comment, or chosen not to acknowledge it.

“Well, if you remember anything else,” something hopefully a little more substantial for use in an investigation, "be sure to inform us next time. Until then, you should be working on your request for attorney.”

“But-“ she began.

“Both Mr. Shields and Mr. Grossberg come to mind. You've stood at the bench with both of them and, given they both have ties to DL-6, getting either to accept the involvement of spirit channeling shouldn’t be too big an issue.” Although he wasn’t sure how far either of their beliefs in it went.

“Are you sure they’d be willing to?” Maya asked softly, a slight tremble to her voice. “I mean, I’m guilty. I’m- I'm a murderer!”

Miles sighed heavily, arms crossed as he looked away from her. “Grossberg, I cannot speak for, but Shields took my case.”

“But you were innocent,” Maya pointed out. “You knew you hadn’t shot Hammond… unlike me.” She looked down at her own hands.

“I wasn’t referring to Hammond.”

Her head jerked up in his direction, eyes wide and searching. She looked so young, too young to be going through this, even though Miles knew she was old enough to be tried as an adult.

“I’m…” She bit at a trembling lip. “I’m scared…”

“I know,” Miles said gently as he pushed away from the table. “I’ve got leads to check in on, but we’ll come back.”

“W-wait,” Maya called out before he could step away. Then, reaching under her robes, she pulled out a small pendant - near identical to the one around her neck, except in a translucent green instead of orange. She held it out to him by the thin cord it was attached to. “Here. Give this to Pearly and I’m sure she’ll lend you her powers.”

Miles wasn't sure why he’d need the help of a child, powers or no, but he accepted the token.

“It's called a Magatama,” she said once it'd been handed off (Phoenix making a startled noise). “It’s a magic charm and it’s always protected me… but I don’t need it right now.” She lifted her other arm up, showing off her wrist.

“You’re still wearing the bracelet.” Miles remarked, unsure of why he’d thought she wouldn’t be.

Well it's not done much protecting, has it? Phoenix commented (Miles had never expected it to, tourist trap trinket that it was).

“Never took it off,” she replied, a soft smile playing on her lips as she laid a hand across it to trace the eye-like pendant. “This is my reminder that, no matter what, I know you guys are looking out for me.”



Bidding Maya a farewell for now, they left the detention center, with the precinct next on the list of the day’s destinations. Forensics had been given a lot to work with yesterday and Miles wished to check in on those results.

“Did she really just give you her Magatama?” Phoenix asked after Miles had started up the car.

Miles briefly rested a hand on his breast pocket, feeling the weight of jewel incased inside, but not wanting to present it while he was driving. “One of them, in any event. What exactly is it?” he asked. He’d always assumed the pendant was as culturally significant as the rest of her outfit, like the beads she wore at the ends on her hair, but Maya had specifically referred to it as magic. A protective charm (though it also hadn’t protected her from getting arrested, so Miles wasn’t quite ready to entertain that idea).

“They’re…” Phoenix paused, face scrunching in thought, “I guess you could kind of compare them to an attorney’s badge - but for spirit channeling. Mostly they’re important heirlooms of the Fey clan. Even Mia still wore hers, and she’d almost completely distanced herself from the village.”

“Spirit channeling badge?” Miles questioned. There was an amused smirk on his lips. “Are they admitted by a committee or an association? Is there an exam to pass first before it is bequeathed?”

“You know what, maybe there is,” the symbiont countered. “You can go ask Maya’s scary aunt for confirmation.”

That won’t be necessary,” Miles replied. An heirloom huh? It made the weight feel ever so slightly heavier.

“Well, joking aside, you may have to go to her for more details anyway. Anything I know about the Feys, or Kurain, or channeling; it’s all just bits of information I’ve picked up over the years of knowing Mia and Maya.”

Miles nodded in understanding. He’d need to speak with Morgan Fey regardless, as she was a key witness, but he’d attend to that when the moment arose. First, he had find out how much information the police were working with.



The precinct went deathly silent as Miles stepped in. By now, he knew there had been ample time for news of his return to spread amongst the ranks. He pressed on, ignoring the stares and whispers, mission in mind. If anyone chose to speak to him directly, he’d address their concerns then, and only then. Otherwise, he had far more important things to worry about than gossiping police officers.

Gumshoe and his team were getting themselves organized before they headed back over to the village when Miles encountered him, and didn’t have much time to spare for conversation. The detective, however, dutifully had a copy of the evidence file ready to pass over. He’d also begun to tell Miles something, but he was rushed along before the words got out. No matter, if it was important, he’d find out from him later. They would soon be headed in that direction themselves afterall, but Miles stepped into the hallway, away from prying eyes, to look over the documents just incase he needed anything else from the precinct first.

The evidence list included two weapons, a knife and a gun, both bearing Maya’s fingerprints and both confirmed to have been used against the victim. The knife was identified as belonging to the Feys, but the gun (as they had suspected) was owned by Grey, bought just a few days before the channeling. Consistent with what they’d heard on the scene, the gun had also fired two rounds despite only one being found.

Miles sighed, leaning against the wall as he sifted through the files. It was one inconsistency up against a lot of very concrete evidence.

is it bad? Phoenix asked hesitantly and Miles decided to let his silence speak for itself.

He flipped to a new page, containing scans of what must have been Hart’s photos. One was of the scene they’d barged in on - the spirit of Mimi Miney, in Maya’s body, with her back to the door, gun in hand while she looked down upon Grey’s body. The other was a slightly cropped view of her from the front. This picture alone would have been conclusive - the nurse’s only resemblance to Maya was the fact she was dressed as her - had not every other piece of evidence, from the fingerprints to the bloodied robe, placed the young medium at the heart of the crime.

The robe… Now that Miles was looking at it in still, there was something off about it. On the left sleeve, towards the bottom, there was an odd discolored (as discolored as a black-and-white photo could be) spot. Small and circular, the composition made it difficult to discern exactly what it was, though if it was anything important the evidence file on the robe should elucidate.

Then, he kept looking, because that left arm was the same one he’d tied the bracelet around. Only, he wasn’t seeing any bracelet besides the one she’d already worn.

Maya, for certain, said she’d not removed her gift, Miles said, more to let Phoenix in on his current thought process than any need for confirmation.

The bracelet? Pretty sure she’s never gonna take it off unless she has to. He paused, realization dawning. Wait, why?

I’m looking at Ms. Hart’s photographs of the incident… and it's not there.
He double-checked the first picture, but her body was angled in such a way that obscured her left arm.

Like... at all? Phoenix asked. It didn’t slip under her sleeve or anything?

No,
Miles said. He knew he'd tied it specifically so it wouldn’t slide up and down her arm as she moved around, knowing how animated Maya tended to get, and the tie looked just as tight today.

Then the picture is a fake!
Phoenix exclaimed.

How can the picture be fake? We were there when she took it. And that was definitely what they'd seen.

I mean what it’s showing is fake. If Maya was visibly wearing her bracelet this whole time, then that can't be Maya in there. This isn't a picture of a spirit being channeled.

It was someone else entirely. An imposter! That’s where the logic was leading them. But who, and how? Miles wasn’t sure just yet, but he knew they had to get back to Kurain as soon as possible to started figuring that out.



Upon arrival, Kurain felt just as much like a ghost town as it did yesterday. They’d arrived before the police, but Miles figured he might as well get started on investigating, rather than waiting around for whenever they pulled themselves together and showed up. He headed to the manor first, only to run into Maya’s aunt just as she was exiting.

“Oh, Mr. Edgeworth," Morgan said, looking a little surprised to see him. She held a parcel in her hands, which she adjusted her grip on as she moved to face him.

“Good morning," Miles greeted, giving her a slight, yet still polite, bow.

“I am on my way to meet Mystic Maya and I thought to bring her some items to remind her of home.” She gestured with the package in her hand. “Tea so bitter you lose your tongue and jaw-droppingly large strawberry desserts.”

How… lovely…? Phoenix remarked.

“That sounds lo…like something Mystic Maya would appreciate," Miles replied, stopping himself from echoing Phoenix.

“Oh dear, sweet, Mystic Maya,” she said, to seemingly no one in particular, “how my Pearl and I wept for you last night.”

“My condolences,” Miles said. "However, before you leave, might I have a word? We spoke only briefly yesterday and I'd like to know if you have anymore information you can offer regarding the incident."

She gave the request a brief consideration. "I have told you everything I witnessed, but I will answer any questions you have, good sir.”

“The Channeling Chamber,” Miles began with, because if they were to have any hope of solving a locked room murder, they needed to first understand the circumstances. “Is locking the door part of the ceremony?”

She sniffed. “Normally, no. However, sometimes, when an inexperienced medium calls upon an especially strong spirit, they may become violent and revolt.”

“And this was Mystic Maya’s first channeling,” Miles reasoned.

Morgan nodded, a sad expression on her face. “I never thought my precautions would bring harm upon the client himself.”

I’d think most people would become violent if they were locked in a room with that guy...

“I’m only grateful that our heirloom was not damaged in this horrible incident.”

“Heirloom?” Miles questioned, his mind briefly going to the Magatama in his pocket.

“The Kurain Sacred Writings. It is that folded screen I'm sure you noticed yesterday, good sir. Along with the Kurain Sacred Urn, they are this village's most treasured possessions. If I ever found out that something had happened to either one…” She held a hand to her chest, sighing dramatically. “Oh, the inhumanity…"

“Indeed,” Miles said and nothing more on the topic.

“Was there anything else before I leave?”

Oh, ask about Pearl, so we can deliver the Magatama.

“Your daughter, Pearl Fey…”

“Mr. Edgeworth.” Morgan stood up a little bit straighter and tilted her head back so as to look at Miles down the bridge of her nose (despite the near half a foot Miles had over her - not counting the hair). “In this world, Pearl is my most treasured possession. When compared to even Mystic Maya, Pearl has the spiritual power to become a Master.”

Miles frowned at her, not especially keen on the sudden tone shift. “Mystic Maya is the one in line to become Master, is she not? That’s how your traditions go.”

“Very true, good sir,” she replied, voice strained. “Still, her spiritual strength is so great; even greater than some of the main family. Until now, the women of the branch family have thought themselves to be inferior…  but Pearl is a channeling prodigy and our pride!”

“How remarkable,” Miles said. Never mind asking, he’d just wait until he encountered Pearl organically while revisiting the village.

Morgan’s posture reset. “In any case… our worlds are so different. Perhaps it is best for you to quit, good sir.”

“I appreciate the concern," Miles said, “but I intend to see this through to the end.”

Morgan did not respond, only bidding him the briefest of nods before going on her way.

What was all that about? Phoenix asked.

Miles wasn’t sure, but going forward they may want to keep an eye on Morgan Fey.

Leaving that unsettling interaction behind for now, Miles moved into Fey Manor as previously intended. The Channeling Chamber, as he'd gotten a pretty thorough chance to investigate it yesterday, he decided to bypass for now in favor of scoping out the rest of the area, hoping that he'd run into any of the relevant people he spoke to before. Now that he had more information regarding the case and the preceding incident at the clinic, he had more targeted questions to ask them.

Stepping out into the garden area that led to the rest of the manor, a pink blur darted past out of the corner of his eye, catching Miles off guard. He turned his head towards the movement and saw a vaguely familiar pair of wide eyes staring at him, the rest of her body tucked behind a stone lantern.

“You startled me," Miles said. The young girl didn't answer, but didn’t duck any further into hiding ether. “It is Pearl, correct? Maya had something for me to give to you.” Reaching into his inner jacket pocket, he pulled out the Magatama. Then, kneeling down to her level, Miles held it out at arm's length by the string.

The air was tense for a moment, then Pearl slowly crept out of her hiding spot and approached.

“That’s… that’s Mystic Maya’s…" she near whispered, speaking for the first time. One hand, Miles noticed, was tightly gripping a black object, so she gingerly reached out with her free one. Fingers brushed against the smooth polish of the green gem, examining, before she unhooked it from his fingers. Pearl held it close to her chest, then looked back at Miles. “Who are you…?”

“Miles Edgeworth," he answered, doing his best to bow from his crouched position. “I'm a friend of your cousin’s.”

“Mr. Eh-ji-worth?" she said, sounding out all the parts of his name. “Oh, Mr. Eh-ji!” she realized, eyes lighting up (Miles made a silent complaint about Larry and Maya and foolish nicknames). "You're the one who put the bad man who hurt Mystic Mia in jail! You and Mr. Nick!”

“I… er, yes," Miles fumbled, her statement leaving him - and likely Phoenix - momentarily stunned. "You know about Ph-Nick?”

“I don’t think I'm supposed to," she replied, chewing at her thumbnail. “Mystic Maya let the name slip once and won’t say anything else. I think," and here she leaned forward to whisper to Miles, her previous fear of him evaporated, “he's her special someone.”

Whatever sigh of relief Phoenix was breathing at his (relative) continued anonymity, was soon overtaken by a bewildered sputter.

Her WHAT?!

Pearl sighed dreamily, cradling her face as best she could with two full hands. "I bet it’s a forbidden romance. One of the elders would never approve of. That's why she can’t talk about him. Oh, it's so romantic!”

Well, she wasn’t entirely wrong there. Whatever elders there were would probably take issue with the firebird’s... birdness… but that was completely ignoring the fact that Phoenix and Maya's opinions of one another fell very far in the ‘sibling’ range.

“What’s he like, Mr. Eh-ji? You know him, right?”

“If Maya doesn’t wish to speak on the matter, then neither shall I.”

She nodded in a sagely way that looked odd on someone so young. "I understand, you need to protect Mystic Maya's secret. You're a good friend, Mr. Eh-ji, I can tell, and I'm going to do whatever I can to help you!”

“Thank you, Pearl,” he said, standing up. He still wasn't sure what she could possibly do to assist, but the sentiment was appreciated at the very least.

“By the way, and this may be rude, but which channeling school are you from?"

Miles furrowed his brow. It wasn't rude, so much as out of left field. "I'm not from any channeling school.”

Pearl was taken aback. “But… then how do you have…” she trailed off, staring intensely at him, but not at him, eyes trained to the area where he knew Phoenix resided. The firebird even squirmed a little, as if he could feel her gaze.

“Pearl, what is it that you’ve been holding this whole time?” he asked quickly, hoping to distract her from further questioning. Belatedly, he remembered Maya’s not-quite-warning that Pearl’s spiritual powers were probably strong enough to detect the symbiont’s presence. He should have prepared an excuse for the likely event.

Thankfully for them, it seemed to work. She looked down, unclenching her tiny fist to reveal that the object she’d been carrying was a key. "Oh, this? I found it yesterday. You can have it, if you'd like.”

Miles accepted the key from her, turning it over in his hands. It, like most things in the village, looked fairly old, the design plain aside from an aqua-colored gem that made up the base.

He felt like he'd seen it before, briefly.

“Where did you find this” he asked.

"Over there,” Pearl said, gesturing towards the garden with her now empty hand. "It was in the incinerator.”

“The incinerator… When was this?”

“After the channeling, while everyone was in a panic.” Her expression suddenly mimicked that panic. “You're not going to tell my mother are you? If she finds out I was playing in the left-over trash, I’ll get a spanking."

Miles felt a ping of sympathy wash over him. “No. No, of course not.” He knew all too well about strict guardians and the fear of retribution.

What is it? Phoenix asked.

I believe, it's the key to the Channeling Chamber. Which, if it was, how did it get here for Pearl to find. Hadn’t it been in Maya’s pocket? Miles looked at the incinerator across the way. It might hold more clues, even answers for his questions, but he also wasn't too sold on the idea of rooting through the soot-covered apparatus.

He’d get Detective Gumshoe to do it later. For now, he pocketed the key.

Miles turned back to Pearl, ready to address her again, when from behind him he heard the clack of heels against wood. Pearl glanced around him, making a startled squeak, and positioned herself with his legs as cover.

“Well, well, returned to the scene of the crime, have we? Miles Edgeworth.”

He froze. Her voice was a little deeper, more mature since they’d last spoken, but he’d recognize that haughty tone anywhere. He turned around slowly.

She looked different and yet also the same. Hair shorter, outfit altered, though the general style - clearly influenced by her father - remained unchanged. Sometime in the years since they’d been apart, her riding crop had also been upgraded to a more standard whip, which she held aloft, snapping it menacingly.

“Franziska…”

“Don’t ‘Franziska’ me, Miles Edgeworth," she hissed and Miles felt Phoenix shift in response, curving protectively across his shoulders. "How dare you. How dare you? You disappear without a trace and then show back up as if nothing has happened. Have you no shame?!”

“Franziska, I cannot deal with you right now," Miles sighed, pinching at the bridge of his nose. This kind of attitude was exactly why he wasn't ready to see her.

“Perhaps I am the one who cannot deal with you," she countered, crowding into his personal space. “You've soiled the von Karma name and dragged it through the mud.”

He saw red flash before his eyes. “Your father has done far worse to your family name than I could ever, or are you pretending as if that never happened? Wouldn’t want to besmirch the von Karma creed of perfection, now would we?”

“This isn’t about Papa, this is about you.” She punctuated the statement by stabbing at his chest with her pointer finger. “Why are you here? How has this Maya Fey girl gotten you to come out of hiding?”

She knows about Maya?

Trial records,
Miles reasoned, narrowing his eyes. Maya had participated, in some form, in most of his recent ones. Franziska would have easily noticed the connection if she’d been looking into him, as Gumshoe had suggested.

“Maya is a friend,” he told her. “Why are you here, besides to make my life difficult?”

“Oh, have you not heard?" she said in a tone he did not like one bit, waggling the finger she’d poked him with in his face. He leaned away. "I've been assigned as prosecutor to this case.”

Miles stared incredulously. “You’re joking.”

“When have you known me to joke?” she replied. “Though it’s hardly worth my efforts. With this evidence, even a novice prosecutor could prove that girl did it.”

But we know she didn’t!

“Then why take it at all?” Miles asked, though he already knew the answer and he felt sympathy for Maya, already in a difficult situation, now having to deal with Franziska’s vexations because of her connection to him. “Need an easy victory to uphold that coveted perfect win record?”

Franziska seethed, stepping back far enough so she could point accusingly. “Mark my words, Miles Edgeworth, at tomorrow's trial I will see Maya Fey found guilty for her crime!”

“Then I shall just have to prove her innocence before then!" he countered, crossing his arms.

“I’d like to see you try!” Franziska snapped and before Miles could even react, she was lashing out with that whip, catching him square in the shoulder before angrily stalking off.

Miles had yelped at the strike, more out of surprise than pain. Phoenix, on the other hand, who had been unfortunate enough to be caught in the crossfire, made a very wild motion in response. It felt like he’d almost jumped free for a moment, before snapping back into place and swiftly retreating to his lower back. It was probably only the tight fit of his tailored clothing that had kept the symbiont in place.

What was THAT?! the firebird demanded.

A whip, Miles said, rubbing at the offended spot as he watched her go, heels accentuating each stomp of her foot. Phoenix should count himself lucky that, even now, Franziska still seemed to pull her blows when it came to him. Miles suspected that that could have hurt far more than it actually did. Are you alright?

Yeah, I… I’m fine. So, uh, that’s your sister, huh?


Miles sighed. I hope you understand my hesitance to meet her now. Unfortunately, that avoidance was no longer on the table. If they were going to be successful in finding the truth, they’d be seeing a lot more of her in the near future.

Phoenix shuddered. Very much so, he said.

“Um, Mr. Eh-ji?” There was a slight tug at his jacket and Miles looked down.

“Oh, Pearl.” In the storm that was Franziska he'd nearly forgotten about her. She must have been hiding behind him the entire time. “Yes, what is it?”

She held out the Magatama to him. “Here."

His brows knitted. “But Maya instructed me to give it to you.”

Pearl shook her head. “I don't feel right accepting something like this, and I want to help you prove that mean lady wrong!” Pearl paused to peek around him, as if making sure she wasn’t coming back, then continued. “So... I charged it with spiritual energy.”

She held it up a little more insistently, so Miles accepted this time. It didn’t look or feel any different to him, but then again Miles wasn't a spirit channeler.

“It will let you see people’s secrets... and shouldn’t interfere with the spiritual energy you already have with you.”

Phoenix made a strangled noise.

See people's secrets?” Miles questioned. How could one see a secret? “That’s preposterous.”

Even more preposterous than a talking tattoo?

“…how does it work?”

"If it's alright with you, I would like to accompany you for a little while. I can explain the Magatama's power to you when we meet someone hiding a secret.”

“Alright,” he said. So now, they just needed to find a person with something to hide, and, thinking back to yesterday, Miles already knew where to start.

He turned around to look across the wooden walkway. Milling around just outside the door to her guest room was Miney, potentially lured out by all the yelling he and Franziska had been doing at one another. She caught his eye and waved lazily, the other hand barely covering up a huge yawn.

“Pearl,” he said, “I have the perfect candidate.”

Chapter Text

“Oh hey, like, you’re that guy from yesterday,” Miney said as they came over, leaning heavily against the railing. “The professor guy.” She peered around him, looking down at Pearl. “Aww, is that, like, your daughter? She’s so totally cute!”

“No, she's not, and I'm a prosecutor,” Miles corrected.

“Oh... right. Um, Mr. Stewart, Esquire.”

“Edgeworth,” he corrected again, unimpressed. "Ms. Miney, if you’re quite done, I have a few more questions I'd like to ask you regarding what happened yesterday.”

“Oh, well, I have, like, a sesame allergy, and-“

“No, not that," he sighed. This was going nowhere fast. “The victim, Dr. Grey…”

She suddenly stood up straight. “I don’t know who you're talking about,” she said, interrupting.

Now, to his own credit, Miles did not yell. He did, however, take a very large step back as chains extending from the ether itself materialized and began to wrap themselves protectively around Miney. Miney only tilted her head questioningly at him, unaffected by the event that had just occurred.

“W-what..?!” Miles demanded.

“You can see it, can't you, Mr. Eh-ji?” Pearl asked softly. “The locks on this person's heart?”

There was certainly a lock. A large padlock in red and gold that held the chains in place, positioned squarely at the center of her chest.

“This is the power of the Magatama," Pearl continued. “Only you can see these ‘Psyche-Locks’, Mr. Eh-ji.”

Well… not entirely… the symbiont said.

Phoenix?

I can't
see it, per se, but… if I focus… there's only one, right?

“There's one lock," Miles confirmed verbally.

“Oh, then I think you can easily unlock it. The more someone wants to hide their secret, the more there’ll be,” Pearl explained.

Miles scowled at the lock and chains as they began to fade back into the nothing from whence they came. Seemed whatever force had manifested them needed to be maintained. "And how would I go about… unlocking?”

“Please use Mystic Maya’s Magatama, but be careful. If you make a mistake it will hurt you.”

Miles retrieved the jewel from his pocket, turning it over in his hands a few times. How was something that was, at its barest essentials, a rock, supposed to harm him outside of being thrown? Logically, it didn't make sense, but then again, things regarding the Feys rarely did.

You don't have to do this if you're unsure,
Phoenix said, probably picking up on some apprehension. I’m sure there are other ways to get her to talk.

Mentally, Miles shook his head and pushed his skepticism to the side for now. We should make use of every resource available to us. Even the ones he didn't understand.

Taking a breath, Miles held the Fey heirloom out where Miney could see it.

“Oooh, is that a Magatama? Aw, you shouldn’t have.”

He shied it away from her outstretched hand. “I'm going to ask you again, Ms. Miney. Do you, or do you not know Dr. Grey?”

Tapping at her forehead, she reconsidered her answer as the lock snapped back into place.  “Wait… like, you asked me about him or something yesterday, right?”

“I did," Miles agreed. “To which you specifically told me that you were a patient of his in the past.”

“Yeah, but like,” she yawned, “that doesn’t mean I, like, know him know him, you know?”

“No?” Miles questioned, but Miney only gave him a smile as hollow as her head seemed to be. “Are you not the contact who told him to come here in the first place?”

“Like, that could’ve been anyone. Spirits are, like, totally in right now,” she said dismissively, causing Miles to raise a brow in question. He highly doubted the validity of that statement.

Phoenix chimed in. This is going nowhere. She just keeps denying all of your claims.

Then let's give her something she can’t deny,
Miles said.

“If you’re, like, looking for his name on my Facebook friends list,” Miney said, watching as Miles got out his phone, “you won’t find it.”

Miles ignored her remark as he retrieved what he was looking for, glad he’d had the foresight to save that article for future use, lest he be fighting connectivity issues to search for it again.

“While I cannot prove you knew Dr. Grey directly, I can provide a solid link between the two of you. This is an article regarding the Grey clinic incident and the car accident involving one of it's nurses shortly after. Now, might I draw your attention to that car crash victim’s name.”

Miney’s shoulders slumped as she spoke it aloud. "...Mimi Miney…”

“I don't think I need to tell you that ‘Miney’ isn’t exactly the most common of names.”

She shook her head. “She… she was my older sister.”

“And that is how you, at the very least, undeniably knew of Dr. Turner Grey. Through your sister!”

The lock cracked and shattered under the force of his words, chains receding. Miney’s eyes, typically half lidded and sleepy, flew open in alarm, the white beret falling into her hands from the sudden movement.

Was that- ?! Phoenix began.

Miles smirked. “Now, Ms. Miney, would you care to finally divulge the truth regarding your connection to Dr. Grey?”

She kneaded at her hat briefly, tugging the fabric, before replacing it atop her head. “My sister, Mimi, was, like, a nurse at Dr. Grey’s clinic," she confirmed. “He was, like, really tough on people. Like, a total slave driver. My sis was, like, always coming home totally wiped out 'cause she was overworked.”

“To the point where she might have fallen asleep at the wheel?” Miles ventured. “The article speculated foul play, but Dr. Grey obviously denied it."

Miney didn't reply right away. "It was that doctor's fault," she eventually said in a tone unfitting to her airheaded demeanor. "He worked her to her death."

“Ah. I’m sorry for your loss,” Miles said, realizing he was being a bit callous towards the subject, “but then why did you feel the need to hide that?”

Miney shrugged. “He’d just been, like, murdered. I just, like, wanted people to know it couldn’t have been me.”

Well it worked, Phoenix said. The police notes barely even mentioned her presence here.

And in doing so made herself all the more suspicious in Miles’ eyes. She’d been feigning ignorance before he'd even informed her of Grey’s demise, having slept through the incident. Or was that a lie too? Plus they now knew this locked room case involved a third person…

“Are we, like, done now?” Miney asked, snapping him from his thoughts.

“Yes, of course," Miles said, exhausted of questions for her at the moment, and put the Magatama away. “Thank you for your time.”

‘If you need me, I'll be, like, here,” she said before slipping back into her guest room, probably keen to get away from him.

“Do you understand now, Mr. Eh-ji?” Pearl said suddenly, only startling him a little. She was just so quiet. ”About Psyche-Locks?”

Understand might be stretching things a bit far. He would probably never understand any of this spiritual business no matter how much exposure to it he received but “...I think I grasp the general concept.”

Having a portable lie detector does seem pretty useful, if not a bit invasive, Phoenix added.

We should only use it if absolutely necessary, Miles agreed.

“Just please remember to be careful. Some people might not be as willing to give in.”

“Of course,” Miles said. All the more reason to use it sparingly. He remembered her previous warning, about how the Magatama could hurt if not used properly, and he didn’t want to find out exactly what that meant.

Pearl nodded, fidgeting with her sleeves. “When you see Mystic Maya again, please tell her I said hi." She gave a short, polite bow, and then scampered off again before Miles could get another word in edgewise.

Odd child, Miles remarked.

You have to admit she was helpful.

Indeed. Pearl herself probably didn't realize it, but in addition to charging the Magatama, she’d handed him another piece of evidence in the form of that key. It wasn’t enough to save Maya just yet, but every little bit opened up new paths towards the truth.

Which reminded him, he thought as his eyes wandered back towards the garden, there was one path in particular he still needed to check.



“There you are, sir!" Gumshoe announced as Miles made his way back to the main hall. Aside from one other officer, the group he'd been attending to earlier that morning were nowhere to be seen, so Miles could only assume they were off investigating elsewhere. “I couldn't tell you before, but Pro-"

"If this is about Franziska,” Miles interrupted, rubbing at his shoulder as the memory of their encounter returned, "I've already spoken to her."

Gumshoe winced as if he'd just been struck himself. "I thought she looked a little angrier than usual…”

Miles sighed. He knew he needed to address Franziska and this change in their already tense relationship eventually, but she could have picked a better time to barge back into his life.

“Where is she now?"

“In the channeling chamber with the rest of the investigative team.”

“Good.” He could keep focusing on the issue with a deadline for now. “Come with me. I require your assistance.”

The assistance was in properly investigating that incinerator, which Miles explained once he'd brought the detective over. Gumshoe bemoaned the state of his, frankly already filthy, coat, but followed the request without much protest otherwise.

If you were that concerned with getting your clothes dirty, Phoenix said after he caught wind to Miles’ intentions, I probably could’ve done it. Nobody’s around, right?

Ignoring the fact that there was no way to confirm that for sure, given this was a very open area and Pearl's penchant for appearing out of nowhere, Miles asked, And how would that prevent the issue? Or have you forgotten all about your stunt at the beach?

Seeming to realize his logical lapse, the symbiont stayed quiet.

“Sir! I think I found something," Gumshoe announced as he pulled his finding from the incinerator, only to then immediately drop it in alarm.

“Detective!” Miles scolded. "That could be important evidence!” Although, upon closer inspection, Miles couldn't entirely blame him for the reaction. What he had uncovered was a burnt swatch of fabric, the same color and material as Maya’s robes, visibly stained with blood. “Do you have an evidence bag on you?" Miles asked, which thankfully he did.

“You know, that reminds me of that get up Maya usually wears," Gumshoe observed as Miles took the bag from him, placing the cloth scrap inside.

“I'll get this to forensics for analysis when I return to the city,” Miles said, pocketing it for now. If his assumption was right, it was the victim's blood, which would confirm that there were two sets of channeling robes present at the time of the murder; Maya’s, and the ones their culprit in the photo wore.

“You’re heading back, sir?” the detective asked, brushing some of the soot from his arm.

“For now. We need this data sooner than later,” Miles said, after taking a moment to weigh his options. Unless that loony southerner was lurking around somewhere, they’d spoken to everyone relevant in Kurain, and it was probably worth talking to Maya again with a better grasp of the situation. It was still technically morning anyway, so there was plenty of daylight left to investigate further, even with the commute time. “You are to continue the investigation here. Keep me posted on any breakthroughs, and…" he paused a moment, “keep an eye on Franziska, too.”

“S-sure thing, sir!” Gumshoe said, stumbling a little in his acceptance.

Pushing the stuff you don't want to do on Gumshoe again?

Miles grunted. Come on, we're going.

I… kinda don't have a choice?
Phoenix pointed out and Miles was glad he'd already turned away from the detective, lest he see the mildly embarrassed flush on his face.



Miles dropped the cloth off with forensics on his way to the detention center, with strict instructions to inform him of the blood analysis results the second they got them, running into a familiar face while there.

“Ms. Hart?”

The photographer, whose nerves still apparently hadn’t calmed down, leapt from the chair she'd been idling in. “Land sakes, Mr. Edgeworth, stop doin' that!” She pouted, crossing her arms. “Well, since you're here, can't you do something about these cops? They brought me down here to testify about that there murder and I've been in and out of questioning all day. Took forever that time too. Why did I ever think I wanted to be a witness back then?”

“Higher powers than I control the speed at which things are processed." Miles replied. “Even if I were inclined to help, you're on your own.”

Hart looked up at him, her eyes narrowing, which probably couldn't mean anything good. “Hey, come to think of it, how come you ain’t sitting here too? I reckon we saw the exact same thing.”

“Unlike you, I didn't take photographs, which is why I can only assume you are here specifically. I would simply be redundant at that point.”

She groaned, sinking back down to her seat. “I just wanted a big scoop," she whined.

Miles left her to wallow in her self pity, as she wasn’t the person he was in town to see. Next stop, the detention center.

He came as a proper visitor this time, well within the allotted hours, but it was not Maya who greeted him behind the glass.

“Gentlemen, it's been a while. I see you’re still hanging around with the prosecution, Phoenix."

M-Mia!

Mia’s smile was coy as she adjusted her sister’s robes to fit herself more comfortably. This was, without a doubt, the real deal - the true power of the Kurain Channeling Technique. This wasn’t even Miles’ first time seeing it, and yet it unnerved him just as much as it had the first time. After all, it hadn't even been a year since he'd investigated the murder of the very woman seated before him now.

“What's wrong, Mr. Edgeworth?” That smile shifted to a smirk. “You look like you've seen a ghost.”

“Ms. Fey,” he acknowledged with a slight sigh. Would this family never cease to throw him off his guard? “I take it you’ve already gathered where you've been called to?”

“Looks like my sister is in a lot of trouble. Tell me what happened.”

So Miles explained the situation to her and what they'd learned thus far, Phoenix helping him keep track of the details. Mia listened quietly, a pensive look upon her face.

“I see…” she said when Miles had wrapped up. “I assume, then, that you are not prosecuting.”

“I’m currently on hiatus from courtroom appearances. Unfortunately, my sister seems to have taken up the mantle in my absence."

“So there’s two of you, huh?” Mia groaned, apparently exasperated by the very concept (and given how their first meeting had gone, he couldn't exactly fault her). “Is she as ruthless as you were?”

“Even more so, I’m afraid. Which is why I'm hoping to find the truth today, before she even has the chance to prosecute.” Miles shifted in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “Thus anything you can offer would be appreciated.”

Mia hummed thoughtfully to herself for a moment. "You seemed to have determined for yourselves that it couldn’t have been Maya in the picture,” she flicked the wrist the bracelet was upon briefly, “but I can tell you for absolute certain that no channeling happened in that room that day.”

“How?”

“Mediums can't have dreams.”

Huh? I know both of them have told me about weird dreams they've had in the past, Phoenix said.

"I believe she's referring to Maya's baffling tale about being buried underground.”

Mia nodded. “Our spirits disappear when we channel. It's impossible to dream in that state.”

“So she was asleep at the time. Almost certainly drugged given the circumstance,” Miles worked out, and he felt Phoenix bristle at the idea.

“A set-up," Mia confirmed. "And you two need to figure out how.”

“Easier said than done."

Mia smiled slightly. "If you’re looking for a clue, you already hold the key to this case in your hands."

“The key?” Miles questioned.

Well, we have a literal key, Phoenix said, just as confused.

Miles removed it from his pocket, turning the object a few times where Mia could see it. “Then this is the Channeling Chamber key as I suspected?”

“The key to understanding everything that's happened. Right now, it sits in your hand - and that very fact alone is a contradiction.”

“...you are a very cryptic person," Miles said, but he took that as confirmation and put the key away. Now it was a matter of when and how it and (hopefully soon to also be confirmed) Maya’s robes got into the incinerator from an active crime scene.

“Comes with the 'being dead' territory,” she replied.

Don’t listen to her, she's always been like this.

Miles hummed his response, crossing his arms. “The biggest thing that concerns me regarding this entire mess is why go through all this trouble to frame Maya? She has no connection to the victim and I doubt she even knows enough people to have enemies.”

Mia didn’t say anything, but she didn't need to. Miles gave a sharp intake of breath as once more chains began to form around the person he was speaking to, this time held by three locks.

Psyche-Locks?! Phoenix exclaimed. But... but why?

She must know something…
Miles said, eyes wide, or suspect something at the very least.

But why the
locks? Why is she keeping it from... from us?

‘From me’ Miles knew he wanted to say. The hurt implication hung heavy in his tone.

Mia’s brow knitted at the sudden shift in the atmosphere - or at the very least the one in Miles’ expression. “What's wrong?"

“Ms. Fey…” he said slowly, “do you know something about who the true murderer is?"

Mia looked legitimately surprised at the accusation. “Why… do you think that?”

“Never mind that, what are you keeping from us? Are you protecting someone?”

“You think I'm protecting someone? Who?” she asked.

“I... don't know," he admitted. “Obviously I barely know you, but the only person involved who I would think you'd protect is Maya…”

Miles winced as a sharp pang ran through his... he wasn't quite sure what. His soul perhaps, which was an unsettling concept. From the way Phoenix jolted, the firebird must have felt it too. So that's what Pearl was warning them about.

She looked concerned now. "Mr. Edgeworth, what's going on?”

“I think... I need more information," he replied, briefly rubbing at the center of his chest as the locks faded away. Clearly whatever secret Mia had, she wasn’t giving up without a fight, and while the pain had been dull - no worse than the sting of his sister’s whip - he rather not be penalized via… whatever that was… again.

If Mia had any further concerns, she kept them to herself. "Back to investigating, then?”

Actually, before we go, Phoenix interjected. Not that it isn’t great to see... er… hear her, but could you ask Mia if she doesn't mind switching back?

Mia nodded as the request was relayed. "If you need to talk more, you know how to find me.” And then, she was gone, Maya now in her place.

“Huh?” Maya blinked, frowning a little at Miles as she took in her surroundings. “You're done talking to sis?”

“Momentarily. However, I think Phoenix has something to say to you.”

Just... what Mia said. About the dreaming. I think she needs to hear it.


Turns out, she did.

“But, does that mean…?” Maya gasped, hands trembling slightly as they hovered over her mouth.

“There was no way you could have been channeling at the time, according to your sister," Miles told her, in no uncertain terms, as some of that weight visibly lifted from her shoulders. “It wasn't you."



The two were back to Kurain to chase more leads from there. On the way, forensics called in to confirm Miles' suspicions that the blood did belong to the victim. That meant there were two sets of robes at the crime scene and a failed attempt at destroying evidence. Had there been any doubt of foul play left, it was gone now.

Though there was still whatever Mia was keeping secret, the biggest thing that would help Maya would be finding the phony who'd donned her robes, and right now there was only one potential suspect who might have the motive to see Dr. Grey dead.

They found Miney outside, though she still hadn't strayed far from the room. She leaned heavily against the railing that blocked the walkway off from the zen garden again, deep in a hushed conversation with Morgan Fey.

Well... that’s something, Miles remarked, just as the two women noticed him and abruptly stopped talking.

“Remember you are welcome to stay longer to aid in your studies. I am here should you need anything,” Morgan said, her voice loud enough for Miles to hear, as she turned to walk away from Miney. She paused, briefly, as she passed by Miles, giving him a curt nod. “Good sir.”

Miles nodded back. “Ms. Fey.” Even as she left his direct line of sight, he could still feel her eyes on him, likely leveling him with the usual degree of disapproval. It was a wonder such a severe woman was related to Maya.

“That Morgan Fey is, like, real helpful," Miney said, unprompted, as she stood from her leaning position.

Miles glanced over, brow raised. “Is she now?”

“Yeah. She’s like, a really good person.”

“I see.”

“Like totally."

Is there a point to this conversation?
Phoenix asked.

Miles groaned, tapping a finger against his arm as Miney swayed gently from side to side, as if she could topple over into sleep at any moment. This woman had things to hide, though he also suspected that most attempts at conversing with her would lead similar dead ends. Plus they’d already broken her Psycho-Lock, or whatever Pearl had called it, so he wasn't even sure which direction to even begin in should he try.

The firebird spoke up again. Hey... so, uh, remember that time in Gant’s office?

I don’t like how this conversation is starting.

Then let me finish. Miney’s definitely suspicious, we just need to figure out
how suspicious, right? Well, if she's staying here, maybe that information’s in her room.

Maybe,
Miles agreed and, already knowing where this would lead, followed with, but I doubt she’ll simply let me snoop around her room.

Then it's good
you won't be doing the snooping.

Miles looked back over at Miney, keenly aware that she was watching him, despite the fact that her eyes were practically closed, waiting for his next move. Without a solid lead, they were at a standstill with this one. As much as he hated Phoenix's plan, it made sense.

Look at it this way, Phoenix said at Miles’ silence. This time you won't be any further away than you are when we hang out in separate rooms. Probably. Plus, no locked doors.

Miles sighed heavily through his nose. What do you need from me?

Just point me in the right direction and keep her distracted.

Which was easy for him to say. While Miles could see the target, and Miney had even helpfully left the screen open, Miney was also standing between them and it and Phoenix wasn’t exactly inconspicuous. He leaned against the railway himself, masking his search for an escape route in looking out at the garden. A garden that sat at a lower level than the surrounding decks, which were propped up on visible supports, a good foot or so off the ground.

On my signal, Miles said, hanging his arm over the railing as naturally as he could, duck underneath the walkway and head over to that open screen.

The symbiont made his understanding known by moving into place, head appearing at the back of Miles' hand so he could see where he was going. Now Miles just needed to create an opening.

“I couldn't help but overhear,” Miles started, as good as a prompt as any, "that you are staying here for research purposes, despite the ongoing murder investigation?”

“Oh, yeah, for like, parapsychology and stuff…" Miney replied, a little wary. “There’s, like, not many other places in the state to go for it."

“I’m a little curious. Might you be willing to share some of those studies with me?”

Evidently, that surprised her enough to actually fully open her eyes. “You... really?”

No, not especially, but he wanted to keep her talking, so Miles couldn't inquire about what he really wanted to know. “Is it a problem?”

“No... no, I…” She turned away from him, deliberating, which gave him enough time to shout ‘Now!’ to Phoenix. The firebird dropped off into the gravel below with a dull thud and swiftly disappeared beneath the floorboards.

When Miney turned back, she'd schooled her face back into that dopey expression and Miles had straightened to a more comfortable standing position.

“Sorry, I guess I'm just, like, surprised. You don’t look like the kind of person who’d, like, be into this stuff, ya know?”

“Well, as they say, looks can be deceiving," Miles replied, forcing himself from looking down to try and track Phoenix's movements, lest he accidentally draw her attention. He’d just have to trust the symbiont knew what he was doing.

“So, like, is there anything in particular you want to know?”

There wasn’t. "Why don't you start with what you've learned here at Kurain Village."

“Oh, but there's like, so much here. Like… like that urn over there!" She gestured to the same old vase Miles had noticed the first time he'd come here - the one he swore looked different from then. “Do you, like, know about it?"

“No, though I assume it’s a family heirloom.”

“Yeah! It’s, like, the family treasure!” Miney said as they moved over to get a closer look, Miles strategically positioning himself in a way so Miney would have to face away from the door to face him. “And, like, ‘it’s' totally sealed inside.”

“‘It’?” he questioned.

“You know! Ami Fey's spirit!”

“Ami… Fey?" he questioned again. And didn't she mean ashes, not spirit?

“Like, the founder of the Kurain Channeling Technique? Come on, Mr. Stewart, like, everyone knows that.”

"I highly doubt everyone knows,” Miles replied. “And my name is Edgeworth.”

Miney snorted. “Whatever. So, like, the legend goes that, like, as long as her spirit lives in that urn, the spiritual power of the family'll stick around. Like, isn't that totally romantic?”

Miles creased his brow. ‘Romantic’ probably wasn't the word he'd use. “And they Feys believe in this legend?” he asked, to which Miney nodded. “Then why leave such an important artifact out in the open, unguarded? What if someone should happen along and break it?”

Miney gasped dramatically. “You wouldn’t! That's so totally uncool!”

“Of course I wouldn’t!” Miles sputtered. “I was speaking hypothetically!” Besides, it looked like that very thing had already occurred. At least he knew his memory wasn't failing him, the urn had once read ‘AMI’, and not 'I AM’ as it did now. A detail that would probably prove important somewhere down the line.

“If you, like, say so.”

“Alright, that’s enough about the urn,” Miles sighed, moving on before the discussion lapsed too much. He still needed to keep her talking until Phoenix found whatever he thought they needed and got out. "Surely you've learned about more than that?”

Her head tilted off to the side. “Aren't you, like, friends with Mystic Maya? Can't you get this from her?” An edge of suspicion was leaking into her tone.

“How did you know I was friends with Maya?” Miles asked. He didn't recall mentioning it to her.

"Ms. Morgan. She, like, said that ‘that good sir with the ruffles is Mystic Maya's guest’.”

“I see,” Miles replied slowly, unsure of how he felt about Morgan spreading word about him. “Well, yes, while I could discuss this with Maya, she's in a difficult situation right now. Besides, there is something to be learned from hearing an academic’s perspective. Especially on such an unusual subject.”

She studied him for a moment before breaking the silence with “You’re, like, weird.”

Miles crossed his arms. "I've been called worse things.”

Miney pressed a finger to either side of her temple and rubbed, providing her own thinking music by humming loudly. Miles watched her deliberate with herself, until something else drew his attention. A sudden strong pull of emotion from Phoenix's end of their link, flashing by too quickly for Miles to get a proper read, but it felt like something had certainly caught the firebird off guard.

“… are you, like, even listening to me?"

“Ah, pardon.” He hadn't even realized she'd begun to speak again. “I was... remembering something important I need to see to later. Please, continue.” Maybe Phoenix had just found something shocking. Miles could only hope for now that's all it was.

She pouted at him, but went on. “So, like, as I was saying, only the strongest Fey women can channel spirits, but the whole family is spiritually attuned. So sometimes the branch family, like, gets the power to summon spirits. Isn’t that so totally cool?!”

“Hold on,” Miles said, "is channeling spirits not the same thing as summoning them?”

“Oh, yeah, like, if you wanna get technical about it.” Miney made a dismissive gesture with her hand. "But this is, like, totally different. These are, like, spirit spirits, not soul spirits."

He blanched. "Do you ever listen to yourself speaking?"

“Oh come on it’s, like, not that hard. Normal spirits are, like, the souls of dead people, but the other kind is, like, raw spiritual energy in animate form. Only, I guess they technically don’t really do, anything, cause they aren't, like, sentient or whatever, and nobody thinks it's as useful as, like, talking to the dead. It’s, like, kind of a point of contention around here.”

“Then… is there any use for this apparent ability?"

“I don’t know," she admitted. "That’s, like, one of the things I wanted to study, besides the channeling. Ms. Morgan wouldn't talk about it. I think it's a sore spot, cause she’s, like, part of the branch family, you know?”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Morgan had said something along those lines to him earlier, about the inadequacy of the branch family. There was also something nagging him about these soulless spirits’, but the dot wouldn’t quite connect.

“Um…” A soft voice suddenly spoke and the two looked down as Pearl, much like a spirit herself, had silently appeared behind Miney.

“Oh, like, hi little cutie!” Miney said as she turned to face her. "Do you need something?"

“Excuse me for interrupting,” Pearl said, biting nervously at her thumb. “There’s a box in this room that we usually keep my ball in and…”

Miles drew his attention away from what the girls were saying when his name was called in a harsh whisper. He looked down to see a feathered head staring up at him before slipping under the floorboards.

“Hey, so, like, I’m gonna go grab this little girl’s ball for her. Do you mind?” Miney said, addressing Miles once more.

“Go ahead. I feel as I've taken enough of your time as is, Ms. Miney. Thank you for humoring my inquiries.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, like, for sure. No problem.” She looked momentarily confused, but shrugged it off. “Come on, like, let's go get your ball."

Once they'd disappeared into the room, Miles quickly leaned over the railing. “They're gone, Phoenix," he whispered. The firebird's head reappeared, shortly followed by the rest of his body as he hauled himself up onto the walkway. Miles held his hand out to him, letting the symbiont merge back into his tattoo form.

That was brilliant timing, Miles said once he'd settled. A second longer and you would have been at risk of discovery.

Yeah… uh, about that timing….


Miles looked over as Pearl approached him, clutching a small ball in her hands. “Hello Mr. Eh-ji. I'm glad your spirit friend got back to you safe and sound."

Miles didn't need to see Phoenix to know what sheepish look he had on his face. …we may need to explain a few things.

Chapter Text

They moved to a more private location, which ended up being the spare room Miles and Phoenix had spent the night in, still set up for guest use. Pearl stood by politely while Miles shut the door, then moved to the far side of the room and signaled the firebird.

“In the event he did not properly introduce himself,” Miles said as the symbiont appeared, making a bit of a show of himself as he glided down towards her and landed with a flourish, "Pearl Fey, this is my partner, Phoenix.”

Phoenix dipped his head politely. “Hi again, and thanks for the help back there, by the way. Definitely made my life easier.”

“Oh, it was no trouble at all, Mr. Fee-niks,” she sounded out, returning his gesture.

“It could have been," Miles said, frowning at the firebird. “The point was for you to not get discovered.”

“I wasn't trying to!" Phoenix protested. “I even hid in this big wicker box when I noticed her coming in, but she looked in there immediately.”

“Oh no, please don’t be mad at him, Mr. Eh-ji! I only found him because of the spiritual energy," Pearl interjected, looking over at Phoenix. “Your aura is actually stronger when you aren’t together.”

“It is?" Phoenix gave himself a once-over, even checking under his wings.

Pearl nodded, fidgeting with the ball still in her hands (Miles noted, with a touch of amusement, the Steel Samurai print on it). “I was nearby and sensed a shift, so I got curious. I’m sorry if I learned something I shouldn't have."

“Nnghh... it's fine,” Miles said. He couldn't be too harsh on her, she was just a child after all. Of course she’d want to investigate something strange happening in her own home.

“Honestly it probably would have happened sooner or later. Maya was gonna introduce us when I was supposed to stay with her."

“You were staying with Mystic Maya?” Pearl asked.

“It’s a long story,” Miles said. They could give her the full details, if she truly wanted them, later, after this was settled. "Just promise us you won't tell anyone about Phoenix.”

“I promise!” she replied with a bright smile.

"And you.” The firebird jumped as he was suddenly turned on. “We need to be more careful while we're here. Who knows who else's attention you might draw.”

“Hey, Maya specifically said that no one else should be able to notice me besides Pearls here,” Phoenix reminded him.

“That was a theoretical statement and… Pearls?" Miles questioned.

"What? It's cute. It suits her” He looked to the girl in question. “You don't mind me calling you ‘Pearls', do you?"

She shook her head. "No, and, um, Mystic Maya is probably right, I don't think the other mediums here could, but…” she paused to chew at her thumb, “you're also stronger than most spirits.”

"Phoenix's situation is… complicated," Miles said as Phoenix preened at the (probably unintended) compliment. “I was speaking to Ms. Miney earlier and she told me that spirits are mindless manifestations of energy, and there's certainly a brain somewhere in that feathery head - though he doesn't always act it."

“Hey!”

Pearl seemed to nod in agreement. “Mediums can train to sense the presence of spirits, if our power is strong enough, but even then I don't think we’re supposed to be able to see or touch them.”

“Ah, so they’re usually incorporeal as well?”

Pearl’s head tilted. “En-cor-preel?”

Miles was starting to see, in the context of talking to Pearl, why Maya might have wanted to shorten his name. He just wished she hadn't used Larry as her inspiration. “It means they are lacking physical form, like the air around us.”

"Oh! Then, yes, that. They’re en-cor-preel. At least, I think so. This is actually my first time meeting one! The power to call them is rare - I could have been born with it, but Mother says I'm lucky to have gained the power of channeling instead.”

“Yes, she said something to that effect earlier,” Miles murmured, mostly to himself. The pride of the branch family, she'd called her. That combined with the information he’d gotten from Miney and it sounded like Morgan Fey might be just a tad displeased with her position in the family.

“Oh, but maybe it's different for other channeling techniques. I don't know much outside of the village… what was your medium like, Mr. Fee-niks? Who summoned you?”

“I…" Phoenix began, paling. Before he could fumble for any response, Miles saw, for the third, time that day, chains rushing into his field of vision, two locks snapping into place.

Two blue locks.

Phoenix must have still had some inkling to their existence because he pulled a face, exhaling through his nostrils.

“Oh no, did I ask the wrong thing?" Pearl asked, misinterpreting the reaction as she dipped her head down apologetically. “I'm sorry."

“No, no! You're fine!" the firebird hurriedly said. “I just..."

“We unfortunately don't have an answer to that question at the present moment,” Miles explained. Thinking on it, it only made sense that Phoenix would have locks of his own. It wasn't news that the symbiont had secrets, though the color had thrown him off.

“Oh,” Pearl said, though it was mostly an exhale of breath. She still looked puzzled. “Is this also about Mr. Fee-niks being, um, complicated?”

He chuckled. "Something like that. And you know you can just call me 'Nick' like Maya does."

“Okay Mr.-“ They could see the lightbulb go off in her head and she dropped her ball in shock, letting it bounce off into the corner of the room. “You're Mr. Nick?!”

“Uh… surprise?” Phoenix said, waving his wings a bit.

“Mystic Maya's special someone is a spirit? Then…” Her face went on an interesting journey, applying this new information with the theories her mind had concocted from only the passing mention of a name and Maya's secrecy. "It really is a forbidden romance!” she finally decided, drawing a long, exasperated wheeze from Phoenix.

“That's not… we’re not…” he began weakly.

Pearl continued on, heedless of his concerns. “Oh, this is like in the stories, where the beast falls in love with the beautiful princess!” She sighed dreamily into her hands, twirling in place. “But, Mr. Nick!" She stopped suddenly to face him, hands on her hips. “Why hasn’t Mystic Maya kissed you yet?”

“H-huh?!”

“The cursed prince always gets turned back human by true love’s kiss!”

“Wow Phoenix, I never knew you were a prince,” Miles said, smirking slightly. The glare he got in response looked more like a plea for help. “Regardless, there's nothing to be done for that. We need to focus on clearing Maya's name first.”

“Of course!” the young girl said determinedly. “Whatever I can do to help, I'll try.”

“Actually… there may be something. I realize I've failed to ask you what you were doing when the incident occurred,” Miles said to Pearl's questioning look.

“Oh yeah!" the firebird chimed in. “Where were you when the murder happened? You might have seen something helpful.”

“A-ah! What-what was I-I doing?” she stammered, fidgeting with her hands. “N-nothing! I-I wasn't d-doing any…anything!”

Two locks, back to the usual red, but present nonetheless, appeared, and Pearl immediately seemed to realize her mistake.

“Pearl…" Miles sighed. Did everyone have something to hide?

“...I can't lie to you, can I?”

“I’m not sure why you feel the need to in the first place. What could you have possibly been doing?”

Pearl only shook her head, taking a few steps back. “I’m- I’m… I’m sorry!” She reached for the screen behind her, pulling it open. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Nick, but I can’t!” She had the forethought to at least close the door before she ran off again.

“She’s holding the key to this mystery, I can feel it,” Phoenix remarked, still staring at the door.

“We'll find out when we run into her again,” Miles sighed. It was only his first day with this strange artifact and already he'd seen enough locks to last a lifetime. “But before we get too sidetracked, Phoenix, did you discover anything of use on your reconnaissance? Please tell me it was at least worth it.” 

“Oh, right! I nearly forgot.” Phoenix flapped his way up to a higher vantage point so he wasn't looking straight up at Miles while they spoke. “Well, first off, Miney doesn’t really have a lot of stuff with her. Some books, mostly occult stuff, but weirdly she’s got a few medical texts mixed up in them.”

“Her sister was a nurse. I could see her having those for sentimental reasons, though traveling with them seems a bit much,” Miles surmised. Especially if she wasn't carrying much else.

“They did look kind of heavy. She had a few letters - or maybe medical bills - from some place called ‘Hotti Clinic' stuck in them too. Dunno if that's important.”

“Another clinic?”

“Well, I wouldn't being going to Grey's place if I were her. It's probably nothing, just something I noticed,  and - oh! That box I mentioned before? The one I was hiding in?”

“You mean trying to hide in?” Miles corrected.

Phoenix pouted at him. “Whatever. While I was in there, it should have been pitch black, but there was light shining in from a tiny hole near the bottom. The same kind of hole we found in that screen in the channeling chamber!”

“You mean… a bullet hole?”

“From the same bullet I bet. It was even at about the same height as that other one.”

“Then it’s yet another thing spirited away from the crime scene, if your theory is correct.” Miles frowned, tapping his finger against his arm. "Bloody robes I understand, but why would anyone need to move a large box? Did you notice anything besides the hole?”

He shook his head. “I only just barely examined that before Pearls found me.”

“Then we'll have to make do with this." Since he was almost certain that, A; Miney probably wouldn’t give them another opening to pull that stunt again, and B; Miles wouldn’t be able to push through another round of small talk with her anyway. “Though it may be enough, for now. Thank you, Phoenix.”

“No problem, but, uh, enough for what?"

“To confront Franziska.”

“What?!" Phoenix’s feathers fluffed in surprise. “But we have no idea how it all went down!”

“You’re right, but,” he stressed before Phoenix could say anything else, “I do think we can tear a big enough hole in her case to, at the very least, cast enough reasonable suspicion onto Miney to get her properly investigated by the police. That should buy us more time.”

The symbiont perked up at those words. "Oh! Maybe we can even get her replaced as the primary suspect instead of Maya!"

"Maybe," Miles said, though he didn’t want to get his hopes up too much. Franziska had always been as stubborn as she was proud. Without concrete, definitive proof otherwise, she was probably going to stick to her guns.

“Well then let's go find your sister,” Phoenix said as he unfurled his wings, then paused. “Oh, wait…” Instead of going to Miles, he glided off to the corner of the room and nudged at something. “We should probably get this back to Pearls.”

Miles looked down as the ball rolled towards him, lightly hitting the side of his foot. He bent down to pick it up, taking a moment to properly examine the image. “I suspect Maya is responsible for this particular design."

“Try to resist the urge to add it to your merch collection,” Phoenix said while hopping onto his shoulder.

Miles reached up to swat at him, but the symbiont just used the opportunity to merge back onto him. As Phoenix moved up his arm, Miles tucked the ball underneath his other one and headed back out.



Pearl was back in what seemed to be a favored area of hers - the hallway near the zen garden. She looked a little alarmed when Miles called her attention, but stayed put. Concerned she may try to bolt again, Miles held out his peace offering first.

“Oh, my ball! Thank you, Mr. Eh-ji,” she said as she accepted it, averting her eyes. “Um… I'm sorry for running earlier.”

“It's fine,” Miles replied, kneeling down to her level, “but I’d still like for you to tell us what you were doing.”

Pearl bit at her lip, pulling the ball up close to her face as the psycho-locks returned. "Should I? But what if I can’t? I... I'm nervous,” she mumbled into it.

We could try and guess it? Phoenix suggested.

Miles, remembering their last attempt at guesswork involving a locked secret, shot the idea down. They needed a better way to procure the information from her, a more logical approach than throwing darts at the board until one hit a bullseye.

“Pearl, how do you usually spend your afternoons?” Miles asked, to her confused stare. “If I can figure it out using your usual routine as basis, will you admit to your actions?”

“I... I guess that’s fine. And you do have the Magatama…” She paused in consideration. “But, I usually spend all day training and studying. I have to train real hard if I want to be a great spirit medium like Mystic Maya one day!”

“Surely that's not the only thing you do. You are holding a ball right now,” Miles pointed out.

Pearl looked down, as if she'd forgotten it was there. “This is my favorite ball. Mystic Maya and I play with it all the time... oh.” She frowned. “Well, we used to. She’s busier now, training to take over as the Master. We haven’t had much time to play together lately.”

So she’s been playing alone? Poor thing, Phoenix remarked.

She then perked up. “Although, we did get to play together a little, um… recently.”

Miles caught the pause. “Recently?”

“Y-yeah.” Nervously, she squeezed the ball a little tighter, causing it to pop out of her hands. It started to bounce away and, in a panic, she scrambled to regain control, sighing in relief when it was caught again.

Miles raised an eyebrow, both at her response and the overreaction. “Did 'recently' happen to be yesterday, before the channeling?”

Pearl looked up at him with wide eyes. “How did you know?!”

“...lucky guess,” Miles replied, not admitting that her silence was far more telling than any excuse she could have made up. Still, the lock had only rattled a bit, not broken, so there was still more to it.

Hey, wasn’t Maya chasing her when we met up yesterday? That must've been what they were doing.

True, but we were far from the Channeling Chamber when that happened.
He didn't see her having any reservations about talking to him had she been way over there.

Well, she kept running, right? Where’d she go?

I wasn’t looking,
Miles said, because he'd been focused on Maya and not the young, at the time, stranger. And it wasn't until well after the murder that he’d run into her again, hiding in this very zen garden where he kept seeming to run into her.

“Pearl…” he ventured, "were you here, around this walk way, during this incident?”

She gasped and this time one of the locks shattered. “You got it! I was here… Mystic Maya had to go prepare so I went to get my ball from the spare room.”

“So you were playing with it when something happened..."

"N-no!" she stammered out, holding it closer to her chest. “No-nothing happened!”

“Nothing, huh?” And yet, there was definitely something strange that had happened in that area and suddenly that overreaction to the ball bouncing made sense. “Then why is that urn on the pedestal full of cracks?” he asked. Pearl let out a distressed noise.

The... urn? Didn't that old thing already look kind of beat up?

The firebird, of course, hadn’t borne witness to the change in the urn's appearance, not that he’d given it much consideration in the first place.

“Your ball must have accidentally bounced into it, knocking it over. And, given that this urn is a sacred treasure from what I've heard, I understand you not wanting anyone to discover what’d happened."

Pearl hadn’t answered, but Miles also noted that the lock hadn’t broken either. Was he on the wrong track?

“It... it’s so old…" she finally forced out after a while. "It's not weird that... that it would have a few cracks...”

The poor girl sounded like she was ready to bursts into tears at any moment, but Miles couldn't stop now. Not when they were so close.

“I’m sorry Pearl, but it’s not the cracks that are strange, but what it says on the side.”

“What... what it says…?”

Miles directed her attention over. They were a little ways away from the urn, but the writing on its side was in plain view. “That urn is a memorial to the founder of the Kurain Channeling Technique, correct?"

Pearl nodded slowly. “Mystic Ami. Her spirit lives in there."

“I noticed it when I first came here and it clearly read 'AMI' on the side, yet now the letters spell out 'I AM’. The only explanation is that, within that window of time, the urn had been broken and reassembled!"

The lock broke and so did Pearl, bursting into tears. “I'm so-sorry! I'm a bad child! I let Mystic Ami's spirit get away!” she sobbed, ball forgotten as she cried into her hands.

After a few moments of awkward placating on Miles’ behalf, Pearl calmed down enough to sniffle her way through an explanation. Fearing banishment for breaking a sacred treasure, she decided to try and glue the large fragments back together before anyone noticed - aided by the timing. The channeling had just started, so she, in theory, had a pretty wide window of time to work without anyone walking by. She finished around the time Miles and Hart had returned to the manor after reporting the crime and spent the rest of the afternoon hiding out in the garden.

“Well, you did well repairing it... besides the writing," Miles tried to console.

“I'm not good at spelling. I always get letters mixed up," she sniffed. "Mr. Eh-ji… I'm going to get banished, aren't I?”

Given how protective her mother seemed to be… “I’m sure you'll be fine.”

If I was Mystic Ami, I'd be glad to not be stuck in some cramped old urn anymore.

Phoenix’s remark, when relayed, seemed to cheer Pearl up a little more, though there was probably nothing either of them could say to clear her conscience. She’d just have to come to terms with that on her own. In the meantime, Miles had his own terms regarding a murder and an estranged sister to present them to.



Franziska kept her cool when Miles barged into her crime scene, though he knew she still had to be furious with him. Admittedly, that first conversation could've gone better, but their reunion was always doomed to be messy - they were raised to compete with one another, not handle their emotions in any constructive manner afterall.

When Miles didn't speak right away, she raised her whip threateningly, demanding to know the reason for his presence.

Miles cleared this throat, standing a little straighter. All of that would still have to wait. “As I said before, I am going to prove to you that Maya Fey could not have been the one to murder Dr. Grey.”

“Bah! This foolishness again,” she scoffed, arms crossing. “There is no one it could have been besides that girl.”

“Then let's hear your argument, sister.”

She glared and made a snapping gesture at one of the officers, who scurried over to place a casefile into her awaiting hand. She then proceeded to lay out the facts of the case (the autopsy, the weapons with Maya's fingerprints, the locked door) with heavy emphasis the presence of photographic evidence and witnesses, of which Miles was one.

“As you can see, the case is open…" She closed the folder with a snap. "and shut. Were we in court, I'd say your best course of action would be to plead justified self defense.”

No way! That’d still be admitting she killed someone! Phoenix protested.

“You forget yourself, Franziska,” Miles tutted. “Were we in court, I would not be defending Maya Fey - I would be prosecuting the real murderer those photographs captured.”

"Still you protest, even with all the facts laid out before you?!” she exclaimed. “You’ve grown weak in your absence. The evidence speaks for itself!”

"Does it? You keep bringing up the evidence without mentioning the fatal flaw in one of your pieces. Anyone can see that the person in those pictures is clearly not Maya Fey.”

She whipped at the ground in frustration. “Foolish fool! Did you think that I would not research the Kurain Channeling Technique upon taking this case?! I know how the channeler not only channels their spirit, but their physical form as well!”

Miles blinked in surprise. Obviously she would look into the channeling technique - thoroughness was something von Karma had drilled into them both - but she was taking the concept far easier than he had.

Franziska, reading something in his expression, smirked and continued. “Do not try to feign ignorance, little brother, I know you have your experience with it.” From her files she produced a picture taken at the detention center and handed it over. The angle was low, the photographer hidden in some manner, and one of the two subjects mostly out of frame and unfocused, but Miles easily recognized the burgundy of his own suit. Behind the glass, resting a hand on her chin as she smirked at him, was the channeled Mia Fey.

Miles glared. Of course she'd someone keeping tabs on his movements. "That was a private meeting.”

“It’s not being submitted as evidence, if that's your concern,” she said, wagging her finger at him. "And you also do not deny it.”

“I wasn't going to. My proposition relies on the nature of the Kurain Channeling Technique - on an imposter dressing in Maya's clothes to fool us into thinking a channeling occurred when there was none.”

Franziska’s expression turned incredulous. “An imposter?! The only people found in the room were the same two that you yourself witnessed entering it!”

“That is what we assumed, at the time,” Miles replied calmly, “but new evidence has opened up the possibility of a third."

“Oh? And what is this so-called evidence.”

Miles reached into his pocket and pulled out the black key. “This is the key from the Channeling Chamber that should have been in Maya's pocket upon her arrest. The one that opens those very doors.” He held it out for one of the officers to retrieve, should they wish to confirm his claim.

“But that went missing," Franziska said and she scowled suspiciously at him. “Why do you have it?”

“This, alongside a burnt scrap of Maya's robes, was found in the incinerator in the garden. The scrap has already been filed away at the precinct and tested for a sample of the victim’s blood that had stained it. Proof that there was a second set of robes, ones being worn by the real Maya, at the crime scene that someone didn't want us to find. I suspect that someone is the same person in those photographs!”

While Franziska could contest that he couldn’t prove the key and the cloth were found in the incinerator, or even in the same place, the fact they existed outside the crime scene at all was already problematic for her. It meant this locked room wasn't as secure as she thought it was. He just needed to keep the pressure going before she found an opening.

“Furthermore, I can identify that person, for there is someone here who not only has motive to kill Dr. Grey and no alibi for the time of the incident, but also looks the part: Ini Miney!”

Franziska flinched back at the accusation. "That flighty student? We’ve already spoken to her. She was asleep with a stomach flu during the murder, she knows nothing.”

"Yes, I'm sure that is exactly what she'd like us to believe, but she is far too connected to this incident to ignore the possibility.”

Franziska seethed silently at him for a moment, grip on her whip’s handle tightening. Miles stood his ground, bracing himself for her next outburst.

With a growl, she spun to face the gaggle of officers watching them off to the side, lashing out in their general direction. “What are you fools standing around for, find Ini Miney at once!” As they scurried off, she glowered at him from over her shoulder. “Do not mistake this for surrender, Miles Edgeworth. When I am victorious, it will be a perfect victory. I will not have any loose ends!”

“Franziska…” Why? Why did they have to meet like this, with the fate of a friend hanging in the balance? “What is this really about?”

She didn’t answer, only harumphed and brushed past, roughly bumping her shoulder against him. He sighed as he watched her go. At least she hadn't used the whip this time…

Miles? Phoenix questioned softly.

Keep focused, Phoenix. We may have disrupted her arguments, but I cannot guarantee she won’t renew them in time for the trial go on as scheduled.

…alright, guess we're filing that away for later too, then. So, what next?

Tell me again the name of the clinic that was contacting Miney.

Um… Hotti.

Good. While Franziska is busy with Miney, that's our next destination.
Maybe it would turn out to be nothing, but Miles couldn’t afford to pass up on any potential leads.



Director Hotti was a strange old man, trailing off into his own thoughts and grinning shiftily throughout their introductions. Still, Miles counted it as a rare stroke of luck that they ran into him almost immediately upon arriving on the clinic’s premises, and even more so that he recalled Miney, so he could ignore the eccentricities for now.

“Hmm, yes, that girl was a transfer from the general hospital around the corner. They move their patients here when they can't accommodate them. Uh huh.”

“So this is a… boarding facility of sorts.”

Hotti deliberated his response, humming to himself. “Yes, well, we also do other sorts of… doctory, clinical stuff here… yes.”

“Doctory… clinical stuff…” Miles repeated slowly.

“Well, I don't actually know or particularly care about the details. Hoh, hoh.”

“I see..."

Miles, I don't think this is actually the director, Phoenix stated.

What? Of course he is. He’s wearing the coat and the ID badge.
He just happened to be a ... spacey individual. Maybe he was only in charge of managing staff.

“We also do surgeries, uh huh. Plastic surgeries, it seems. That's why Ms. Ini was transferred here," Hotti said, finally offering something useful.

“For a surgery? What kind?” Miles asked.

He turned to humming again. “It was bad. Really bad.”

“That doesn't answer my question."

“Hm, yes… well, no. No, actually. I can't tell you," he grinned, like he was deriving far too much enjoyment from this. “You know how it is with doctors, hm, yes? Can't talk about patient stuff. It's in all those TV shows too - you've seen them, right?”

“Patient confidentiality. Yes, I'm familiar with it," Miles said, crossing his arms. “However, I’m not asking out of curiosity. Ms. Miney is currently involved in a crime that I’m investigating. I need as much information as I can gather on her.”

Hey, you've got your badge on you, right? You should pull rank and show that if he won't talk, Phoenix suggested.

It’s not a police badge.

No, but I doubt
he knows the difference.

Thankfully, Miles’ response was sufficient enough for Hotti. He, in his own special manner, explained that Miney came to them a year ago with a severe injury from a car accident. Her whole face was burned and had to be reconstructed from an ID photo she'd provided.

“Here you are sir!” a nurse said as she approached, interrupting Hotti’s... enlightening… explanation on how he remembered details on this one specific patient from so long ago. Honestly, just because he found her attractive…

“Ah, Sweet’ums…" he began greet her.

“Don't you 'Sweet'ums' me! You know you’re not supposed to be up and about. Now back to your room, and give me back the Director’s lab coat while you're at it!”

“Okay, okay. I got it… I got it..." he said, waving her off, but the nurse was not taking no for an answer.

“So sorry about him, sir,” she said to Miles while shooing the old man off to presumedly his hospital room.

What… Phoenix began after a while, what just happened?

I'm not entirely sure myself,
he replied, but I think we got the information we needed anyway.



“Found it! Oops..." Phoenix announced, dropping the touchscreen pen in his mouth in the process.

Miles was currently making headway on the long drive back to Kurain, hopefully for the last time, while Phoenix was on research duty. The key thing they had learned from ‘Hotti', if that was even his name, is that Miney came in for treatment after a car accident a year ago. A year ago her sister had also died in a car accident. There was no way this was a coincidence.

Phoenix took a moment to pick the pen back up from the floor, using it to scroll through Miles' phone. “There's an article interviewing Miney about her sister’s car crash and how only she escaped the wreckage alive. It really was the same accident…”

“It'd be worse if it wasn’t,” Miles pointed out.

“Six months in the hospital for facial reconstruction too. Jeeze, as if she didn’t already have a pretty solid reason to hold a grudge against Dr. Grey.”

Miles nodded. "As compelling as the vengeful spirit narrative is, the sister left behind has just as much motive. That takes care of the 'why, but now we have to figure out the ‘how'."

“I think I might know how she could've hidden in there before the channeling, but I'm still working on the escape route. There’s a lot of variables.”

“Well, I'd like to hear what you’ve gotten so far."

Before he could answer, Phoenix cut himself off with a yelp as the phone at his feet let out a shrill ring. He took a moment to be startled, then looked down at the caller ID.

“It says it's from Kurain!”

“Someone’s probably calling from that phonebooth. Put it on speaker.”

“Speaker... speaker..." Phoenix mumbled, letting the phone ring a few more times before he worked out the proper button.

The familiar voice of Gumshoe leapt out the second the call connected. "Sir, we've got a problem!” he said in a loud whisper. “Prosecutor von Karma is finished with the witness and she's preparing to wrap up the investigation for the day."

Blast. It hadn't distracted her nearly as long as he’d hoped. “Has an arrest been made?”

No, and, uh, I think you might want to hear the alibi that Miney girl came up with for yourself.”

“We're heading back now, Detective. Try to stall her as best you can.”

You got it, sir!” Gumshoe said before disconnecting.

“I hope he can hold her off for long enough. We've still got a ways to go, don't we?”

“If there's anything that detective is good at, whether he realizes it or not, it's overcomplicating simple processes. If anyone can slow her down, it’s Gumshoe.” He'd likely up end on the wrong end of her whip for it, but for once Miles was grateful for his bumbling. “We just need to make sure we're prepared on our end."

Phoenix nodded. “Right. So, here’s what I think happened so far..."

Chapter Text

The day was pushing into evening when they finally arrived back in Kurain, but the squad cars were still parked out front, which meant Gumshoe had been successful in holding up the investigation. Miles walked into the village with purpose, ready to hopefully put this all to rest, but he immediately found one more obstacle in his way.

Sitting on the steps to the manor, was Pearl. If she'd looked sad before regarding the entire Sacred Urn debacle, then she looked positively miserable now. She wasn't crying, but she had her knees hugged close to her chest as she just stared at the dirt path in front of her, still as a statue.

“Are you… alright?” Miles found himself asking, startling her for a change.

“A-ah! Mr. Eh-ji, I-“ She stood up quickly, brushing out her clothes before bowing her head down. “Pl-please, don’t worry about me.”

It’s kind of hard not to when you act like that, Phoenix stated.

“Are you sure?” Miles knew he had an investigation to get to, but it was hard to just walk away from her like this. “Something didn’t happen with Maya, did it?” Had she heard something new, slinking around the manor the way she did? Gumshoe should have been keeping him updated on any major developments, but he wouldn't put it past Franziska to keep him out of the loop if she'd figured out they’d been in contact.

“No... I mean, I wouldn't know if it had,” she said, hugging her knees closer. “It's.... it's my mother."

“Your mother? Did she find out about the…?"

The young girl shook her head. “No, she… I was watching you defend Mystic Maya earlier - You were really cool! - and I told her how you were going to help save Mystic Maya!  ...but Mother told me she did something bad and needed to be punished, and then told me to stay out of the manor until everyone leaves.” She folded in on herself a little more, face partially buried in her arms. “And she said not to talk to you anymore too.”

And yet here you are, talking to him.

“I just don't understand. Why wasn't she happy? Why does she still think Mystic Maya hurt that man?" Pearl continued, looking up at Miles pleadingly. “She didn’t, right?"

“Of course she didn’t."

“Mother doesn’t believe me. I think she believes that snobby woman with the whip. They were talking earlier.”

“Franziska can be very persuasive. Do you know what they were discussing?” Morgan was currently a big hurdle to overcome, because her staying behind in the Channeling Chamber threw off the imposter theory - unless there was something she’d hidden. Given the sheer amount of locks he'd seen today, it wasn’t unlikely.

“No, I only saw them walking together."

I bet we’re about to find out anyway
, Phoenix said.

“Rest assured Pearl, I’m going to have a talk with you mother and that ‘snobby woman’ as you put it," he said, stepping around her and up the steps. “We'll make them understand.”

“W-wait, Mr. Eh-ji! I… I want to come too!”

Miles paused to look back at her. “What?"

“I know Mother told me to stay away, but I promised I would help! I want to show Mother that she doesn't have to listen to that woman just because she's a proh… paw…. pruh…”

“Prosecutor,” Miles offered.

“Yeah! So, please, let me come.”

Her enthusiasm was endearing, but this child was, what, ten at the oldest? She didn't need to get anymore involved in a murder investigation than she already has.

“Pearl, I think you can help by listening to your mother for now. We wouldn't want you getting into trouble.”

Pearl visibly deflated at his words, but Miles wasn’t changing his mind. If she wasn't a witness, she didn't need to be present. Still moping, she sat back down and Miles continued into the manor.

“Hold it!" Miles called out to announce his arrival into the main hall.

Everyone was present; Franziska and the investigative team, including Gumshoe (who sighed heavily in relief, then snapped to attention when Franziska turned her icy glare his way), Morgan Fey, and Ini Miney, the woman of the hour herself. She yawned, as if bored or otherwise unaware of the incredibly tense atmosphere that permeated the room.

“So, you actually bothered to return," Franziska scoffed.

“I told you, I intend to prove Maya Fey's innocence.”

“And I intend to show you just how foolish this venture is. You see, Miles Edgeworth, I’ve learned some things in your absence that will put your whole argument to shame. Witness, if you would please.”

Franziska made a gesture and Morgan stepped forth. “Yes, Prosecutor von Karma?”

“Please tell this fool what you told me earlier. I think he’ll find it most enlightening.”

Morgan nodded her head and turned to address Miles, but, as she did, her expression suddenly contorted into one of alarm before shifting into a deep set disapproval.

“Be careful, my aunt is very sly. Don't underestimate her," a voice said as Miles felt a presence settle in beside him, to Phoenix's elation. He glanced to his side, unsurprised to see Mia standing there in Pearl's even more unfitting clothes.

“...so much for staying away,” Miles muttered.

I mean, if we get technical Pearls is actually as far as she could be right now.

Miles shook his head. Pearl was already falling into that precedent of stubbornness set by her relatives, but he wasn’t going to complain about Mia’s arrival. “Here," he said, pulling out his case records and passing it over to her, "you may want to catch up.”

“Well, I see your co-counsel is in good spirits," Franziska remarked dryly. “No matter, you still won't stand a chance against me no matter where you summon help from.”

“Wow, there really are two of you," Mia commented.

Miles raised an unamused brow, but didn’t reply to either. "Now, Morgan Fey, we would very much like to hear what you've prepared."

Lips drawn into a tight line, Morgan gave her niece one last lingering stare, then went into her story of what ‘really’ happened after he and Hart had been sent away from the Channeling Chamber. The story started as it had before, Morgan moving to perform the Spirit Severing Technique, but it swiftly deviated. The spirit, evidently, had not wanted to be severed, and lashed out, pushing Morgan away and striking her at the base of her neck. The blow had rendered her momentarily unconscious, leaving her incognizant to Nurse Miney’s next actions.

Miles pressed her a little, but Morgan claimed her initial lies were all for Maya's sake, to not dig her hole any deeper, but she had to come clean now to prevent the falsities from muddling the facts. The Magatama, previously keen to jump in whenever someone was keeping things from him, hadn’t reacted to anything she had to say, but Miles still wasn't sure he believed her - it was too convenient. Unfortunately, he also couldn’t find much fault in her words and something told him that poking too much at her testimony would reveal traps, not holes (The pensive silence that Mia watched them with only reaffirmed these concerns).

Franziska, like she could smell the resignation in the air, pounced. “There, a perfect explanation for your missing key. It was dropped when the defendant escaped the Channeling Chamber.”

That didn’t explain how it'd gotten in the incinerator, but he didn't have evidence for that, only Pearl’s word. “And what of the bloody cloth?”

“A scrap of fabric of Morgan Fey’s robes, stained when she was assaulted. Her reasoning for trying to conceal it can be inferred from the testimony, I trust."

Miles narrowed his eyes. He didn't recall any of Morgan's clothing being purple yesterday, not even the accents or accessories, but he couldn’t prove it wasn’t either, which is what they were banking on.

Geeze, Mia wasn't kidding. I don't see any openings.

No…
Miles agreed, but maybe they didn’t need one. Ini Miney was the one they were trying to implicate, not Morgan. Her testimony complicated matters, but it didn’t outright destroy his prepared arguments. That would depend on whatever Miney had to offer.

“Fine, I will follow along with this story line. The defendant left the Channeling Chamber - then what?”

Franziska crossed her arms, wagging a finger at her. “Do you truly believe I did not follow up on that lead? It so happens that I have another witness who will answer that very question,” she said, bringing forward the exact person he’d been waiting to hear from.

Ini ‘I-slept-through-the-channeling-and-didn’t-know-what-happened’ Miney, was apparently very aware of what happened because her sister had come straight to her after the escape. She awoke from her mid-afternoon nap to find her hovering in the doorway to the guest room.

“That’s it? You weren’t remotely surprised at all?” Miles asked. From the way Miney described it, you’d think her sister had just come home from a long day at work, and that was only the first of his concerns with the testimony. Clearly there was some nuance to the Magatama besides ‘mystic lie-detector’, as locks still hadn’t appeared, because there was no way Miney was telling them the truth.

“Uh… no? I mean, like, maybe if I wasn’t studying all this occult stuff, but it was just my sister in different clothes.”

Different clothes?”

“Well, yeah, she, like, didn’t normally wear channeling robes.” She tilted her head as if he were the one missing something here. “Like, duh.”

Okay, I’ll bite, Phoenix said. What are you trying to get at?

There’s something she’s leaving out. Did you notice anything about our imposter when you saw her?

Your arm isn’t exactly the best viewing spot. Just that she was dressed like Maya and all… bloody.

Precisely. If you, with only a glimpse at a bad angle, noticed the blood straightaway, then why hasn’t Miney even mentioned it?


Miney, after fumbling a bit for a response when called on this, blamed it on the dark colors of the robes and the dim lighting of the room making the stains blend in (never mind that the room had thin rice paper screens and yesterday had been particularly sunny). From there, she continued. Her sister, apparently broken up about the ordeal, confided that she’d taken revenge on Grey for drugging her. Then, she accompanied her back to the Channeling Chamber.

“She’d, like, calmed down and wanted me to come with her to apologize to Ms. Morgan,” Miney explained.

“So you walked back with her.”

“Uh, yeah. That’s, like, what I just said.”

Miles nodded his head towards the door leading to the garden area. “Through that hallway?"

“That’s… the only way to, like, get here from there,” she replied, starting to sound aggravated.

“Did you see anything of note?”

“…no?”

“Will you just get on with it!” Franziska snapped, cracking her whip in the air. “I grow tired of your foolishness!”

“I was asking Ms. Miney, not you,” Miles said, causing Franziska to growl at him. “So, let me reiterate. Between your guest room and the Channeling Chamber, did you notice anything? Anything at all?”

“Was I supposed to?” she asked, slipping into that more serious tone that peered in from beneath the air-headedness every so often, before remembering herself. “Like, it was just me and my sister. No one else and, like, definitely nothing weird going on.”

“Really? I find that hard to believe, given that, at the time, Pearl Fey would have been in that very walkway. You couldn’t have missed her, given she was just outside your doorway.”

“Good sir,” Morgan said dangerously, “I hope you are not suggesting my dear Pearl is in anyway involved in this.”

“In the crime? No. In debunking Ms. Miney’s testimony? She is quite crucial. For you see, when the channeling started, a certain artifact had been broken by a wayward ball.”

Morgan made a sound. “You don’t mean the Sacred Urn?!”

“You can check for yourself if you don’t wish to take my word, it’s very clearly been broken recently. Accidentally, of course, but the poor girl was so worried that she sat there piecing the urn back together, right in the middle of the walkway.”

Mia chuckled. “So the family tradition continues…” Miles glanced her way before continuing. It probably wasn’t relevant to the moment at hand.

“In fact, Ms. Miney, I’m surprised you hadn’t awoken to the sound of it shattering, since you claim to have been sleeping. If you were even inside that room at all.”

Miney’s response was a glare, angrily kneading at the hat she’d removed from her head.

“If you are going to make accusations like that, Miles Edgeworth, then I suggest you back them up,” Franziska said. “Pray tell, where could she have possibly been otherwise?”

“Right over there,” Miles replied, pointing at the wrecked doors of the Channeling Chamber. “At the scene of the crime!”

Earlier in the car, Phoenix had laid out exactly how he believed Miney had stowed herself away before the channeling. There was really only one hiding spot in that room, which was behind the screen, but Maya or Grey might have noticed someone standing back there. Someone low to the ground, where the already dim candlelight didn’t quite reach, was a different story. Add something to hide in, say a large wicker box with matching bullet holes to the screen, and Miney could have easily gone undetected until it was time to strike. When he went on to suggest she’d hidden Maya in there as well before they broke in, suddenly that dream about being buried alive was starting to make sense.

Miney just stared at him for a few moments after he’d explained. “How do you even know about that…” she hissed before catching herself, “I-I mean, like, that tiny little box? No person could, like, fit in there.”

I know I’m closer to Pearls’ size, but I had plenty of room in there. An adult could make themselves fit.

“We can always test your hypothesis, the box is right down the hallway. Forensics would probably like to examine the bullet hole as well, to confirm that it is indeed a match. I believe you’ll find it within the room Ms. Miney is staying in.”

Glances were exchanged between the two prosecutors as officers stood by, unsure of who they should be listening to, until Franziska barked an order for them to go. She then turned to Miles, wagging her finger again. Never a good sign.

“So you think you’ve gotten this all figured out. Well, I have a proposition for you. This whole idea that the witness moved the clothing box to the crime scene, pretended to be Maya Fey, killed the victim, and then fled the scene of the crime; It's not possible for one person to do all that by herself!”

“Fine, ignore that I just invalidated your witness’ entire testimony,” Miles grumbled, though she wasn’t wrong. There were certainly some things Miney could have done alone; Her studies on Kurain brought with them familiarity with the channeling process and Morgan’s account gave plausibility to an escape route from the chamber.

But then there was the matter of obtaining everything used to carry out the murder. Getting a hold of Maya’s robes alone would have been a feat, and that was without mentioning the risk of discovery while setting up her hiding place. There was maybe a chance, a slim one, but alone this harebrained scheme probably would have never come to fruition.

“By herself, huh…” Mia mumbled, the frown on her face matching the one in her tone.

The Psyche-Locks! Phoenix then exclaimed.

What? he asked, choosing to address the firebird first. A quick scan revealed no such locks in their vicinity. Was Phoenix picking up on something?

Mia had Psyche-Locks. Earlier. When you asked about the murderer.

That’s right, there’s be three of them. Left unbroken at the time as neither of them had any hint on where to start. Even know that they were positive that Miney was the true culprit, she couldn’t be the missing piece to that particular puzzle. It’s hard to guard a secret pertaining to someone you don’t know.

Which meant… her suspicions laid elsewhere. On someone close to her, close to the village. Someone who could have provided Miney with every means to carry out this plan - someone helpful.

“You’re right, Franziska, it couldn’t be done alone, but Ms. Miney wasn’t acting alone. She had an accomplice. A local with access to everything she needed, including full control over the crime scene before and after the murder. Morgan Fey!”

“How dare you!” Morgan snapped at him.

“You helped Ms. Miney enact her revenge and set up your own niece to take to fall, though I cannot fathom why.”

“I can,” Mia said sternly, “and it has everything to do with why I’m here, like this.”

Morgan sniffed haughtily. “You presume too much.”

“Do I?” she countered. “Would you like to know the reason why I left the village?”

“I already know that. You wanted to chase after that man who dragged Mystic Misty’s name through the mud. Restore the family honor. I believe he did that for you,” she sneered, nodding in Miles’ direction.

“You mean the same honor that drove you to loathe your own sister? No, I left for closure, but also so Maya and I would never end up like you and my mother.”

The elder Fey did not respond.

You know, I’m glad Pearls’ is channeling Mia right now, Phoenix said as officers brought Morgan off to the side for further questioning. It means she doesn’t have to see this. Silently, Miles agreed.

So, in summary; Miney, with Morgan’s aid, dressed as Maya, using her own resemblance to her late sister to her advantage, to pose as the channeled. They brought the box into the chamber for her to use as a hiding place and she waited inside with a knife for the channeling to start. Morgan, as the person in charge of preparing the chamber, was in the perfect position to then keep anyone from discovering her  - at least until they required witnesses. When it started, Miney waited for when their eyes were closed, then snuck out to drug Maya and stab Grey.

Then, the plan was probably to set the stage for her reveal, only Grey hadn’t died from his wound. Even more surprising, he’d brought a gun with him, and fired at his attacker from his collapsed position. His shot missed, though perhaps just barely (They’d not looked too deeply into the odd spot in the robe’s sleeve in the photo, as forensics had that evidence, but Miles was beginning to suspect it was yet another bullet hole), penetrating the screen and box instead. Miney then took the gun and finished the job.

Only now, the gunshot had alerted those waiting outside, and Miles and Hart were trying to break down the door. The heavy bolt had given her enough buffer to make sure Maya was out of sight and get into a convincing position before they broke through. Once Miney had been seen in the bloody robes, Morgan sent Hart and himself away to contact the police - two people on a one person job - so Miney could escape and leave Maya in her place.

Franziska still wasn’t buying it.

“Bah! I cannot listen to this foolishness any longer! Why would anyone need to carry out such a convoluted plan? If Miney wanted Dr. Grey dead, there were surely easier methods.”

“Yeah!” Miney chimed in. “Plus, like, Dr. Grey thought up this whole spirit thing anyway. It’s just coincidence he asked me about it, you know?”

But he got the idea from Miney, didn’t he? Phoenix countered. She’s the one who put it on his radar to begin with.

Yes, but when? Miles said, because that argument would be too easy to contest. If it was before her sister died, then it’s irrelevant. She’s just giving an excuse for why they were both here.

Mia spoke up at his lapse into silence. “You’re thinking too hard. Like she said, there are easier ways to murder someone, even here. To go to these lengths, the channeling must’ve been integral.”

Miles took the moment to ponder this angle. If the channeling was central to the murder, and not just setting, then perhaps it also tied into her motive.

“Ms. Miney, could you please testify about your accident last year?”

“What?” She looked alarmed. “Why?”

“I’d like to hear what happened firsthand.” To see if he was on to something.

Miney sighed. “Fine. But, like, I totally don’t think it’ll help anything.”

So, she told her story, elaborating on details from the news article. She’d been driving home with her sister, who was already exhausted after a rough day of police questioning, as the malpractice incident was still undergoing investigation. Miney herself had already dozed off, similarly tired, and was awoken to flames after a jolt from the crash.

“Is that why you didn’t drive?” Miles interrupted to ask.

“Huh?”

“You said your sister was already exhibiting some fatigue before she’d started driving. Did you not take over for her because you were equally tired?”

“Oh. Yeah, like, that and the fact I don’t have a driver’s license. Not that she would’ve let me drive anyway.”

That was a bit more information than she needed to reveal and Miles was not going to let it slip by. “Oh? Care to elaborate on that last statement?”

“Like, that I don’t have a license? It means that I totally can’t drive,” she said, back to playing dumb.

Miles gave her a flat look. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“But, like, is it really relevant to everything else?” Miney asked, squirming a little under his stare.

“I’ll allow it,” Franziska said. “Go on, Ini Miney.”

“E-eh?!” she exclaimed. “But I thought you were on my side!”

Franziska sniffed. “As a von Karma, I will not settle for anything less than a perfect victory. The fact that we are not in court does not change that. Nor does you being my witness mean I’ll let you stand in my way,” she said, cracking her whip against the ground for emphasis. “Now, amend your testimony."

“Ugh, fine,” Miney rolled her eyes as dramatically as possible. “So, like, my sis was, like, a huge car nerd, and she’d just gotten this really shiny, bright red sports car. There was, like, no way she’d have let me anywhere near the driver’s seat.”

Ah, that made sense. It was a sentiment Miles could sympathize with - he knew the overprotectiveness that came with a new car quite well, especially when you can afford a high end model. Had he been in close contact with Franziska when she’d started driving, he probably wouldn’t have trusted her with his keys either, whip be damned.

Of course now he had to know. “Do you remember what model it was, by chance?”

Miney smirked, now twirling her beret on one finger. “A Maston Artin Masquerade. Brand new.”

Miles’ eyes widened because that was a quality model. Sleek, efficient, it was praised as one of their best to date. “I wasn’t even aware you could get those stateside.”

“You can’t,” she eagerly replied. “She got it shipped right from the U.K. Took a whole year for it to arrive.”

“We’ve established it was a nice car,” Franziska cut in, probably remembering one-sided conversations he’d had with her over cars while they were growing up. “Continue with your story.”

Miney looked like she would much rather continue this conversation, but she switched gears back to more pertinent topics. “I guess, like, it doesn’t matter anyway. Even if it hadn’t caught fire, like, it was totally totaled from the crash. We’d hit the highway divider, like, pretty head on, though sis got the brunt of it. I was, like, just lucky there weren’t any cars in the other lanes when I escaped.”

Miles was following along, but something in that last statement wasn’t lining up. “You escaped… out the right side, correct?” Miles asked, picturing the orientation of the crash based on her description.

She shrugged. “Like, yeah. Sure.”

“Interesting,” Mia mumbled and Miles felt himself nod curtly in agreement.

What? What is? Phoenix asked.

Do you not see it yet? They were in a British car. From Britain. Surely even you know what that means.

Phoenix pondered the question. It was… oh… OH!

“Ms. Miney,” Miles said slowly, “for you to have been on the right side of that vehicle, you would’ve been in the driver’s seat!”

She flinched back in alarm, gripping at the beret with a force that threatened to tear it.

“You foolish fool, so foolishly wasting our time. We have already established Ms. Miney could not have been driving.”

“And there in lies the contradiction.” Miney could be confused, and the car actually crashed on the shoulder, allowing her escape to occur on the left, but she’d been specific about the highway divider. It could have also hit the barrier and flipped around, but then the impact would’ve been on her side instead.

“Don’t let them distract you. We need to turn our thinking around,” Mia said. “It’s not how the passenger could’ve escaped…”

it’s how she could’ve been driving! Phoenix finished.

Miles put a hand to his chin as he thought. There’s were several threads of logic here, floating free. They needed to be woven together before the truth could reveal itself.

The catalyst of this tragedy was another, of medical malpractice at Dr. Grey’s clinic, which Mimi Miney bared the brunt of the blame for. Mimi was also the only one of the two who could drive, yet Ini remembered being on the driver’s side. Also of the sisters, Ini was the only one to escape the crash alive, but not unscarred. Her hospitalization included a facial reconstruction surgery, using a photograph she provided as reference.

He almost gasped aloud when the answer came to him.

Who’s to say the picture she used was her own?

“Only Mimi Miney could have been behind the wheel of the Masquerade…” Miles began.

Franziska scoffed. “Finally. That’s the first reasonable thing you’ve said all day.”

“…then, who is it that we’ve been talking to this entire time?” he finished

“I take it back,” she mumbled, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. “You’re just here to ruin my day, aren’t you, Miles Edgeworth?"

Folding his arms behind his back, Miles began to pace. “That night, over a year ago, two sisters entered that vehicle, but only one exited it alive. You, Ms. Miney,” he said, nodding his head towards her. “You’d suffered severe burns from the fire and had to undergo facial reconstruction surgery, for which the surgeons asked for a photo to use as reference. Only, it was not your photo that you provided. No, you saw an opportunity. An opportunity to escape the incident that been haunting you, by taking on your sister’s identity and letting your own burn to ashes with your car.

“Isn’t that right,” he paused to turn dramatically, thrusting an accusatory finger in her direction, “Mimi Miney?!”

Miney drew silent, so Franziska spoke her outrage instead. “But, that can’t be! The body they found at the crash site…”

“…was Ini Miney’s,” Miles finished for her. “And that’s precisely why Dr. Grey had to die. It wasn’t just revenge, if he’d gone through with the channeling and it failed, it might have risked revealing her secret. That Mimi Miney was still very much alive.”

“Is that why this… this preposterous channeling scheme came to be? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Indeed. If only he hadn't thought to consult her first before going through with his plans, things might have turned out differently.”

The room went silent for a moment, all parties taking in the proposed explanation, until one voice spoke out.

“Looks like,” Miney, Mimi Miney, muttered, clutching her hat close to her chest, “I’ve been unmasked.”

Miney confessed to everything. The malpractice was born out of a hostile work environment, created by Dr. Grey working her too hard to properly uphold her duties, yet expecting them anyway. From there it was daily investigations and questionings, all wrapped up by a car crash that stole away her sister’s life. It was too much all at once and Mimi just wished she’d been the one who’d died instead. So, she did. She took over Ini's life and identity and had almost gotten away with it until Dr. Grey returned to her to ask her about contacting the dead.

She submitted herself to her arrest without protest, alongside Morgan, for her role as accomplice. As the officers led the two women off, Miles sent Gumshoe with them with a message to have Maya released as soon as possible. A confession like that was more than enough to clear her of all suspicion.

Sent off on their respective tasks, only one person from the investigative team remained, her back pointedly turned to Miles and Mia.

“Franziska…” Miles hesitantly called out, taking a step towards her.

The whip cracked out in warning, halting his progress. “Don’t.”

“Franziska, I-“

“Not another word,” she snapped, turning to face him, gaze sharpened by ire. “This isn’t over, Miles Edgeworth. Not by a long shot,” she hissed before storming off, leaving him alone with Mia.

Miles held position, still caught mid step. If he moved now, he could catch her before she made it to her car. Franziska was clearly hurting, they both were, and the longer they left it unaddressed, the worse it would be.

With a heavy sigh, he settled back with both feet firmly planted.

You really need to talk to her.

I think she’s heard enough of my talking for today.
There probably wasn’t much reasoning to be had with her, not when she was this angry. That's what he was going to tell himself at least.

“Well Mr. Edgeworth, I suppose I owe you my thanks again, for looking out for my sister,” Mia said, breaking up the tension in the room. If she thought anything of the exchange, she’d opted not to voice it.

Miles cleared his throat. “Yes, well, ergo. It would hardly become me to allow a criminal to get away with their misdeeds.”

You can admit you care about people, Phoenix teased, It’s okay.

Mia, thankfully, did not press him for more. From the soft smile on her face, she’d probably read between the lines well enough.

“Speaking of Maya, someone should probably be there to make sure her release goes smoothly. Will you be joining?” he asked her before Phoenix could chime in.

“It’s up to Pearl and how long her powers hold out, but I’ll try. I’d love the chance to see Maya again. Just… let me find a coat or something first.” Mia vaguely gestured to herself. “While I’m grateful for the opportunity, Pearl’s outfit is a little small…”



Driving back to the city, Mia sat to his right, a light overcoat covering her body and a firebird in her lap. The conversation in the car was strictly carried by the two of them reminiscing and catching up, but Miles was content to just let them talk, drifting in and out of listening in on the conversation.

“Okay, okay, so I need to ask,” Phoenix was saying. “The vase story? The one you told me about you and Maya when you were little? That wasn’t that Sacred Urn… was it?”

“It was,” Mia confirmed.

“But you said it was just some vase! You never said it was important.

“It is just some vase,” she laughed. “The only thing ‘sacred’ about that urn is that it’s ancient. It’s a miracle it’s stayed in enough pieces to still be glued back together.”

Miles couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped his lips at her dismissal of what everyone else had built up to be a valued artifact. At least now he understood that ‘family tradition’ remark.

The car lulled into a brief silence before Mia picked up conversation once more. “I must say Edgeworth, you’re not the same arrogant punk I faced back during State vs. Fawles.”

Mia,” Phoenix whined. “Be nice.”

“No, she’s not wrong. Much has… happened since then.” Miles wasn’t the same person he was under von Karma. He was working not to be. “I should probably apologize for my behavior towards you.”

“You should,” she agreed. “And I accept.“

“I… that’s it?”

From the corner of his eye, he caught Mia shrug. “Grudges are for the living and I’d rather not become a vengeful spirit. Messy business I hear.”

“Actually, now that you mention spirits,” Miles said, because now that she had, he was reminded of previous ponderings. “I actually need to talk to you, about Phoenix and how you met.”

“It’s okay,” Phoenix said in response to some non verbal cue Mia must have given him. “I want him to know. Maya too, when we get the chance.”

Miles nodded. Yes, they’d have to let her in as well. “Before you say anything, I’ve worked out quite a bit on my own, but I’d like some confirmation; Phoenix's previous partner, it was Dahlia Hawthorne, wasn’t it?”

Mia gave an affirmative hum. “It was during the trial for the murder of Doug Swallow. She came out as a witness and I could immediately sense the spiritual energy coming off of her. That energy… I’d never sensed anything quite like that before and I didn’t really know what to make of it, but with a person like Hawthorne, who knows what she could do. So, after the trial - which was suspended until the next day - I asked her to meet me at the courthouse later. Alone.

“We met under the pretense that I wanted to discuss the case, but I think she was suspicious from the start. When she figured out that I was catching on to whatever power she had, I, not knowing what else to do, tried a Spirit Severing Technique, and it worked. It ripped Phoenix right off of her.

I was too shocked to react at first, but Hawthorne started screaming - cursing me, cursing Phoenix, trying to order him back. It was enough to alert whatever bailiffs were nearby and they started knocking on the door to our room. Phoenix panicked when they started to come in, but instead of returning to Hawthorne, he chose me. Then, he told me to have Hawthorne searched, which is how we found the bottle necklace containing poison.”

“If Mia had known too much… the plan was to use the poison on her,” Phoenix added softly.

“From there, Hawthorne was connected to the previous poisoning incidents at the courthouse as well as Swallow’s murder, and I took in Phoenix as my work partner. I figured out he was meant to be human just from how he acts and some choice phrasing from Hawthorne when we visited her cell. He’s definitely been bound to a spirit, but unfortunately there’s nothing in my power to reverse what she did."

“It’s still fine. I don’t mind being like this.”

Miles wasn’t looking, but he heard the locks snap into place in rapid succession, and sighed.

“Well, that sums that up,” Mia said, moving on. “Anything else you wanted to ask?”

“Just one follow up; is Hawthorne, in some way, related to the Fey family?”

Mia was silent, for a moment, before she gave her answer. “That would be the most likely assumption."

“You mean you don't know?”

“It’s a large family, and that’s not even including people who’ve cut ties with the village like me. Plus the branch family and the main family... there’s a lot of bad blood. They generally keep to themselves if they can help it. Even Aunt Morgan. I suspect, had she not been raising us at the time, Maya and I would have never known about Pearl until her training began.”

So, no definitive answer there, but the confirmation of his main findings was what he’d been seeking. Now it was just a matter of the curse itself, which he’d surprisingly gotten hints on from Miney of all people, but he needed some time to formulate some theories of his own.

He thanked Mia for her help and as she and Phoenix lulled back into easy conversation, Miles muddled over the idea that maybe looking into parapsychology studies might not be a bad approach…



Miles had to give Gumshoe credit, he’d followed through on the request. When he and Phoenix (who’d gone back to him rather than Mia because nobody was interested in experimenting with mixing his curse with an active channeling) came into the detention center, Maya was just finishing up the paperwork for her release. It definitely helped that the real culprit had given a full confession to the crime she’d been accused of, but sometimes legislation still got in the way.

She looked up at his approach, a wide grin lighting up her face. She bounded over, arms thrown out wide for a hug, which he was at least expecting this time, though Miles could only muster an awkward head pat in response. Maya didn’t seem to mind.

“Gumshoe told me everything, I knew you’d find out what really happened! I don’t know how to ever repay you and Nick, Edgey.”

“I can’t speak for Phoenix,” Miles said, though the firebird grumbled about not needing anything, “but there’s one thing I can think of.”

“Really? What is it?”

Miles leveled her with a very serious expression. “Never, ever, call me ‘Edgey’ again.”

Maya laughed. “Okay, fair. It was kind of fun calling you that when I was telling stories to Pearly, but it’s different saying it to your face.” She paused to tap at her chin. “Miles, then. Maybe that does suit you after all.”

“I should hope so. It is my name.”

She smiled. “Anyway, I’m just glad it’s over, and I’m sure Mr. Grossberg will be glad to be off the hook.”

“Oh, so you did get him as your defense.”

“Sis did tell me to go to him if I ever got into trouble, but I don’t think he was looking forward to going against Ms. von Karma.” Maya paused, frowning at him. “What’s your deal with her, anyway? Half her questions when she was interrogating me were about you.”

Miles let out a slow exhale. “Manfred von Karma wasn’t just my mentor, he also raised me for a decent portion of my life… alongside Franziska. We do consider ourselves as siblings.”

“Oh…” Maya said. “Guess I'm not the only one with family drama to deal with. I still can't believe my aunt did those horrible things.”

“It is… unfortunate, though speaking of family,” Miles began to lead her to the detention center’s exit, “there’s someone waiting to see you.”

“Huh? Who could be…” Maya began as she stepped outside, the words dying on her tongue as she saw who awaited there.

“Congratulations, Maya,”

“S-sis!” Mia was the next to receive a full-body hug from Maya, which she gladly accepted, wrapping her arms tightly around her sister. “I missed you so much, sis.”

“I missed you too.” Mia pulled back just enough to sweep Maya’s bangs out of the way so she could press a kiss to her forehead. “How are you holding up?”

“I…” Maya paused, probably unsure of exactly how she was doing after it all. "I didn’t do it. I didn't kill anyone."

“No, you didn't. It’s all over now, just like a bad dream.”

“Speaking of dreams, I had one, that day, and I smelled something familiar,” Maya said, her sister humming gently to prompt her to continue. “It was that box I was in. You used to store your clothes in it.”

“Ah, yes, I did, didn’t I? Well, I’m glad you at least got a pleasant memory from all this.”

“Mmhmm… but, I just… I still don't understand why Aunt Morgan helped that woman with her terrible plan.”

“Oh Maya,” Mia sighed, gently brushing at her hair again. “You know with me gone, you're the only main family heir, right? So, what would happen if you were out of the picture as well?”

“The… main family blood-line would be gone… " she slowly pieced together. “So then, the branch family… Aunt Morgan…"

Mia shook her head. "Our aunt’s powers are too weak, but Pearl’s on the other hand. The evidence is right in front of you.”

“So it was all for Pearly,” she concluded, mumbling into her sister's shoulder.

They stayed like that for a while, basking in each other’s presence, until Mia had to inform her that Pearl’s powers were growing weak, having held onto the channeling for well over an hour. They shared a last hug, wishing they had longer, then suddenly Maya was hunching over Pearl's small frame, now dwarfed even more by the oversized coat Mia had left behind.

“H-huh?” Pearl questioned, slowly gathering in this new reality she’d come to in. “M-Mystic Maya? Mystic Maya! You’re alright!” she sobbed.

“Thanks to you, Pearly. I heard you were a big help.”

The young girl flushed under the praise. “I just brought Mystic Mia here. She’s the one who helped Mr. Eh-ji. Oh, and Mr. Nick, too.”

“Mr… w-wha?!” she sent a startled look Miles’ way.

“Long story. We’ll explain later.”

“How about sooner, over burgers?” she bargained. “I’m starving.”

Miles groaned. “Maya, it’s late. Wouldn’t you rather be heading home first?”

Please? Think of poor Pearly. She’s never had a burger in her life. Never.”

“Mystic Maya, what’s a… ber-grrr?”

Oh come on, indulge her. She’s been in detention for two days, Phoenix said.

Miles groaned again, finding he already did a fair bit of indulging whenever these two were concerned.

“You get one burger.”



Burgers wolfed down at record pace and important conversations had, Miles was now making the return journey to Kurain. All the back and forth was surely putting a toll on the car’s mileage. Maya had tried to offer they could just take the train back, as she used to ride it late at night while visiting her sister all the time, but Miles insisted. Besides, it was a rental, so he found he didn’t care all too much.

In the backseat Maya dozed away with Pearl leaning heavily against her, Mia’s overcoat now serving as a blanket, while Phoenix sat silently in the passenger’s seat, caught up in his own thoughts. Miles was much the same, mulling over some background thoughts that finally had a chance to take the spotlight now that the investigation was over. Things he’d noticed about Maya and uncomfortable parallels to his own experiences - of murder and betrayal and loss. He'd felt what she was going through now, almost as keenly as the emotions he felt through his shared link with Phoenix.

Phoenix, who'd been vibrating with an anxious energy ever since that first gunshot rang out that he still clung onto even now. Phoenix had been the anchor he’d never knew he needed, keeping him grounded as he rode out the storm.

As Miles glanced between the girls in the rearview mirror and the firebird at his side, he made his decision.

“Phoenix, I think you should stay with them."

“Huh?” The symbiont turned around after looking back to check on Maya for the 20th time. “But you-“

“-will be fine," Miles interrupted. “You, however, have been fretting ever since this ordeal began. You’ll know no peace if you can't be sure she’s okay, which,” he continued, “means I’ll never know peace either.”

Phoenix closed his beak slowly, starting to look back once more before he caught himself.

Miles softened his tone. “I’m not forcing you, of course, but I believe Maya needs you right now.” Far more than he did. His storm still wasn’t quite over, but the seas had calmed enough for him to start drifting once more. Maya's was only just beginning. “She needs to be with family she can trust.”

Phoenix hesitated. "I just… she’s so content right now, but once the adrenaline of the day wears off and everything settles in… plus Pearls is going to look to Maya for strength, with her mother gone, and the elders are going to push her Master training even harder. Who’s going to be there for her?”

He posed it as a question, but Miles knew Phoenix had already come up with the answer.

“What about you?” Phoenix finally asked after a moment of silence.

What about him indeed. “I believe… I’m going to lay low a little while longer. I still need to figure out who I am as a prosecutor, and I cannot officially return to the courts until I have an answer to that.” If he returned to the courts at all. Frankly, this most recent case made him feel like a defense attorney more than anything, and the emotions that came with that revelation were heavier than he wanted to deal with right now. “Franziska as well. Until I’ve reconciled with myself, I probably won’t be able to appeal any kind of truce with her.”

Phoenix made a conflicted noise, but ultimately seemed to see the logic in his thoughts. “Promise to keep in touch?”

“It’s long distance and the service in Kurain is already abysmal,” Miles reminded him.

Promise?” the firebird insisted anyway.

Miles sighed. “I’ll try.” Heavy emphasis on try.

Arriving at Kurain, he found himself repeating the promise after receiving hugs from both Maya and Pearl as he escorted them home, Maya lightly chiding him that at least she got a better heads up than a postcard this time.

Miles rolled his eyes and chose not to remind her that the only reason she’d gotten the heads up was Phoenix, since he figured news of his disappearance probably would’ve never made its way to Kurain in the first place. Instead he looked over to Phoenix, perched on his shoulder and asked “Are you ready?”

The symbiont nodded and Miles held his arm out towards Maya. Phoenix paused to press his head against Miles’ briefly, then clambered down, hopping off with a slight flap at the end. Maya’s arms reflexively shot out to catch the ball of feathers, looking down at him and then back at Miles with wide eyes.

Miles smiled softly. “Take care of each other.”

“Oh, is Mr. Nick staying with us?” Pearl sleepily asked when Maya couldn’t find the words to respond, leaning heavily against her cousin for support.

“It’s alright, isn’t it?” Phoenix asked.

Maya bowed her head, burying her face in his feathers. “Of course it is, you goober,” she said.

Maya offered for Miles to stay over so he could leave in the morning refreshed, but one night of sleeping on a mat on the floor was enough. He was looking forward to passing out in his hotel bed.

Promising them both once more that they would stay in contact, Miles bid them farewell, watching as Phoenix and the girls disappeared into the manor before turning to leave himself. He knew, from experience, they’d be fine. So long as they had each other. He let that musing linger as he turned the car on and pulled away, watching as the gates of Kurain Village faded into darkness in the rearview mirror.

Chapter 35

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Miles wasn't entirely sure how long he’d been staring at the report in front of him. Ten minutes? An hour? Two hours? Time didn't really feel like a concept at the moment, much like how the words in front of him didn’t feel like words, twisting and shambling about each other into an illegible mess. For once in his life he was willing to admit that maybe, just maybe, he'd been working too long.

“Keep glaring at that paper and it's going to catch fire."

Caught off guard, the paper was lifted gently from unresisting hands as Miles blinked up at his interloper, giving him an unimpressed look.

“Between the two of us, remind me whose namesake is a firebird?

Phoenix's response was a smirk that twisted upon a face that currently did not match said namesake. So it was a dream, not that he remembered falling asleep, much less with Phoenix on him. As if to further emphasize this revelation, Phoenix held up the pages in one hand, where they suddenly caught fire, tossing them behind his shoulder as they crumbled away into ashes.

Miles watched them drift to the ground, a little startled by the pyromancy, though he’d be lying to say the concept had never crossed his mind before - Phoenix harnessing more than just the flames of his determination and what it would entail. It was probably for the best that he couldn’t.

“Why? Scared I might burn you?” Phoenix’s voice was sly as he sat on the desk and leaned in towards him.

“Oh please, you’re only a danger to my paperwork,” Miles huffed in reply, giving him the side-eye. Perhaps it was different in dreams or he was reacting to his facial expression, but Phoenix was not normally privy to internalized thoughts like that.

“Are you sure? You still don’t know everything about me,” he replied, though to which statement, spoken or internalized, was unclear.

“For now,” Miles challenged. And while Phoenix was right, he felt he knew him well enough by now to tell that something seemed off at the moment.

The symbiont drew quiet, turning his back to Miles. “And then what? What could you possibly expect to learn?”

“I don't know," Miles admitted. “Perhaps a way to change you back to this outside of dreams.”

Phoenix actually laughed, sliding off the desk so he could face Miles fully. “Mia couldn’t break this curse, what makes you think you can? Who says it’s even a thing that can be broken - Hawthorne isn't merciful enough for that.”

“But if - wait… Hawthorne?"

“Yes? Dahlia Hawthorne, a.k.a. the woman who turned me into a bird? Honestly Miles, we've established this."

“Yes, but… you addressed her by name.” He'd never done that, by stipulation of the curse - the very curse that he was also forbidden to speak of directly.

“I did, didn't I? Interesting," he replied, unconcerned.

Miles furrowed his brow. This didn’t make sense. What Phoenix was doing should have been impossible, even within the confines of a dream he suspected. And even if he believed Phoenix could've been lying at this point, everything about this exchange had been off since the start. It was like he was missing something... something crucial.

“You’re not really here,” Miles said suddenly as coherent thoughts broke through the haze of the dream. Phoenix was back in Kurain with Maya. Had been for a few months now. This Phoenix was a product of his subconscious, restricted only by his own knowledge.

“I’m not,” he confirmed with a sad smile. "You left me behind.”

“I did not!” Miles protested, slamming his hands on the desk for emphasis. “I gave you that choice!”

“You pushed me away,” Phoenix pressed, “just like you're doing with Franziska. Like you do with everyone who gets close to you.”

“I've kept in touch,” he argued.

“Have you?” Phoenix asked, the doubt heavy enough in his voice to give Miles pause in his response. He... hadn’t, had he? He'd spoken to - texted, technically - them a few times since he'd left, but all conversations had been initiated by Maya and responded to tersely. Even his correspondences with Gumshoe, a bit more frequent, were only because he had the detective keeping tabs on his sister for him.

Feeling something sliding over his hands, Miles looked down as Phoenix began to gently coax them off of the desk and into his own. He blinked slowly as Phoenix intertwined their fingers, which allowed the symbiont enough distraction to draw him away from the desk that separated them until they were face-to-face.

“What are…“

He shushed him gently, drawing closer until his breath ghosted across Miles' face. “Tell me, Miles,” he asked softly, almost as if he were afraid someone might overhear within the depths of Miles’ subconscious, “what are you really doing out here? Looking for answers or running away from everyone?”

“I don’t recall asking for a guilt trip,” Miles grumbled, looking away.

“It’s on the house.”

“Then send it back.”

Phoenix chuckled at him, then untangled one of his hands to replace it on Miles’ cheek, forcing the prosecutor to meet his eyes. “Just keep it in mind. For me?” he bade as he gave Miles a warm smile. Everything about him was warm, from his touch to the look in his eyes and Miles couldn’t help but feel himself drawn in by that warmth…

He jerked awake, alone in a cold hotel bed.

Well that was… something. At least he thought it was - lucidity was already rapidly wiping details of the dream from his memory, though he retained the general gist of it and of course whatever remnants of a conscience von Karma had left him would take Phoenix’s form in his absence.

With a heavy groan, Miles tossed to one side, screwing his eyes shut. It was too early for those kinds of thoughts. At least, it felt early. There was still a chance he might fall back asleep and he didn’t want to risk that by putting forth the energy to locate and read the clock.

After several minutes with no luck, Miles gave in and looked over at the display on the end table. 6:43 AM. Well, there were worse times to be awake, might as well get the day started.

As he stood up, he glanced at his nearby phone and picked it up. It was early, but before he forgot (or otherwise talked himself out of it) Miles sent a text to Maya's number, inquiring on their availability to have a proper conversation sometime in the near future.



Maya was surprised to get a message from Miles, saying that he actually wanted to talk, but her schedule was pretty much empty once training was done, so after some back and forth it was decided that Maya would call him later today when she was ready.

It was late in the evening by the time she’d finally pulled up his contact again and put the phone on speaker so Nick could readily participate. They were sprawled out on the floor of what used to be Mia’s childhood bedroom (which got the best reception in the manor for some reason), which now shared occupation between Nick and Charley since her own room was only a sliding door away.

“Long day?” Miles asked after a particularly loud yawn Maya had made during some pretty standard greeting pleasantries.

“Oh you have no idea,” she replied. “I had one of those waterfall sessions today. You get used to them after a while, but it’s still a lot.” There was still a slight chill to her skin from being under that freezing torrent for so long, though having Nick pressed up against her side did help.

“At least it’s August.”

“Yeah, that’s true. The winter months weren’t fun. I’m not looking forward to those rolling back around.”

“Ugh, I don’t want to imagine that,” Nick said, shuddering against her. “I get cold just watching you sit under there.”

“Oh? You don’t join in for moral support?” Miles inquired, tone sardonic.

“Maya’s a big girl, she can handle it herself,” he said flatly and she stuck her tongue out at him for it. “Besides, I’m not allowed, even if I wanted to. Apparently I’d ‘distract the spirits’.” He brought his wings out as much as he could in his lounged position to mime quotes.

“I told you, Nick, I just don’t want to meditate with you on me in case if affects something,” Maya said, sitting up a little to address him. “You can still sit next to me under the waterfall.”

“Abso-LUTELY not. I’ll keep watching from the sidelines, thanks.”

Maya rolled her eyes. “Oh, speaking of training, Pearly had a long day with the other acolytes, so she already went to bed. She says ‘hi’ though.”

“How is she?”

“She’s holding up, despite… y’know…” Maya said, waving her hand. She’d dwelt too much on the fact her own aunt was currently in jail for abetting a murder she then tried to have her framed for these past few months. She didn’t want to think about that right now. “Still trying to hook me up with Nick.”

“Really?” Even from the grainy quality of his voice due to poor reception, Miles sounded genuinely surprised.

Maya sighed. “Long story short, our village kind of has a history of unhappy marriages and divorces, so she tends to fixate on that sort of thing.” Unfortunately, due to their matriarchal society, Pearly’s own father had left when she was very young, and she’d grown up witnessing many others do the same. So having a guy around, regardless of the form he took, was a pretty big deal to her. “Honestly, if I’d never let Nick’s name slip, she’d probably be trying to set me up with you.”

“…oh,” was all he said after a moment of silence.

“You would fit the Prince Charming thing she keeps trying to force on me a whole lot better.” Maya picked her head up again to stare at Nick when he said this, eyebrows raising. The firebird stared back. “What? He would! You’ve seen how he dresses.”

”What about my clothes?” Miles demanded, to which Nick did not elaborate.

“Uh huh. How he dresses. Sure.” She’d definitely have to remember that for later. “Besides, it’s more that you’re a literal cursed fairytale creature she thinks I need to save.”

“And we know how well that went,” Nick snapped back.

“Did something happen?” Miles asked.

She groaned. “Pearly kept going on about ‘true love’s kiss’ and, like, I’m not gonna kiss Nick like that, that’s weird, but I did give him a little peck on the forehead. Just to see if that’d satisfy her.”

“Obviously it didn’t,” Miles filled in.

“She got mad at me!” Nick exclaimed, wings flying out.

“That part was actually kind of funny. What’d she say again?” Maya mused, tapping at her chin. “‘How dare you not believe in Mystic Maya’s love?’”

“You try getting scolded by an 8-year-old. See how you like it,” Nick grumbled as he curled back into a comfortable position.

There was a soft, staticky noise from the other end that might’ve been Miles laughing, but the connection made it hard to tell.

“As embarrassing as it is, it’s at least something for her to focus on besides Aunt Morgan, so I’m probably not going to try that hard to discourage it. Sorry Nick, but you’ll have to deal with the scoldings.”

The firebird grumbled again, but she knew he wouldn’t raise too big of an objection. Not after she put it like that.

“Anyway, enough about us. What have you been up to on your grand adventures? Solving mysteries? Unlocking government conspiracies? Causing international incidents?”

Miles paused for a moment before answering. “Why do you insist on forcing these wild narratives on me? I’ve been continuing my legal studies, as I’ve told you. I haven’t even left the country this time.”

“Ugh, you’re so boring. At least tell me the sightseeing’s been good.”

“I’ve not done much exploring.”

Nick laughed at her frustrated groan. “All of our sightseeing in Europe was for my sake, I’m pretty sure. Miles just wanted the distance.”

Maya humphed at them both, tilting her head back to stare upside-down at a stack of her sister’s old law books that sat untouched in the corner. “Well, next time you go on an international trip, take me. I’ll show you guys how you’re supposed to take a vacation.”

“Do you even have a passport?” Nick asked dubiously.

“Do you?”

Nick sputtered a bit. “That’s not relevant!”

“You’re not relevant,” she fired back.

“What does that even mean?!”

There was more static. This time Miles was definitely laughing at them. “You two are utterly ridiculous.”

“Oh, you know you miss us,” he teased.

“…something like that,” Miles replied in that usual smug tone of his.

Or maybe not as smug as Maya thought. Nick perked his head up, switching over to a sitting position, reacting to something she obviously hadn’t caught. “You okay?”

Hm?” he hummed, sounding a bit distracted. “Yes, of course. I’ve just realized I’ve done a poor job of staying in touch - even though you two forced me to promise that.”

“Hey, a promise’s a promise,” Maya replied in a sing-song tone. “And it definitely could use some work. Nick can’t read your mind from here, after all.”

“It’s not mind reading, and you know it.”

“You sure?” She leaned towards him, pointing an accusatory finger. “How do I know you’re not reading my thoughts right now?”

Nick sniffed at her. “Maya, even if I could, I don’t want to know what’s going on in your head.”

Miles let them bicker for a moment before conversation resumed to topics of what each party had been up to in the passing months. Miles’ tales of some of the more interesting trials he’d observed, or the antics she’d been up to with Nick and Pearly, especially regarding keeping Nick’s presence a secret (despite previous optimism over his acceptance, she was having a bit of trouble trusting people in the village at the moment).

They continued on for a little while, even as Maya felt herself drifting off to their voices, fatigue from the day setting in. Of course Nick, mother hen that he was, immediately noticed and began to shoo her off to bed. She tried to argue, but another yawn betrayed her.

“Well, I guess that’s our cue to say goodnight.”

Maya shook her head as she stretched herself into a standing position. “No, you guys keep talking. I’ll just get my phone in the morning. G’night, Nick. Night, Miles!”

She heard them both reciprocate before she stepped over into her room and slid the screen shut so they could talk in privacy. Or as much privacy as the screen afforded, since she could still hear them as she prepared herself for bed - mostly about lawyer stuff that they had rightfully assumed she wouldn’t have had much need for discussing.

By the time she’d gotten herself ready and tucked away, she’d been moving around enough that of course she was wide awake again. The guys were still talking, but she decided to leave them be. She was quite comfortable where she was and Nick would only fuss at her anyway.

“Seriously though, are you okay?” Speaking of Nick’s fussing, she mused as she overheard him ask this. She wasn’t trying to eavesdrop per se, the screen just did little towards blocking out sound.

“Yes, everything’s fine,” Miles replied, his voice a little more muted than Nick’s, but not much. Then, after a beat of silence. “Although…”

“Although, what?”

You haven’t had any… odd dreams as of late, have you?”

“No? Well, no weirder than usual, I guess.”

“I see…”

“You sure you’re okay? It’s not the nightmare again, is it?” Maya assumed that must’ve been the nightmare they’d discussed during his trial, about his father's murder.

“No, no nightmares. I don’t wish to speak too soon, but it may be gone. And if not, at least I finally know the truth behind it. Thanks to you.”

She could practically see the embarrassed fluff of Nick’s feathers. “Maya and that Shields guy did a whole lot more than I did.”

“But you were the one who believed in me through it all. Don’t discount that.”

Nick, probably unable to handle much more praise, quickly switched gears back to their boring courtroom talk and Maya concealed a giggle. Oh, if only Pearly saw these interactions, she’d know who Nick should really be getting that ‘true love’s kiss’ from, even if the firebird himself was absolutely mortified by his big dumb crush. She kind of got why, especially after finally being told exactly how her sister had met him, but it was frustrating watching Nick beat himself up over feelings that were so obviously sincere.

Still, it was probably something the symbiont had to work out for himself, so Maya wasn’t going to give him a hard time over it, outside of the occasional bought of lighthearted teasing (Especially when he deserved it. Honestly, Prince Charming? Really?). Nick’s general situation made serious thoughts on those topics kind of moot anyway, unless there was some actual merit in love breaking curses. Then, depending on Miles’ feelings (which was a whole other matter. She had no idea what went on in that man's head), maybe…

Maya ran through her reverie as she turned over and tuned out the legalese babble in the background, realizing that maybe she got where Pearly was coming from after all.



Now that he’d opened up the possibility, Maya and Phoenix were insistent that they talk on the phone together at least once a month. Miles felt he really didn’t have that much to discuss over the phone, hence why he shied away from calls in the first place, but Maya was more than eager to fill any quiet moments. Pearl made appearances for these, since they could plan around everyone’s schedules, though she tended not to linger for too long.

“I found out the Berry Big Circus is coming to town, so I’m gonna bring Pearly to that,” Maya was telling him during one of these updates. “It’s not until December, so we’ve got a while to plan.”

“It should be an interesting experience for her, given how little of the world she’s seen,” Miles commented as he made a highlight on the document he was looking over.

“That’s what I’m hoping. She deserves some fun in her life. Still not sure how to get Nick in where he can actually watch the show too.”

“I told you, I don’t need to see it. It’s fine,the firebird replied, his tone clipped. It was hard to tell over the phone if it was because he was lying, or just tired of having this argument.

“But Niiiick…” she whined.Max Galactica is headlining! You can’t miss him!”

“Eh…”

“Who is Max Galactica?” Miles asked.

Maya gasped like he’d struck her. “You don’t know?! He’s only, like, the greatest magician ever! I can’t believe you’ve never heard of him.”

“I’ve never been a huge fan of magic,” Miles replied with a shrug, “Or circuses, for that matter, even as a child. I was more excited to go watch my father’s trials than anything.”

“…has anyone told you you’re a boring person?”

“Yes, you. On multiple occasions. Phoenix as well.”

“Hey, I don’t call you boring, I call you a stick-in-the-mud. There’s a difference.”

“Ah, yes, of course. My mistake,” Miles droned.

“Hey, if you don’t want to be a boring stick,” Maya said, while Phoenix made a wheezing noise in the background, “you could come with us! We’ll make a day out of it.”

“I don’t know…” Miles muttered. She hadn’t given him an exact date, but December was still December. Even with DL-6 solved, he probably wasn’t going to be in the best mindset for such frivolities.

“Well, you’ve got time to think about it. I just think you need to get some fun things in your life!”

“I have ‘fun’ as you so put it,” Miles grumbled.

“Watching the Steel Samurai doesn't count,” Phoenix piped in.

Miles felt himself flush. “For your information, there’s a natural history museum here that I planned to visit. They’re running a special exhibit on the occult this month for Halloween that caught my interest.”

“It’s a start. Why the occult thing, though? Looking for a lead on Nick’s case or something?”

“I don’t expect to find anything of the sort, but one never knows unless they explore all avenues.” Just learning as much about the occult as he could would be useful as his life continued to become entangled with it.

“Why, that’s certainly very charming of y-“ Maya suddenly cut off to the muffled sounds of struggling and laughter, which meant she was doing something to aggravate Phoenix over there. He wasn’t going to ask.

“Well, enjoy your visit,” Phoenix said after a moment, so it sounded like he’d won whatever little spat they'd been having. “Let us know if anything interesting happens.”

“Of course,” Miles said dismissively, rolling his eyes. Unless he found detailed instructions on how to break spirit bound curses, he couldn’t imagine having much to report.



It was a Tuesday morning when Miles followed through on his Natural History Museum trip, when most people were off either at work or school, guaranteeing a fairly quiet visit. The museum was split into two wings - natural and history, or, more accurately, paleontology and archaeology. He’d eventually make his way around the entire building, but for now his goal was set up in one of the upstairs event spaces, so Miles headed that way first.

As he stepped forth into the room, his initial impressions were that this was definitely the museum’s Halloween spectacular. The walls were adorned with corny decorations, probably from a local party store, while eerie mood music poured in from the speakers. The room itself was darkened for the added effect, with spotlights on the individual displays. It just slightly ruined the atmosphere, given just how many displays there were. Whoever had organized this had certainly been thorough in their research.

The displays were set up in such a way that it felt like traveling through space and time, progressing through different regions of the world from past to future, taking pauses to highlight various cultures through history that had been found to have a strong connection with the occult. All things ranging from guardian spirits to accounts of witchcraft, with display models for each of artifacts those people used.

Miles roamed through the displays, his Pink Princess notebook in hand as he jotted down any information that seemed potentially relevant or especially interesting. He found himself lingering in particular at the exhibit dedicated to Khura’in. The entire kingdom functionally ran on spirit channeling - from their religion, to their courts, all the way up to the very eligibility of the monarchy. One of the display models took a form he knew all too well - a large bird. Specifically this was of a warbaa’d, the national animal. A plaque beneath described it as a sacred creature, oft believed to be an envoy to the Twilight Realm or a protector of lost souls.

He let his eyes rove over the statue, taking in the features of the life-like replica. They weren’t identical, warbaa’ds clearly sharing some common ancestry with cranes while Phoenix looked more like a hodgepodge of several species, but there were definitely some overlapping features that didn’t feel coincidental. His gaze wandered back towards the plaque, where a button for a sound sample rested, and Miles nearly leapt at the decidedly un-birdlike roar that emerged after pressing it. Well, it was a good thing the similarities didn’t extend to that. With a deep breath to compose himself, Miles flipped through his notebook until he found his earlier notations on the Kingdom of Khura’in, and added a few bullet points.

“I’m guessing you’re the one who pressed that button.” Miles glanced up from his writing as, a few minutes after his near heart attack, a man had entered to room and addressed him. “See, I told her that recording was too loud, but she said it was ‘authentic’.”

Miles closed the book as he approached, holding it against his chest. He was a tall man, dressed on the casual end of business casual in slacks and a polo shirt, with brown hair, some kind of marking on his right arm, and a face Miles swore he recognized from somewhere. It wasn’t until he got close enough, where through the dim lighting he could make out the details of a snake tattoo, did realization dawn.

It hit him at the same time, eyes going comically wide. “Oh hey, you’re that prosecutor! Edgeworth, wasn’t it?”

Miles nodded. “Yes, and you’re…” He frowned, his brain fumbling to drag a name from the recesses of his memory.

“Charles Drinker!” he supplied, reintroducing himself. “From the hotel back in Athens? Man, what a small world. What are you doing around here?”

“I was merely in town when I heard about this occult exhibit. Seemed worth investigating.”

“Well it’s definitely different,” Drinker laughed. “More into dead things that stay dead myself, but whatever floats your boat. Like kid’s shows,” he said, his eyes dipping down briefly.

Remembering what was on the cover of his notebook, Miles flushed and hastily shoved it into the inside pocket of his jacket. "It was a joke gift. From a friend.” Which was partially true. Miles was fairly sure Maya's intentions had been 100% genuine when she'd picked it out. “So why are you here?” he then asked quickly, to change the topic. “Something tells me it's not for the occult exhibit.”

"Nah, that’s all Alanis. She sets this up every year,” he said dismissively, not elaborating on the name he'd just dropped. “This is actually my home base! I'm head of the paleontology department here.”

Small world indeed.

His eyes suddenly lit up. “Oh, hey, since you’re here, I can properly thank you for saving my neck back in Greece.” He moved closer, throwing an arm around Miles’ shoulders. “What do you say?”

“That… really won’t be necessary,” Miles said, beginning to edge away from the man.

“Nonsense, I insist! I could get you on one of the upcoming behind the scenes tours - the guides usually don’t mind an extra person.”

“I had intended to explore at my own leisure…” He’d managed to extract himself from Drinker’s grasp, though the other man was still crowding into his space.

"Or, better yet, I could tour you around myself! Show you the 'off route’ sights.”

“I assure you it’s fine,” Miles said, though he suspected Drinker wasn’t listening to a word he was saying. Suspicions that were quickly confirmed when the paleontologist clapped a heavy hand on one shoulder and began guiding him away from the exhibit as he talked up all the interesting things he could show him. Miles sighed and submitted himself to the impromptu tour.



Hesitant as Miles was to admit it, the tour was proving interesting. Drinker was loud and a bit of a braggart, but he was clearly passionate about this place and the work he and his colleagues did there, which meant he had a lot to say about each location he showed him.

He was taking Miles around the back parts of the museum, through some of their working spaces, popping in when people didn’t look especially busy to talk up the kinds of research or cataloguing they did in those areas. He even got an update on that blasted egg fossil that'd created the incident they’d met during, which was being stored in Drinker’s office until they finalized how it was going to be put it on display.

“It’s difficult because the interesting part is inside and we don’t want to damage the shell,” Drinker was explaining as he locked up his office behind them. “I think we’ve gotten it figured out now, but you’re gonna have to wait and see what we’ve done when that exhibit debuts.”

“I can’t wait,” Miles deadpanned. By then he’d be long gone anyway.

“Well it’s gonna be a while, either way,” Drinker stretched and leaned against the wall. “We’ve got a bunch of holiday events coming up and I don’t want it overshadowing those, or vice-versa. The team works hard on those.” He paused. “Oh, hey, you’re here for the Halloween exhibit, right? We’re near Alanis’ office right now - she’s the one in charge of that. Do you want to talk to her?”

A chance to converse with the academic who set this up? “That’s the most useful thing you've said to me all day."

Unfazed by the insult, Drinker led on, talking about his colleague on the way. Alanis Dorado was one of the assistant managers for the archaeology department and while her studies were in ancient civilizations, the parapsychology was a passion project of hers. Each year she did the occult exhibit she had more research to add to it, to the point where she had enough displays to rotate some in and out.

They came to a stop before a door labeled ‘A. Dorado’, light pouring out from a small window near the top of the frame. Drinker rapped loudly on it. “Hey Alanis! I've got company for you!” He frowned when after a few moments he got no reply, knocking again to only the same result. “Huh, weird, the lights are definitely on. She doesn’t normally do that when she's out,” he muttered.

“Perhaps she forgot?”

“Maybe.” He tested the handle. “Well, it's unlocked. Alanis! Are you -“

Drinker fell silent as he pulled the door open and it only took one glance past him to see why. The room looked like a tornado had blown through. Boxes and papers and pieces of what were hopefully model artifacts lay scattered on the floor, making it difficult to enter without stepping on anything.

“What happened in here?” Drinker asked. “Did someone raid the place?”

“I believe that’s our culprit.” Miles pointed to a large piece of furniture that was probably supposed to be a shelf, laying face down on the ground. The various objects on the floor had probably rested upon at one point, given the general trajectory of the scatter. He wondered what had caused it to fall - the unit itself looked far too heavy to casually capsize, even if it’d been over encumbered. Plus there was the matter of the weird angle it laid at. Not quite flat, as though something large was lodged beneath it. Miles crept closer to investigate and immediately regretted it.

It was obscured by some fallen boxes from the doorway, but as Miles approached, the cause of the odd tilt was all too clear.

“Drinker?” Miles began, feeling his stomach twist at the sight of the human arm peeking out from under the shelf, “I may have found your missing colleague."

Notes:

In the midst of working on this chapter I completed a personal, but related project. I made a plush of Phoenix! Now he lives rent free in my room as well as my head. Here's the thread with my WIPs and the final product
https://twitter.com/dei_ryuu/status/1349433979531890688?s=20

Chapter Text

Drinker was understandably in a state, so it was up to Miles to contact the authorities and inform them of what happened, while the paleontologist excused himself to the nearest restroom.

Miles was just finishing up the conversation when he returned, still a tad green around the gills, but looking better than he had. He slumped against a wall, the furthest one from the body, with a loud groan.

“You’d think for someone who’s constantly surrounded by death, I'd be handling this a little better. Hell, we’ve had actual human specimens in the building before.”

“Yes, well, your subjects usually aren’t as… fresh, I assume,” Miles said, for lack of a better word. Miles was no coroner, but he wasn’t noting any obvious signs of rigor mortis setting in from the one visible part of her (unless he wanted to get down on the floor and look beneath the shelf which - no thank you), so Dorado couldn’t have been dead for more than an hour or two. A still concerning amount of time. “You’ve got security staff, correct? Inform them of what happened and tell them that it's imperative that no one leaves the building.”

“Why?” Drinker began to ask, only to be cut off by a loaded glare from Miles. There would be time for questions once the museum was secure. As Drinker got out his phone, Miles turned his eyes back to the scene.

Behind the the shelf there was a distinct outline of dirt forming a rectangle on the floor, indicating exactly where the shelf once stood, flush against the wall. It would have needed to be pulled forward to fall in the manner that it did, perhaps by Dorado pulling on the shelves in an attempt to shift it or climbing to reach something on the top. The only problem with that was Dorado’s visible hand - face down, palm against the floor. She was facing the wrong way for either of those scenarios.

While he was examining, a message called out over the intercom, instructing all personal of a state of emergency and to remain calm and in the building until further notice. Drinker must have concluded his conversation. A fact quickly confirmed as the man in question came up to his side, looking a little put out.

“Did she have any enemies to speak of?” Miles asked before he could get another word in edgewise.

Enemies?!” he echoed in alarm, whatever previous gripe he had temporarily forgotten. “No! Of course not! She was - well, I wouldn't say beloved. She was kinda odd in that… reclusive, workaholic kind of way. You know the type.” People would probably argue he was that type, but Miles nodded anyway. “But she was friendly when she was around. People got along with her.”

"I see,” Miles muttered. So no one with any upfront motive. He needed more information.

“You don’t… you don’t think someone killed her, do you? That this wasn’t just some freak accident?” Drinker tentatively asked. “Is that why you wanted a lockdown?”

“I don’t know just yet,” he admitted, “but if we make the wrong assumptions, then a criminal could escape.”

“Then we’re locked in here with a murderer?!”

“I didn’t say that,” Miles said, “Though if they do in fact exist and haven’t already escaped, then yes, I suppose. However, they are unlikely to strike again as the chances of being caught are much higher now.”

“I… I need a moment,” Drinker said with a heavy breath, leaning his weight against one of the walls again. “This is… this is too much, how the hell are you so calm?”

“I prosecute murderers for a living. Unfortunately, this is nothing new - though, the cause of death is. Stabbings and head injuries are more common,” Miles said, earning another pained groaned from Drinker. “I’m more surprised that we’re apparently the first to discover the body. Surely someone would have heard such a large unit falling over?”

“Eh… Tuesdays are pretty light staffing days, especially in the offices,” Drinker answered wearily. “But we’re also constantly moving big things around here. If anyone was nearby when it happened, it might not have registered.”

That was reasonable enough, Miles supposed. He’d cases in the past where a witness had overheard a murder in progress, only to completely misinterpret the sound as something mundane (A memorable example being the killer who’d taken advantage of their victim’s penchant for watching crime dramas at full volume). It’s possible Dorado’s killer, provided she had one, could have exploited this to widen the discovery window, but it was risky over quieter methods. They already had the benefit with the setting of the enclosed office of somebody who worked mostly alone on their side.

Miles filed that thread away for later - he still needed a motive for why Dorado could have been murdered at all. There had to be a clue around here somewhere, hidden amongst the clutter. While a lot of Dorado’s personal belongings were currently strewn across the floor, there was just as much covering every single available surface. In fact the only things not covered were her walls, a fact he only really noted due to having just come from Drinker’s office. The man had his space absolutely plastered with framed awards and accolades spanning his entire career, while Dorado only decorated with a few diagrams and a map.

Miles scanned over the desks and tables, noting that despite the sheer amount of stuff, there seemed to be a system to the madness. The desk on which the computer sat also held all the office supplies and things that looked relevant to managerial work around the museum. Another held heavy tomes, loose documents, and complex-looking tools that he could only guess the exact uses of. There was even an entire table dedicated to what must’ve been holdovers from the occult exhibit that didn’t make the cut. Plastic ghosts, (hopefully) fake skulls, and other such novelties, with a magazine sitting atop it all.

He paused in his scan of the room, moving closer. It was definitely a magazine, plopped right on one of her display models. Miles didn’t want to tamper too much with an active crime scene, but with everything else so nicely categorized, it looked too out of place. Ultimately, he decided to pick it up.

“Oh is that The Big Dig?” Drinker commented as he noticed what Miles was doing. “This month’s issue must have just come out.”

“The what?”

“It’s the latest news from the past - basically if your science involves studying the ancient Earth in some capacity, this magazine covers it. The museum keeps a subscription.”

Miles looked back to the periodical in his hands. It was already open, deliberately folded and creased to stay on a page towards the back. ‘Recent Developments’ the header said and he squinted at the small print on a collection of short blurbs on breakthroughs that didn’t have the data yet for a full article or research paper. Most of it flew past his head - talk of very specific geological periods or long extinct species he’d never heard of - until a familiar name entered his radar.

Dorado apparently had a big project under works before her untimely end, involving prehistoric humans that once lived in what’s now modern day Central Asia, which could lead to a breakthrough not only in her chosen field. The blurb didn’t go too into depth, but her findings might find an answer to…

“…the Great Mustelidae Debate,” Miles read aloud, incase those words made any more sense to him when spoken. He squinted at the article again before handing it over to Drinker. “Do you know anything about this?”

He took it, taking a moment until he found the relevant section. “Oh, damn, I know she liked to keep to herself, but this is a big thing not to mention!” he exclaimed. “Do you know what this could mean?!”

“No, hence why I asked,” Miles replied, rolling his eyes.

“Well, then I guess you don’t know too much about paleontology, because this is one of our more infamous debates. See, because of the state we often find fossils in, it’s hard to tell what’s a separate species and what’s not. You’ll discover something, think it’s a brand new animal, only to later figure out it’s a juvenile of this species, or that species was actually sexually dimorphic the whole time and we've only been digging up females.

Now I don’t know all the details off the top of my head -dinosaurs and reptiles are more my speed- but we have the Saltodon and the Brachyrex, two weasel type animals. Very similar fossils remains. Eerily similar, even. However, because no one has ever found a complete enough skeleton of the Brachyrex, they can't make a definitive call either way. That and the guy who discovered Brachyrex is famously defensive of it. I think he’s fist-fought dissenters on more than one occasion,” Drinker finished, handing the magazine back to Miles.

“Is your field always so… combative?” the prosecutor asked, putting the periodical back where he found it. While physical violence had not been involved, similar pettiness is what started that entire incident in Greece.

“Oh, you have no idea. I think all sciences are when major discoveries get involved.” Drinker barked out a laugh, but his mood quickly sobered. “But damn that sucks for Alanis. Sounds like that might’ve been her big break. This couldn’t have happened at a worse time.”

And that’s probably precisely why it happened at all.



“I still can't see anyone having a grudge against Alanis,” Drinker sighed, pacing around behind Miles as the prosecutor contemplated his next move. With nothing left to investigate in the room, they’d left the crime scene as soon as a security guard arrived to keep an eye on it. “It’s not like she not had some bitter rival out for revenge, like me and Kopé - if I ever end up murdered, I'm saying on the record it’d be his doing. She always just did her own thing. Kept to herself.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean she doesn’t have enemies, just that she wouldn't have mentioned them. Or at the very least, wouldn’t mention them to you,” Miles pointed out, rolling his eyes. The man was distracting him from brainstorming, but, since the investigation was going to require access to employee spaces, they couldn’t part ways yet.

Drinker went quiet - quiet enough for Miles to hear his own thoughts. He wondered if he'd actually managed to insult the paleontologist.

“Now that you mention it, I guess someone in Archeology or Research could probably help, but who to even ask?” he said after a moment, disproving that theory. “No, wait, I know!” Drinker snapped his fingers loudly, prompting Miles to turn and face him. “Shadow would definitely know something and... maybe Archie?”

Miles stared at him for a long moment. Drinker seemed to like tossing names around as if he expected Miles to recognize them.

“Let’s see, they should both be here…” the other man continued without elaboration. “Let’s go find Archie.”

“Hold on,” Miles interrupted, because while he had no idea who either of these individuals were, there were still things he picked up on, “you were far more confident about this Shadow person. Why not talk to them first?”

“Cause Shadow is... look, just trust me on this. We should start with Archie. He's probably off working on something in one of the classrooms.”

Miles was still struggling to see the logic (or lack thereof) in this plan, but he wasn’t in a position to argue. Drinker knew this place afterall.

With a slight sigh, Miles held out an arm in gesture.

"Lead the way."

Drinker guided him out of the office area and back down to the main floor, using a convoluted route of hallways and doors that Miles gave up on trying to mentally map out. He babbled as they walked, mostly to himself, about this Archie they were supposed to be meeting. From what Miles was able to piece together, it sounded like he was in charge of some sort of educational program the museum ran and had been working a lot with Dorado recently, coordinating it with her seasonal exhibit. The collaboration did mean his potential as a lead was fairly high, though it made Miles wonder still about the other person Drinker had mentioned.

“…I mean, if there is anything,” Drinker continued to ramble as they entered the next room, pausing only to scan their surroundings first. He’d been doing so for every new location they entered, as though he expected some masked assailant to leap forth - a scenario that wasn't entirely improbable at the present moment. Satisfied with his survey, they pressed on. “No offense, but I'd prefer it if you were wrong about this.”

“None taken,” Miles replied. Him being wrong was the ideal outcome afterall. It's not as though he wanted there to be a murderer.

“Anyway, we're almost there,” Drinker announced. “Now hopefully he’ll be easy enough to find.”

“Who're you looking for?”

A voice, belonging to neither of them, responded to the remark from a position right behind them, startling both men with the suddenness and the proximity.

“Goddammit, you-“ Drinker cut himself off which a sharp exhale, spinning to face the cause of his outburst. “How many times have I told you to stop doing that?!”

“Sorry, I don’t mean to,” came the genuinely apologetic reply from a young woman, brushing a lock of her dark hair out of her face. She was dressed in all blacks and greys, though more professional than gothic - like she'd just been attending an important business meeting. She even had a clipboard tucked under one arm. “But who were you looking for? I've been all around, maybe I saw them.”

“Archie, but-“

“Oh, Professor Buff? He left early today to help his wife with the baby," she replied, interrupting him. “Although I don't know if he made it out before the lockdown.”

“Ah, well, that's fine. We may not even need him now,” Drinker replied, then looked over to Miles. “Edgeworth, this is Shadow."

“Shadow Morrison," she added, holding out her free hand. “I’m an intern for the archeology department.”

So the mystery person found them instead, Miles thought to himself, shaking her hand in turn. He’d say it was convenient, but given the clues, this was probably the outcome Drinker had been expecting. “Miles Edgeworth.”

“Edgeworth here's the prosecutor who bailed me out of trouble in Greece - I told you that story, right? Crazy coincidence.” Drinker explained, patting Miles on the back.

“A prosecutor?!” she gasped, pulling out the clipboard and beginning to jot down notes. “Then something did happen to Alanis…”

Drinker made a startled noise. “How do you know that?! Security said they were keeping it quiet until the police got here, so as not to create unnecessary panic.”

“Oh, they are, but her office is being blocked off and I can't contact her, so it's hard not to assume it’s related to the lockdown,” she replied, tapping her pen against the metallic clip, before her attention snapped back to Miles. “And anyway, aren’t you here on behalf of the police?”

“Not as such, I was already here as a visitor, so it will remain confidential until they arrive.” Morrison frowned at him, obviously hoping for some confirmation. “I am, however, looking into the incident in the meantime. I’ve been told you may be able to help with that.”

“Me?” Her focus, which had been back on scribbling on her clipboard, returned to Miles. “I mean, sure. If you think I can help, I'll gladly do so.”

“I understand you may be close to Dorado. Was there anything she ever mentioned about someone she might've had a grudge with?”

"Well, you’re not wrong. I work as a research assistant to her, so I'm closer than most, but she’s never been the most forthcoming about her personal life, even with me. Although, there are probably some people that aren’t thrilled with her right now.”

Oh? “Why is that?” Miles asked.

“It has to do with the research project she’s currently working on.”

“The one about the Central Asian tribes,” Miles filled in.

Morrison looked surprised. "You already know? Did Alanis actually tell you about it?” She posed the second half to Drinker.

The Big Dig came out today and it had a blurb about her,” he supplied.

“I see, that makes more sense. Did it mention anything about the expedition?” she asked, continuing when both men shook their heads. “Her research got her approval to fly out on a dig to prove her theories, fully funded. The problem is she was also competing for that research grant with a few other scientists, so some of them might still be sore about losing.”

“Ah, that's fair," Drinker remarked. “There's definitely been times where I would've killed to get some much needed funding.”

Miles slowly turned to him, raising a single eyebrow until he took the moment to reassess his word choice.

“Never mind."

Miles shook his head, then posed his next question to Morrison, distracting her from whatever she’d started to write down. “Is there anyone here who might have been one of the competitors?”

Her pen scratched against the paper. “Oh, um. No. No none.”

From the hasty way she'd answered alone, Miles could tell she was lying, but he still flinched back as chains appeared to confirm his suspicion, two locks snapping them into place.

Miles placed a hand on the pocket where he was storing the Magatama. At Maya's insistence he was holding onto the item, carrying it around only so he wouldn't lose track of it - he felt more secure having the heirloom on his person. This wasn’t the first instance of it flaring up since the Kurain incident, but those past instances also hadn’t been worth pursuing.

Miles pressed in slightly, feeling the hardness of the gem. He didn’t have much to go on here, but logically… “Morrison, you weren’t perhaps looking into this grant, were you?”

The appalled look on her face would have been answer enough. “No, I'm only an assistant researcher!” she cried out as Miles held back a groan from the sharp jolt that went coursing through his core from the false accusation.

Funny, he didn’t recall it hurting quite that much last time.

“I’m fine," he grunted to the mirrored looks of alarm from Drinker and Morrison, replacing her momentary anger. He must not have completely masked his discomfort. “Just aggravated something.” For show, he rolled his shoulder (which did tend to get aggravated when Phoenix wasn't being careful about how tight he gripped with those talons).

The explanation looked to satisfy them. “Think you might've aggravated Shadow too,” Drinker said, nodding his head towards her.

“I... you caught me off guard for sure,” she said, biting at her lip. “But I guess you’re just doing your job, huh?”

“I need to explore all potential avenues." That being said, he wouldn’t be making anymore leaps like that if locks were involved.

Morrison went thoughtful, humming to herself. “Well, if you need leads, you may want to check with Xena Stynct over in Research. She might know something useful.”

“Xena?” Drinker questioned.

“Is there something odd about that?” Miles inquired, looking over at him. “Who is she?”

“She’s a paleontologist like me, so I didn't think they really interacted, but - oh!” Drinker snapped his fingers. “Duh! Xena's the resident expert on ancient mammals, so Alanis might've spoken to her about the Mustelidae Debate. Hey, thaa…aaand she’s gone.” Sure enough, as they both looked back, the space Morrison had been occupying was empty. “Typical.”

“I assume this is commonplace."

Oh yeah. Shadow has an annoying habit of appearing and disappearing out of nowhere.” Drinker groaned, running a hand through his hair. "A ghost, that girl is. I swear she has to be walking through the walls.”

“At least she had information to provide first.” Though not all of it. That woman definitely knew more than she was letting on.

“Oh no, don’t get me wrong, Shadow's great! Habits aside, she's super helpful - I'm honestly jealous she's an archaeology major, otherwise I’d hire her.”

Miles gave him a sidelong glance. "From your tone, sounds like you’ve already tried.”

Drinker sighed. “Shadow's pretty dedicated to the research department, even though they just haven't had the availability to hire her in ages due to cut backs. She says doesn't want to get bogged down with commitments to another position when one finally opens up, so… intern. It's at least a paid intern position and she’s got a lot of freedom, as you can tell, but…”

He trailed off, interrupted by a shrill ringing that came from his pocket. Drinker muttered a quiet ‘hold on' to Miles as he answered the phone, angling a little away from the prosecutor. The conversation, whatever it was, was fairly one sided in favor of the person on the other end, Drinker responding with brief affirmations. Then it was over almost as soon as it'd started.

“That was the head of security,” he told Miles as he repocketed his phone. “The police are here and they want to talk to us.”



They returned to the scene of the incident, now heavily populated by police officers and crime scene tape to push back the small group of onlookers their presence had attracted. They explained themselves to one of the men charged with crowd control, who allowed them entry into the room.

“So, you two are the ones who discovered the body. Drinker and Edgeworth, was it?” They were approached by a woman in a heavy trench coat who’s very presence commanded attention - clearly the lead on this investigation. “I'm Detective Christine Agate. You guys mind telling me the details of how you found the scene?”

They gave her a quick rundown, as there wasn’t too much to it. The door was unlocked and Dorado wasn't answering to any summons, despite the light being on. The state of the room otherwise was just as it was now, sans the police presence. Even Dorado’s body was still in place as they were still in the documentation phase of the investigation, though Miles noted the officers anxiously standing by with a bodybag to remove the victim for autopsy as soon as they were given the go ahead.

Detective Agate nodded as she listened. "And then you got the place contained, which was less work for us.” She shoved her hands in her pocket. “People usually aren’t this thorough when calling in deaths. Too busy panicking.”

“See, that’s why I keep saying it’s lucky you were here, eh Edgeworth? Good thing you're used to this kind of stuff,” Drinker commented, rearing up to clap him on the back again.

“As a prosecutor," Miles amended before the detective had a chance to form her own conclusions, sliding out of Drinker’s reach.

“So it’s Prosecutor Edgeworth, is it?” she said, leaning in and squinting at him. “Wait… I think I recognize that name now… Aren’t you some kind of prodigy - been in involved in some pretty high profile cases?”

He grimaced. This was exactly the sort of recognition he’d been hoping to avoid. “You would not be… incorrect in saying that."

“Hold on, you're some kind of famous prosecutor and you never bothered to say anything?!” Drinker exclaimed.

“It wasn’t worth mentioning,” Miles huffed.

“Still not, really, since it looks like we're not gonna need a prosecutor of any sort on this case,” Agate said.

Miles furrowed his brows at her. “What do you mean?”

“Investigation's obviously not done yet - still haven't even gotten the autopsy, but so far, everything's pointing to accidental death.”

“I knew no one would target Alanis!” Drinker said with a note of relief, but Miles still had his doubts.

Detective Agate snorted. "I know that look - damn, you really are a prosecutor. Listen, we're still looking into it, but the scene is speaking for itself here. Maybe that autopsy or my men out there combing for leads will turn up something new, but I think we can say the poor woman was just standing in the wrong place."

Miles folded his arms, tapping his index finger. From Dorado's research grant, Morrison's psycho-locks, and even the body's position - this wasn't sitting right with him. “I just think it's too early to make that ruling.”

Agate rolled her eyes at him. “Why do you even care? A little out of your jurisdiction, isn’t it?”

“I-“ Miles paused. This wasn’t like the Kurain murder, or even the hotel break in. Miles had no personal stakes here - his role in this incident was to give his witness report to the detective and answer any follow up questions. Yet still he’d leapt into an investigation without a second thought.

Maybe a certain someone has been rubbing off on him.

“Detective Agate, if I may be so bold. I believe we may have come across a few leads before your arrival that may suggest foul play.”

“We did?” Drinker unhelpfully remarked.

Miles glared at him. “I request permission to aid in your investigation.”

“Sorry, Prosecutor, but nothing doing," she replied, turning away from him. “If there’s anything more to find, I trust my men to do it. I don't need any out of district officials stepping on our toes."

“Then," Miles appealed before she cut him out entirely, "allow us to continue with our own. We will not interfere with your work and, should our leads be dead ends, I will concede.” But not now. Not until the questions he'd discovered had sufficient answers.

She took a moment to reply, still looking away. "I don't get your angle. Say you do determine this was murder, then what? A leg up on a trial you won’t be assigned to? What's in it for you, Prosecutor Edgeworth?”

"The truth,” he answered honestly.

“Bah… so long as you’re stuck in here with everyone else, I can't control what you do.” The detective finally turned her head in their direction, glaring. “But if I catch you impeding my mens’ work, there will be consequences.”

Miles nodded. “Understood.”

She watched him for a moment more, harsh expression shifting into a grin as she broke into a chuckle. “Well then Prosecutor, you’ve got guts, that’s for sure.” She shoved her hands back into her pockets, smirking. “Let’s see if they help you live up to that reputation.”

Chapter 37

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

After being sent back to Dorado’s office they were now closer to the research wing of the museum than the classrooms, so they decided to take the suggestion from Morrison as their guide and headed over to the office of a one Dr. Xena Stynct.

Stynct, according to Drinker, was a genius in her field, if not a tad eccentric, though Miles was beginning to believe that rang true for just about everyone in this museum. As long as she could answer his questions, Miles didn't care what her quirks were. He'd probably faced stranger in court.

The two approached her door, similarly labeled by her first initial and last name, Drinker announcing their presence with a knock on the frame.

“Just a sec!” a voice called out in response, followed briefly by a loud banging noise and that same voice shouting 'Ow!'

Miles shared a brief look with Drinker, who sighed softly, before the door flew open.

A woman popped her head out, squinting at them through circular lens glasses that sat askew on her face, barely hanging on to the bridge of her nose.

“Oh! Charles!” she said as she adjusted her bifocals. “And, um, guest,” she added, her eyes flitting over to Miles. "How can I help you?”

“Xena Stynct?” Miles prompted, continuing when she nodded her head, “I am Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth and -“

“Prosecutor?!” she interrupted, nearly dislodging her glasses again in surprise. “But I've already spoken to the police. Am I in trouble?”

“Whoa, calm down Xena, no one’s accusing you of anything. He’s not even here with the police,” Drinker said.

“He’s not?” She looked back at Miles. “You’re not?”

“Not officially," Miles confirmed. “Though I am looking into the same incident as them, thus I wouldn’t mind a moment of your time.” Nor would he mind hearing what the police had asked. Had they already explored the potential connection between her and the victim?

Wariness seeped into her expression, but Drinker cut in to reassure her, cutting into Miles' personal space as well as he did so by bumping shoulders with him. "Don’t worry, he’s cool. This is the same prosecutor who helped me in Greece.”

Stynct’s brows knitted together. “The guy with the phoenix tattoo?” Hands moving to her hips, she turned fully to Drinker. “Charles, you didn’t call him in for this, did you?”

As Drinker defended himself (‘Hey, it was a coincidence!’), Miles felt his hand twitching reflexively towards his arm where said tattoo might have been, were he not currently in another state with his sister. Just how many people had Drinker told this story to?

After facing off for a moment, Stynct let her arms and the matter drop, giving them both her full attention once more. “Well, I’m not sure why you came to me, but… here, why don't you come inside first,” she said, stepping aside so they could enter the office.

As Miles passed the threshold, all the questions in the forefront of his mind quickly took a backseat. Despite having already left the occult exhibit, that macabre spirit was picking up again. There were bones and skeletons - some, if not all of them, likely real - everywhere. On the tables, the walls, wherever she could fit them. Drinker’s office had had shades of this with the odd small-scale model here and there, but, as an administrative office, they hadn't been allowed to take over in this capacity.

“Now, what exactly did you need me for?”

“Ah, yes," Miles said, tearing his eyes off the behemoth of a skull tucked away in the corner part-timing as a table. “First, would you mind clarifying what the police spoke to you about?”

“They wanted to know where I’d gone this morning and I told them I’d been here working.”

Miles had kept quiet for a moment, expecting her to continue. “Is that all?” he asked when she didn’t.

“That’s all they asked,” Stynct nodded, then paused. “…should there have been more?”

Miles folded his arms, mulling it over. There were a number of follow up questions they could have pursued, but at the time the police must have just been gathering information on who was where. Detective Agate did say her men were still out investigating.

“Perhaps, but that is up to them,” Miles decided to tell her. Any followup would depend on what further investigation revealed. “What we had to discuss isn’t related to your movements today.”

Stynct's head tilted a bit, the movement causing her glasses to slip again. “Oh? But… I'm confused now. Aren't you here about what happened today?”

“We're looking into a motive that you might know more about. I’m not permitted to speak too much on the actual incident until the police have released a statement, but it should be safe to reveal that it did occur in the office of Alanis Dorado.” As Morrison and likely several others had already deduced. “We’ve been informed that Dorado may have come to you about a project of hers.”

“That she came to me about?” She leaned back, almost missing the table she'd been blindly aiming for before her hand found it. “I’m not sure who would've told you that given Dorado and I don’t really talk.”

“It was Shadow,” Drinker told her, Stynct replying with a quiet ‘Ah.’ “Alanis was doing some research that overlapped into your field, so she suggested talking to you.”

“Well, we never discussed anything like that. Unless…” She broke away to go rummage for something in her office, almost immediately bumping into the same table that'd just been supporting her and knocking over a book that was sitting too close to the edge. Miles watched her scramble to grab it before it fell with a realization. Stynct wasn’t eccentric (outside of her tastes for decoration) as much as she was clumsy.

It took a moment of scrambling around and bumping things before she found what she was looking for - a sheet of what appeared to be parchment or some similar material - that she moved to spread across the table, carefully sliding a the table's previous occupants aside to make room for it. Despite the effort, she wasn’t careful enough as something still managed to fall to the ground with a clatter, rolling over to bump into Miles’ shoe. He bent down, retrieving a grey, vaguely cone-shaped object about the size of his palm.

“What’s this?” he asked, turning it over a few times to observe the series of thin lines carved all around to form a complex design.

Stynct squinted at it, her glasses once again askew from being jostled by her movements. “Oh, it probably broke off of something I need to fix. Here, I'll take it.” She held a hand out, the other keeping a corner of the parchment - which had been rolled into a tube when she’d retrieved it - in place until she could move something to pin it. Once it was accepted back from Miles, the object was placed on the end of the table that wasn't being used as display space, only for it to be sent rolling towards Miles almost immediately when she grabbed some more things to move around.

Both hands now occupied, Stynct turned to face Miles with a sheepish expression once he’d straightened back from picking it up again. “Actually… do you mind holding onto to that for a moment - at least until I’m done with this? I’m afraid I’ll just keep knocking it over otherwise.”

Miles briefly looked around for an alternate solution, but it seemed like her office, much like Dorado’s, didn’t have much table space to spare. Begrudgingly he slipped the object into his inner pocket to at least free up use of that hand.

Grateful, she returned to her task. “Now, where was I? There we go!” Stynct muttered, moving over one last book to pin the large roll in place. Miles and Drinker slid closer to investigate her efforts.

It was a world map, Miles noting a slight contradiction in the shapes of the continents from what he knew and deducing that it must be depicting a period several millions years in the past. Besides the topographical markings, the map was also dotted with different colored symbols, a legend in the corner identifying its purpose.

"Distribution of mammoth species?” Drinker questioned, having noticed the key at roughly the same time. That was certainly no prehistoric weasel. "Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure. It was definitely something I have a distribution map for.”

“Ooh, what other maps do you have?" he asked before Miles could, though from his tone, Miles was certain he'd only asked out of personal investment in the topic.

Stynct’s eyes lit up and she went back to the section of her office from whence she’d first retrieved the map, returning with an armful of more rolled parchment. She dumped the, thankfully small, pile on the table and began opening them one by one to briefly show off to Drinker. Miles listened quietly as she listed off species names, waiting for either of the two relevant to the case to come up.

When they didn’t, Miles took pause. Some of his reservation must have shown on his face, because Stynct turned to him with a look of concern. “Is something wrong?"

“I thought you said you didn't discuss anything with Dorado?” Miles asked, leaving her question hanging for now as he mentally sorted through the information.

“I didn’t, she just asked me for the map. I started to ask her why she wanted it, but by the time I'd managed to dig it out, she was gone. I guess she'd gotten tired of waiting or something.”

It didn't seem like a lie (and the Magatama accordingly had not reacted), lining up with everything he was learning about the victim, but then why did Dorado even bother to come to her?

Or… she got a better idea,” Drinker said. "My guess, while she was waiting, something in here caught her eye - something that sparked a better theory than whatever she needed that map for. Or even a chain of theories, like maybe she started with that Megacerops," he gestured towards a painting on the wall of a family of rhinoceros-like creatures, “and kept hopping species from there until she got it right. If only we had her research notes…”

“I doubt we’ll find anything regarding the case there," Miles said, pulling him back on track. Dorado's visit bothered him, but they had other leads to chase. “We need a person - someone with a connection to Dorado. Morrison is still our only lead, and perhaps that Buff fellow we were looking for, provided he's still around.” Morrison mentioned he might have left before the museum closed.

“Won’t hurt to check, especially since that’s our best chance of running into Shadow again,” Drinker stated, stretching a bit. "Back to it then?”

“Wait,” Stynct interrupted before the two men could bid her a farewell. "Archie and Shadow? You think they’re involved in the incident?”

“That still remains to be seen,” Miles answered truthfully, “but I do have questions for them... and perhaps follow ups for you, depending on what we learn.” There might be more to Dorado’s mysterious visit, but they needed more information on the victim first.

“Oh, well, I should be here - shoot," Stynct blurted out as her sweeping motion knocked a few of the maps off of her haphazard pile. "No, I've got it,” she said as Drinker moved in to help, “go on with your investigation.”

With Stynct’s insistence that she didn’t need their help (undermined only slightly by her dropping the maps again in an attempt to shoo them off), the two men headed off once more into the museum's back hallways.



They found Buff, the easier of their two targets, right where Drinker had expected, tucked away in one of the classrooms on the other end of the building. The professor was seated at a desk at the head of the room, hunched over a statue of a small, humanoid figure - Mesoamerican in origin if Miles had to venture a guess.

“Good, you are still here.”

Buff, who hadn’t reacted at all to them coming in, glanced up only to assess who had spoken.

“Oh, Dr. Drinker, perfect timing. I could use a second opinion,” he said, waving him over with the magnifying glass in his hand.

“Doctor? You never mentioned you had a doctorate,” Miles remarked when the man didn’t move. For as proud as he came off, Miles was surprised Drinker had never clarified that.

“It wasn’t worth mentioning,” Drinker said, echoing his earlier words. “Outside of… symposiums or whatever, I actually don’t like using my full title - it’s too formal. We’re all pretty familiar around here.”

“Dr. Drinker?” Buff repeated upon noticing his request had not been heeded.

“…with the occasional exception,” he added with a roll of his eyes, moving over to the desk. “Now, what’s this about wanting my opinion? You know antiques are hardly my thing. Besides, we’re actually here to ask you some things.”

“Yes, yes, but would you just look at these stress lines? They’ve been bothering me ever since I laid eyes on them.” Buff turned the magnifying glass towards him, Drinker’s statement dodged entirely.

Drinker squinted at it. “They looked… stressed. Now, Archie, this is-“

“You don’t see it, then?” he interrupted, sighing. “I suppose this is a little out of your depth, but I really could use some help on this. I tried asking Shadow when she came by a little while ago but she was far too worked up about something. She ran off before I could get her to look at it.”

The paleontologist turned his head towards Miles, a silent plea for backup on his face.

Taking pity on him, Miles intervened, announcing himself with a slight clearing of his throat. “Professor Archie Buff? My name is Miles Edgeworth. I’m an… acquaintance of Drinker’s.”

Buff looked up fully, seeming almost surprised that there was a second person in the room. “Oh, hello. You wouldn’t happen to study artifacts, would you?” he asked hopefully.

“No, I’m a prosecutor,” he replied as Drinker moved back over to his side.

“Oh. A shame, then. You’re not here to interrupt me like the police did earlier, are you?” His head dipped back down, nose deep once again in his project.

Miles blinked. Was he completely oblivious? “Professor, are you aware that this museum is currently host to an active crime scene?”

“Well of course, otherwise I would be home with my family,” he answered, partial attention back on Miles. “But, I’m making the best of being stuck here for now - like finally getting my hands on this little beauty that I’ve been eying for ever since we got it in.

Drinker started at that, admittedly rather odd, remark, frowning deeply. There was calculation in his eyes as they shifted back and forth between Buff and the artifact. “Archie…” he began, slowly, “is this supposed to be on exhibit right now?”

Buff nodded. “In the ‘Americas’ gallery. It’s on loan from another museum.”

Drinker sputtered. “You can’t just - the police are all over the place! There's a prosecutor right here!” He gestured wildly at Miles.

“Relax.” He waved his magnifying glass placatingly in Drinker’s direction. “I’ll put it back when I’m done. Besides, everyone's so preoccupied, they won’t miss it for a few hours.”

Drinker groaned heavily, pinching his nose. “Archie…”

Miles glanced sidelong his way. “Is this a usual occurrence as well?”

“He may or may not have a history of ‘borrowing’ artifacts… without permission.”

Miles refrained from pointing out that, historically, that is what archaeologists did. Perhaps they were held to higher standards these days. “And you still employ him anyway?”

“Technically we don’t - he volunteers every other week on his off days.” Drinker shrugged. “You, uh, aren’t going to report this to that detective, are you?”

“His actions are questionable, but he has more to fear from his direct supervisor than the law, provided he’s being truthful about returning it.”

“If he isn’t, I’ll make sure he does,” Drinker said in a rare serious tone, reminding Miles that he did hold a fairly high position here. “So, with that aside… now can we ask you what we came here for?”

“Oh I suppose, but is it important? Or, rather, can it wait? I’d like to finish my examination before I have to put this back.”

“Archie, please, Alanis is dead!” Drinker blurted out in frustration.

The magnifying glass dropped to the table with a clatter.

“I - I see,” he said with a shaky breath, gently pushing the statue to the side to rest his forearms on the table. “That is important then…”

“Sorry,” Drinker sighed when he felt Miles’ eyes on him. “I know we’re technically under an NDA or whatever, but I didn’t know how else to get his full attention.”

“That’s… not quite the situation here, but seeing as your strategy worked, I won't fret the technicalities,” Miles replied as he approached the desk. Buff was resting his forehead against laced fingers, staring into the wood beneath his elbows. “Professor Buff?”

“I can’t believe something like this happened,” he stated, mostly to himself. “It explains why the police were asking for my alibi, but even then…” He sighed, shifting so he could make eye contact with Miles. “Was she… murdered?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out. What were you doing at the time of the incident?”

“You mean when the announcement went off? I was packing up my things to go home. Before that… I don’t really remember. I might’ve been on the phone - I was on call with my wife for a while.”

If need be, they could confirm this with call records or a testimony from his wife, but for now it seemed safe to say that Buff remained pretty ignorant to the day’s events before now - but, hopefully, not to events from before.

“We also wanted to ask if you knew anything about a research grant she had recently received?”

“Oh yes, the International Association of Archaeology was sponsoring that.” Buff seemed to perk up a little. “She was looking to prove that what we believe to be several different clans living in the region were really different generations of a singular nomadic peoples.”

“Did you work with her on it? Can you tell us anything about her research?” Drinker asked.

Buff shook his head. “Oh no. I only caught glimpses of the artifacts she was studying in her office when we were working on the education program - tools, talismans, the like. Dr. Dorado wouldn’t have explained them to me of all people. No, I didn’t receive context until the IAA announced the winner of the grant a few months ago.”

“Wait, months ago? That can’t be right…” Drinker questioned. “I definitely would have seen some buzz about her research if that were the case.”

Miles was inclined to agree, given the way he’d built up that debate Dorado had supposedly solved, though there was another part of the statement he’d taken issue with. What exactly did he mean by ‘him of all people’?

Before he could inquire upon it, Buff spoke again. “Forgive me for not clarifying. They didn’t announce it publicly, only to the competitors. We signed an agreement not to divulge that information until it was released officially - erm, not that you heard that from me, mind you.”

“It got published today, Archie, you’re fine.”

As he sighed in relief, Miles narrowed his eyes a bit. Perhaps he’d gotten the answer to his question anyway. “You said ‘we’. Were you one of the competitors?”

“Why of course I was,” Buff confirmed. “I’m not surprised I didn’t win - my wife and I have been so busy with our baby, I didn’t have the time to commit to a proper proposal - but there was a fully funded grant on the line, I’d have been a fool not to at least throw my hat in the ring! Dr. Dorado was even the one who told me about it… sort of.”

Miles folded his arms. “Sort of?”

“It was while we were coordinating our programs around an event - not this one, the museum just likes to keep them synced up so we end up seeing each other fairly often - when I saw all of those curious artifacts gathering in her office, but I ended up getting the full details off of Shadow.”

Beside him, Drinker gasped quietly. “Shadow did…?”

“I couldn’t get Dr. Dorado to tell me anything,” he continued. “Every time I tried to ask about her mystery project, she just turned the conversation back to the program we were outlining. Trying to keep me focused on the task at hand as always.”

“Or perhaps she didn’t want you competing with her,” Miles flatly commented.

“Ah… yes,” he ran a hand through his hair. “That does make sense in hindsight, now that you mention it.”

Miles shook his head, pushing the conversation forward to broach the other matter he’d been wondering about. “Do you know if anyone else here was competing?”

He paused to consider. “To the best of my knowledge, no. Mind you, I don’t have a list of competitors - the IAA operates all around the country after all - but I believe we were the only entrants working out of this facility.”

Miles nodded. He was beginning to piece some things together. “Thank you, you’ve been helpful.”

Drinker looked doubtful. “He has?"

Miles ignored him. “In any case, it is apparent that we need to pay another visit to Ms. Morrison.”

“Oh, of course. Shadow should definitely have the answers to those questions. Unlike me, Dr. Dorado actually spoke to her.”

“Yes… of course,” Miles replied, letting him believe that for now. He wasn’t wrong, per se, but there were other matters the intern needed to answer for first. “Have you any idea where we might find her?”

“I’m afraid not,” Buff said, shaking his head. “Admittedly, I wasn’t really listening when she was here earlier.”

“We’ll just have to look around until she turns up, then,” Drinker sighed. “I bet she’s out gathering information herself, so we definitely aren’t going to find her standing around here.”

Miles nodded in agreement and they said their goodbyes to Buff, leaving him to his statue, though less enthused to study it as he was prior to their arrival.



“You know Edgeworth, I just don’t get it,” Drinker said, breaking the silence they’d fallen into as they made their way through the corridors of the museum.

Miles slowed a bit to look at him, a single brow lifted. “Get what, exactly?” Their various interactions had raised many a question, with fewer answers between them. He would have to be more specific with his grievance.

“Shadow!” he exclaimed, as if that were obvious. “She’s one of the most reliable people I know, yet she just lied to us about Archie and the grant. Probably lied to the police too, if they’ve spoken to her. Just what is she thinking?!

“There are many factors that could drive one to conceal the truth in a tense situation.” Miles was already formulating a number of theories to explain her behavior. “We’ll have to ask her that ourselves when we track her down.”

“And who’s to say she won’t just keep lying?” he countered, rounding in front of Miles and stopping them both in their tracks. “Say she forgot or something - unless she really did forget, but I find that hard to believe, knowing her. Either way I look at it, something’s wrong.”

Miles hesitated. Reassuring others was… not a strong point of his, but he also wasn’t sure if that would even be the right move in this scenario. He’d no way of knowing at this point if Morrison’s motive for lying was benign or malevolent, lest it be false hope he gives him should the latter prove to be the truth.

His hesitance went on long enough that Drinker must have read something in the silence. He retreated back to the side, tensed shoulders slumping. “Sorry, I’m just… I wanted to believe so badly that it was just an accident, that it’s just now occurring to me that if you’re right, if there is a killer to be found, it’s probably someone I know… and that thought scares me.”

“I understand,” Miles said softly. Because he really did. It was a similar feeling, of not knowing who or what to believe, that had driven him from the country all those months ago - and even now, as he still found himself hundreds of miles from home. “But, regardless of your feelings, if someone here did murder Dorado, they will need to be brought to justice.”

“I know…” Drinker replied, and, despite the sigh in his tone, he did seem willing to accept that condition. “It’s still… a lot. And weird, not knowing who can be trusted… besides Archie, ironically.”

“Yes, I agree. His testimony is probably the most trustworthy - it’s far too incriminating to be a lie.” A motive, weak alibi, and admission to trying to leave the premises? Unless the professor was implementing some manner of reverse psychology, there’s no way he would have so easily admitted those things as the culprit.

“Actually, I just meant that he clearly had no idea what was going on, even after the police tried to talk to him. I think Xena was confused, but she at least knew there was something to be concerned about.”

At Stynct’s mention, a memory was jogged for Miles. He opened up his jacket just enough to reach into the inner pocket and, sure enough, there it was.

At Drinker’s confused expression, Miles pulled out that odd, conical object he’d been asked to hold on to, presenting it. “I forgot to return this.” They had been so wrapped up in gathering information from her, it’d completely slipped his mind.

“Here, I can hold onto it,” he said, holding out his hand. “Then it doesn’t matter if we forget about it.”

Miles dropped it into his open palm and Drinker took the moment to move the item closer to his face to examine it. “What even is this thing?”

“She didn’t say. I believe she suspected it had broken off of something, but I don’t think she even really looked at it.”

“Doesn’t look broken,” he muttered, frowning in concentration before shoving it in his pocket. “I’ll just ask her when I give it back."

With that settled for the time being, they started walking again. Morrison tended to show up where things were happening, so Drinker deduced that they’d probably find her somewhere around the crime scene.

The deduction proved true, when they reached the desired location. Morrison was further down the hall from Dorado’s office, pressed close around the corner. Somewhere around the bend and out of sight they could hear voices that steadily got clearer as they approached. One of them sounded like Detective Agate while the other unfamiliar ones Miles assumed to be officers updating her on their progress. Morrison leaned in closer as their voices picked up, scribbling notes on her clipboard.

“Spying on the police now, are we?” Miles asked.

In a twist of events, it was Morrison who nearly leapt out of her skin, fumbling with her clipboard as she nearly dropped it in alarm.

Once she caught her breath, she turned to see who’d startled her, expression unreadable.“I just like to stay informed on what’s happening around here. Now, is there something I can help you gentlemen with?”

“As a matter of fact, we-“

“Why did you lie to us?!”

Miles sighed as Drinker moved forward to confront the woman. At least he’d save him the trouble of fussing with the Magatama, though he could’ve shown a bit more tact.

She leaned back, eyes shifting away. “Lie? What did I lie about?”

“We spoke to Archie Buff,” Miles said, stepping in to rein in the encounter. “We know he was competing with Dorado and, more importantly, we know you were the one who told him about it.”

“Oh. Guess I forgot about that,” Morrison replied just as Drinker had predicted, hugging her clipboard to her chest. “Sounds like it didn’t matter anyway, Professor Buff already told you what you wanted to know."

“Despite your warnings that he obviously did not heed.”

Morrison looked at him with wide eyes. “What do you mean…?”

“Buff also mentioned that you had come to him earlier today ‘worked up’ over some matter that had gone in one ear and out the other.”

“The police are roaming around every corner, anyone would be worked up in these conditions.” she countered.

“That is true,” Miles agreed, “but it does not explain why you sought him out after speaking with us, knowing full well we were looking for him.”

“How do you know it was after I spoke to you? Could’ve been before.”

“Recall our conversation. You yourself admitted that you weren’t sure if he was still present because he had planned to leave before the incident was reported - long before you would’ve had cause to come to him in a distressed state. You couldn’t have had that specific exchange before.”

Morrison stared him down, mouth drawn tight, and Miles stared right back with crossed arms. Eventually, with a sigh, she gave in, turning her eyes downcast. 

“Oh who am I kidding, trying to argue with a lawyer.” Her gaze lifted, locking in on Drinker. “Sorry Charles, but I had to.”

“I still don’t understand. What do you mean you had to?” He asked, to which Morrison made no move to answer.

“I may have a theory, based on something interesting I’ve been noticing,” Miles offered. “You came up a few times while we were speaking to Buff. He always referred to you as Shadow.”

Drinker looked at him, perplexed. “Is that really interesting? I call her Shadow too, it’s her name.”

“Yes, but you refer to practically everyone by name. Buff, on the other hand, is far more formal. He gave everyone their full title - Dr. Drinker, Dr. Dorado, etc, except when it came to Ms. Morrison here. Meanwhile, you, Morrison, are very much the opposite. You tend to be more casual, but you’ve always called him Professor Buff. Rather formal for someone you appear to  know well.” Well enough that she knew about his home life. “Unless there’s another reason for that title.”

From the way her posture stiffened, Miles knew he was on the right track.

“You two are close, aren't you? Close enough that you felt inclined to protect him from the police and, as an extension, Drinker and myself’s investigation.”

“So it was all for Archie’s sake?” Drinker asked.

“I guess the police weren’t kidding when they said you were a prodigy.” If the Magatama had been active, there surely would’ve been locks breaking. “Professor Buff was my mentor in college. After I graduated, he’s the one who put in the good word for me to get my internship here. I owe a lot to him. When we were talking and I realized that the grant could be used to tie him to the crime, I knew I had to do something.”

“And what if that something was obstructing justice?” Well intentioned as she might have been, she had still concealed vital testimony. “If you admit that Buff could have been connected to the crime, then how do you know he wasn’t the one to commit it?”

“Because I know him,” Morrison replied with conviction. “I’ve been eavesdropping enough that I’ve got a good idea of what happened to Alanis. Professor Buff may be a kleptomaniac, I won’t deny that, but I know he would never steal someone’s life.”

“I think I’ll be the judge of that.”

Caught up in the conversation, no one had noticed Detective Agate’s approach, leaning against the corner Morrison had been using for cover. Just as she’d had been listening in on her, it seemed the detective might have gotten an earful of their discussion as well.

“You. Go bring me Archie Buff under suspicion of murder.” She made a gesture to her nearest officer, then pointed at Morrison. “And as for you, I think we’ve got quite a few things to discuss.”

Morrison winced visibly, but turned herself over, letting Agate place a guiding hand on her shoulders as she led her away for questioning.

“Detective Agate, wait,” Miles called after them before they could get too far. “Might we ask Ms. Morrison one last thing?”

She studied them briefly, but pulled her arm away from the young woman in favor of crossing them. “Make it quick.”

Though probably less urgent than some of their other mysteries, there was one other thing that they needed Morrison to confirm. “What exactly did Dorado get from visiting with Stynct?”

Her nose wrinkled as she processed the question. “Wait… did she actually speak to Xena?!”

“You mean you didn’t know?” Drinker exclaimed. “But you were the one who sent us to her!”

“Yes, as a distraction, so I could go find Professor Buff first and warn him. I didn’t think she would know anything, she was just the most plausible option.”

“So a red herring turned out relevant,” Miles mused. “An interesting turn of events.”

“I’m honestly just as surprised as you. Alanis really didn’t like working with others - even I was on thin ice as an assistant.”

“You might be on thin ice with me as well,” Agate interrupted. “If that was all you needed, then it’s time for me to get on with my investigation.”

The two women disappeared around that corner, off to talk somewhere where they presumedly would not be overheard, leaving Miles alone with Drinker and a few more pieces to a puzzle that was slowly beginning to fill in.

Notes:

Sorry this update took so much longer than usual! There's a longer explanation on my tumblr, but I've basically just been busy/tired from work lately. I'm just glad I'm finally getting this out there.

Chapter 38

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“So… now what?" Drinker asked from his leaning position against the wall, his arms folded across his chest as one finger traced a seemingly unconscious path along his snake tattoo. He’d slumped there not too long after Agate and her force had vacated the area, taking Morrison with them.

Miles answered with a question of his own. “The goal had been to learn more about Dorado’s actions surrounding this project of hers, correct?”

“Yeah, but it looks like we've lost that chance.” Drinker sighed, tipping his head back against the wall. “Not that Shadow seemed to know much anyway. Sounds like Alanis was keeping her pretty in the dark."

“Perhaps… but Morrison might not have been our only lead in that regard.” Without moving his head, Miles cast a look upon Drinker. "I believe you mentioned something about research notes earlier?"

Miles wasn't sure if they'd be allowed back into Dorado's office to even look for that lead, but he was prepared to appeal their case should it come to it. Thankfully, the concern ended up being unnecessary. The officer standing guard, one of the same ones from earlier, merely grunted an acknowledgement of their presence and stepped aside to allow entry.

Upon entering, there were notable changes to the state of the room from when they discovered it. The shelf was back where it was intended to be, upright against the wall. This was obviously done to give the team access to Dorado's body, now swapped for a chalk outline on the floor. Drinker made an uneasy face at the scene, probably unsettled by the memory (or perhaps the smears of blood within the outline’s head the impact must have caused) and loudly announced that he would be over on the other side of the room to look for those notes.

Miles left that particular task to him - he'd have a better idea of what to look for anyway - moving to check for any clues the altered crime scene might now reveal.

The clutter right around the chalk lines was the main thing of interest, as it hadn't been visible previously, though mostly it was more of the same mess that littered the room. Miles gingerly stepped around shards of pottery, mentally matching them up to their counterparts that had been sent skidding across the room when the shelf fell and hoping this investigation would not require him to reassemble them.

Miles exhaled heavily through his nose. There may not be anything to find, but it was very difficult to look for something out of place when everything was technically out of place. It was times like these where a second pair of eyes would have been appreciated - and yes, while he did have Drinker, as well as little faith in the man to get over his (understandable) apprehensions regarding the scene to be of much use, he mostly just missed having Phoenix around. The symbiont usually had a different perspective, drawing attention to things Miles would have never bothered to consider.

He could almost picture the firebird now, poking around on the ground while trying to keep his long tail feathers out of the debris, making wild speculations on the most seemingly trivial things. Perhaps he'd have a comment on the various books lying about, or the hapless succulent evicted from its pot, or the shards of glass from...

He paused that train of thought. What was that glass from?

Not wanting to directly interact, Miles pulled out his pen as he knelt down, gently manipulating the shards closer together. There were thankfully only a few pieces, though some slightly beneath the clutter, forming a circular shape, a few inches in diameter. Given the context, it could have very well been the lens of a magnifying glass or similar item, but Miles didn't see anything of the sort. In fact, he didn't see anything at all that might have once fit a circular piece of glass.

“Uh, what are you doing?" Drinker asked from across the room.

Miles didn't answer. It was entirely possible he just couldn’t see the rest of the object. There were plenty of things it could be hidden beneath.

“Edgeworth?” Drinker prompted again.

“It’s... nothing.” It was probably nothing, he decided, just more mess. Still his mind made a small note of it. “Never mind me, have you had any luck?”

“Um... maybe.” Miles stepped away from what he had been doing to approach Drinker, who was standing with a stack of papers in hand. "I found what looks like some of her notes - there’s a lot of stuff on mammoths and hunting routes, but then it just switches over to theories around the Mustelidae Debate with very little fanfare. No indication of what brought her there or anything."

“So, you think we’re missing something?”

“Gotta be,” he said, riffling through the papers. “There should be some sort of transition, something that led her from ‘a' to ‘b’, especially given how deep it looked like she was on that mammoth path - it doesn't even look like she'd hit a dead end before she abandoned it.” He sighed, dropping the papers down presumedly back on the desk where he’d found them. “Unlike us.”

Miles frowned at him. "Who said anything about a dead end?”

“What else would you call this?" Drinker asked, clearly frustrated. “We've used up all our ideas and there’s still so much we don't know."

“Then we go over what we do," Miles replied, pulling his notebook out from the inner pocket of his jacket. Flipping to the back, away from his various notes about birds and curses, Miles began to bullet point the facts.

An archaeologist was found dead in her office the same day news of a major research grant she’d been given was announced; even if Miles hadn't had doubt based on the orientation of the body beneath the shelving unit, that was too big a coincidence to write off as, well, coincidence.

Then there was their prime suspect - Buff. Denied a lucrative career forwarding opportunity by a loss to their victim, he had a clear motive. Yet his initial disinterest with the case seemed less inline with a criminal feigning innocence and more like he truly had had no idea what was going on.

This sentiment was further backed by Morrison, convinced enough of his innocence to interfere with the investigation - perhaps because she knew the true identity of the culprit to be herself? While not as immediately apparent as Buff's, she did have a motive, one revealed to him as an aside. Morrison was an intern with her heart set on a position in a department that never had openings. Until today.

But then that just led him back to the initial conundrum - why today? Both suspects had ready access to the victim and had long since known about Dorado's research. Morrison's motive wasn't even related to it. It made no sense to Miles why either of them would wait until that grant became public knowledge, casting a more critical eye on Dorado and anyone associated with her.

Which meant the article itself was relevant, because the culprit themselves had just found out about it.

“Wow..." Drinker muttered once Miles had explained his thinking. “No wonder people keep calling you a genius.”

The prosecutor scoffed. "That was basic logic. It also, unfortunately, leaves us with a rather large dilemma - our suspect list has now been expanded to anyone who took more than a cursory glance at that magazine this morning.” Dorado's research notes probably would have come in handy here, were they more comprehensive. It might've narrowed that list down to something reasonably worth pursuing.

Drinker made a clicking noise with his tongue, tucking his hands underneath his upper arms. “So, just to clear things up, we’re looking for anyone who might’ve found the information in that article personally relevant?”

The man was deliberately looking away as he asked his question and Miles traced his gaze over tp Dorado’s table of occult interests where the magazine still lay. “In a word, yes,” Miles answered.

“... then I might know where we can start.” He reached into his pocket, presenting an open palm to Miles, with a small, familiar object resting in its center.

“Xena Stynct’s trinket?”

“It’s not a trinket, it's an artifact. At least a replica of one. See these markings?” He held it up to Miles' eye level. "I've seen similar ones on some of the tools and weapons we have on display around here - ones carved out of animal bone. It’s actually one of the areas the two sides of this museum overlap.” His eyes drifted again and Miles realized he wasn't looking at the magazine, but rather any one of the skeletal decorations on display on that same table.

“So you think it's the result of a collaborative effort,” Miles reasoned, "but what makes you so certain that it was Dorado she was working with, if anyone?” The possibility was there given Stynct field of expertise, but Miles also felt fairly confident in taking Stynct's word that the victim had barely spoken to her - that surprise had been genuine.

“I’m not certain,” his free hand was tracing his tattoo again,“but don’t you get it Edgeworth? Look at the size, the shape! This isn’t meant to be any old bone. This is a fang!”

“Is that... significant?” Miles asked, ruining what was probably intended to be a dramatic reveal if Drinker didn’t keep making these assumptions on Miles' level of context.

“Of course it’s significant, it’s the whole reason there’s even a debate to begin with! The Saltodon? It’s common name is ‘saber-toothed mink’ cause of babies like these," Drinker explained, holding the replica up close to his canine in demonstration. “The Brachyrex, obviously, are lacking such features, but the fossils we have are also pretty lacking in general, which is why no one can definitively say if its a separate animal or not."

Miles’ eyes drifted back to the supposed fang as Drinker moved it away from his mouth, going wide with realization. “Then, if Dorado had supplied compelling evidence to explain the missing teeth…”

“Not even just the teeth, the incomplete skeletons in general! I’m sure whatever tribe she was studying was using most of the animal, the fangs were probably just easier to ID.”

“And Stynct might have been the one to do the identifying.” But what did it mean if she had? Was she lying about her lack of connection to Dorado after all?

“Maybe. Maybe, but it doesn’t mean she’s the culprit! It still might be no one. For all we know Alanis was climbing the shelf to reach something up high and pulled it down on top of herself.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself, his grip tightening around the faux fang to the point where his knuckles were beginning to whiten.

“Might I see that again?” Miles asked, deciding to intervene before Drinker either broke the model or hurt himself. Wordlessly, he handed it over. “First, let us confirm exactly what this is meant to be and what she was doing with it.”



Drinker was uncharacteristically silent as they walked back in the direction of Stynct’s office, absorbed in his thoughts, not that Miles could particularly blame him. The doubt the paleontologist was unquestionably going through was a feeling Miles was far too acquainted with himself. He could at least offer a sympathetic ear should Drinker opt to vocalize those thoughts, though the man seemed more or less on auto-pilot, lost in his own head.

So lost, in fact, that he failed to notice the silhouette of another person quickly rounding the corner into the space he was occupying. Miles, walking just far enough away to not get caught up in the collision himself, was a split-second too late to warn him, though any warning he might have mustered would’ve died on his tongue as recognition hit.

Because the person who Drinker crashed into, sending them both to the floor, was the very person they’d been looking to see.

Both paleontologists groaned as they came out of the initial daze, but Drinker, despite his prior distractions, was first on the rebound, already upright and reaching out to offer his assistance.

“Are you alrigh- Xena?!”

“Charles?” she guessed, as her glasses had been knocked off her face entirely. Miles gingerly went to retrieve the eyewear from where they landed a few feet away while Drinker moved to help her back up. He did a brief scan for damage, unsure of what was recent or already there, because those glasses had certainly seen better days. There were scratches almost anywhere there could be scratches and what appeared to be a silver bridge connecting the two lenses was actually a layer of duct tape.

“Ah, thank you,” she was saying to Drinker, now back on her feet “-and thank you.” This was in response to Miles handing her back her glasses, which she replaced on her face.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Drinker asked again.

“You wouldn’t be the first person I’ve crashed into today,” Stynct replied with a wave of her hand, though more as an aside to herself.

“Is that what happened to your glasses?” Miles inquired.

The question seemed to catch her off guard, turning to him with wide eyes. “My glasses…?”

“The tape,” he clarified.

“Oh that?” She laughed, waving her hand. “No, this is an old pair, they’ve been broken for ages.”

Miles frowned at her. “Can you not afford new ones?” He knew glasses could run on the expensive side at times, but that seemed like something worth saving up for.

“Oh, I can, this is just a backup pair. Anyway, enough about that, I'm actually glad I ran into you. Not literally of course, I would’ve much preferred a simple ‘Hey Charles!’ from across the hall, but this works too I guess.”

“Wait, you were looking for me?” Drinker asked, a furrow in his brow and a frown on his face.

“Well, technically the gentleman with you, I suppose, but I figured you two would still be together.”

So it was him she sought out and Miles already had a hunch as to why. “Then we may be able to help one another out. As it were, we were on route to see you.”

“Oh!” she replied, surprised. “Well, then. That’s convenient.”

Putting his theory to the test, Miles produced the still unconfirmed fang from his pocket, holding it up where she could see clearly. “Is this what you seek?”

Stynct’s eyes lit up. “That was exactly it! Sorry, I completely forgot I had you hold onto it until you’d already left. Now I’ll take that off your hands…"

As she reached out to retrieve it, Miles pulled back. “Before I return this, I wish to ask you a few questions.”

“…you do?”

Miles held up the tooth between a forefinger and a thumb. “Ms. Stynct, what is this?”

“That thing? It’s just an old doo-dad, nothing particularly important. Just some clay.”

“Clay that you went out of your way to come retrieve,” he countered.

“Yes, well…” she fumbled a bit, “you shouldn’t have to lug my stuff around just because I got a bit scatterbrained. I felt bad.”

Miles looked at the object in his hand. Slightly smaller than his pinkie finger and weighing practically nothing, he’d hardly call it a thing one would need to ‘lug around’.

“Xena, we’re not dumb,” Drinker chimed in. “Just tell us what it is.”

She bit at her lip, her eye flitting between the two of them before settling on the floor. “It’s… it was part of a project… some research I’d been doing."

Miles crossed his arms. Still being cagey, were we? “Do you mind elaborating on what that research was?"

“I do mind, actually,” Stynct said, which was about the response he’d been expecting.

“Xena…” Drinker softly entreated. Stynct winced and bore her gaze further earthward.

“I just… I want to keep my work confidential right now. It’s not uncommon in our field to keep things secret.”

“It’s not, but…” He looked over to Miles with a troubled expression, thoughts probably similar to his own.

Her desire for discretion would probably be fine under normal circumstances - Drinker had stated himself on a few occasions that their’s was a competitive field. Presently, however, it was only solidifying their suspicions of an unrevealed connection to the victim.

“Ms. Stynct,” Miles prompted, drawing her attention back to him, “let me clarify. Your colleague has already examined this object and determined it to be a fang that, given it was in your possession, likely belongs to some prehistoric mammal.” He paused to gauge her reaction, but besides the mildly panicked expression she’d carried since their interaction began, Stynct remained fairly neutral. “What I’m asking for is not an identification, but a confirmation.”

“I don’t think I can give you that either.”

“Oh come on, it’s obviously a fang!”

“That’s one theory. It could also be a claw or a fragment of some other bone. Or maybe it doesn't belong to an animal at all! And even if it is a fang, there are so many animals it might belong to besides a Saltodon.

Miles tutted, causing her to jump. “Odd. I don’t recall naming any species in particular.”

She paled. “I- but you-!“

“I merely said mammal - this Saltodon must have been on your mind to so quickly jump to that conclusion. Is it, perchance, related to this project you refuse to speak on?”

She gritted her teeth, furiously shaking her head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t speak on it at this time.”

“But why?! You sound like you think someone’s waiting to steal your ideas.” There was a slight joking lilt to his tone, perhaps trying to lift the mood, but it was reconsidered at the way Stynct folded in on herself. “Wait, seriously?”

“Well, you never know who’s listening…” she began.

“Who?! Edgeworth? Me? Do you think that I-“

“No, no!” she quickly said, hands flying out placatingly. “Of course not. I trust you, Charles…”

“But there is someone you don’t,” Miles concluded.

She bit her lip. “I… didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t need to.” Seems like there was more to her reluctance to talk than just a ploy to dodge incrimination. “Stynct, has someone already stolen research from you?”

“What? No. Who would… who would even do something like that? Nobody around here,” she protested, sounding less confident with each passing word.

“Perhaps someone in need of a breakthrough? It’s come to my understanding that your field can be quite cutthroat in that regard.” In his peripheral he caught Drinker’s nod of agreement. “Alanis Dorado came to you looking for reference on mammoths - that much I do believe to be true - but she found something else, didn’t she? She found work you’d been doing on the Mustelidae Debate.”

“That’s assuming…” Stynct tried to interrupt.

“I don’t know if it was notes or a model like this tooth, but whatever she’d seen must have slotted very nicely into the theories she’d already been working around.”

“That’s not-“

“So while you were looking for maps for her, she spirited away with her ill-gotten knowledge, leaving you none the wiser until this morning, when you happened upon an article stating that your work was being published by someone else.”

“You’re wrong!” Stynct finally managed to shout out, surprising herself with her volume. “I… she… I… I gave her that research.”

“You what?!” Drinker exclaimed.

Miles gave her a doubtful look. “That’s not what you said before.”

“I know, I just… I was scared. I thought if you knew I had a connection to Dorado, I might be suspected - which I was correct in thinking.”

“Fine.” Miles would play along for now. “Then what was the exact nature of this ‘connection'?”

“She came to me, as I said before, asking about the distribution maps. It started with the mammoths, but then she kept coming back, asking for a different species each time. I figured she must be working on something, archaeologists usually don’t look too much into animals outside of hunting and husbandry, but she never explained herself. So, I did a little cross-referencing. Some of the animals she’d asked me about had pretty wide ranges, but they all overlapped in modern-day Central Asia. After I’d figured that out, I confronted Dorado next time she showed up and got her to admit that she was working on a hypothesis about hunting in that region.

I decided to help out. I noticed she had also only asked about larger animals, so I offered some towards the smaller end of the scale, but she shot that idea down pretty quickly. Said it had to be something big because of the bone artifacts she was using as a basis, which, honestly, rubbed me the wrong way. So, to prove a point, I made that.”

She pointed to Miles’ closed fist, which still held the model fang.

“So it is relevant.”

Stynct sighed. “No use denying it. It’s modeled after a Saltodon fang.” (“I knew it,” Drinker said softly.”) “I wanted to show her that her hypothesis could work with smaller animals and their long sabers were just the type of thing someone might use for a tool or a talisman. Next time she showed up I made my case and she lit up! I was actually surprised. Said it looked promising and left without much else. She didn’t come back after that and I mostly forgot about the whole thing until today.”

“You mean you didn’t even try to follow up with her? After all that?”

“Wasn’t much point in bothering.” Stynct crossed her arms underneath her chest, frowning. “You don’t understand, getting Dorado to admit why she was speaking to me in the first place was already a fight, even with the research to back it up. After she’d stopped - I just assumed she’d gotten everything she needed and that was that. Yes, I didn’t know anything had come of it until today, but it doesn’t change the fact that I gave that information to her to use.”

“But wait, that doesn’t explain why Shadow didn’t know anything,” Drinker pointed out. “Shadow knows practically everything that goes on here and she had no idea you two had even spoken.”

Stynct shrugged. “Dorado probably just didn’t think to mention anything about it. Plus our meetings were short - probably only a few minutes. As long as Shadow didn’t see her coming or going from my office, she’d probably write off any sudden disappearances as bathroom breaks.”

Drinker seemed content enough with this interpretation of events, but Miles wasn’t giving up so easily. There were a few things in this yarn she’d spun that didn’t sit right with him. “So,” Miles began, “you claim this was a collaboration-“

“Collaboration is a… strong word…”

“-yet still there was no mention of your involvement in the article. I would think one might feel a little jilted to have their contribution to such a large accomplishment ignored.”

“No, no! I’m fine, really! I mean I barely - I only picked Saltodon because it seemed plausible and I wanted to make a point. Dorado just… ran with that idea and managed to find a whole case for it. I couldn’t really claim anything, especially given the grant…”

“The grant?” Miles interrupted, reaching to pluck at one of those threads.

“The grant?” she repeated, worriedly. “The funding that Dorado received for her proposal? The reason why she was doing that research to begin with?”

“Oh no, I am well aware of that, I’m just wondering why you are.”

Stynct flinched back, dislodging her glasses. “W-what do you mean? The article-“ she began as her hands moved up to readjust them.

“-makes as much of a mention of any sort funding as it does of you. In fact, I believe it was the first time any sort of public statement about Stynct’s work was published.”

The hands attempting to right her glasses froze in place.

“O-oh? But… Dorado must have mentioned it at some point…”

“When? By your own admittance, you didn’t know the reason why Dorado wanted the information until today.” Stynct visibly flinched. “If you did hear it from her, then logically there was only one time you could have - this morning, before you murdered her!"

Stynct made a noise of shock, jerking her hands back so abruptly that her glasses were ripped apart from the tape that was keeping them together. “No!” she protested. “I… I was in my office this morning. You can’t say I went anywhere near Dorado!”

She had a point. Everything made sense, this was the way the events of this case must have played out, but how was he to prove it? Evidence like the magazine article or the fang model, only established some form of connection between Dorado and Stynct, he needed something that definitively placed them together at the time of the incident.

Stynct, now that she was no longer being pressed for information, was fumbling with her glasses, trying to slot the halves back together with an added difficulty curve from her impaired vision. The broken bridge kept missing its mark, clinking against the rounded frames.

“Ms. Stynct…” Miles narrowed his eyes as he carefully tracked her movements. “You mentioned before how those were your backup glasses. What happened to your primary pair?”

She paused. “I don’t see how this is relevant…”

“Oh, but you will shortly. You see, I found some broken glass at the crime scene that I couldn't identify the source of. However, looking at you, I’m realizing what they might have come from.”

Stynct clutched the broken halves closer to her chest, as if to hide them from his view. “W-what…?”

“Something happened at the time of the incident to break your glasses - an altercation with the victim, perhaps? You must have taken the frames with you, but there’s not much that could be done for a broken lens, especially if, since from your body language I assume you’re far-sighted, you couldn't see it very well.”

“Glass could be from anything…” she uttered weakly.

“Maybe, but few things are that size and shape. Though we can always have forensics examine the shards and see if their magnification is a match to your prescription.”

The glasses fell to the ground with a clatter. “You couldn’t possibly…”

“You’d be amazed at the kind of equipment they have access to.”

“No…” She was shaking her head. “This can’t be happening.”

Raising a finger to his brow, Miles tutted. “Oh but it is, for the truth has finally been revealed. The true culprit of this case,” With that same finger he pointed forcefully in her direction “is you, Xena Stynct!”

With a cry of distress, Stynct dropped to her knees, her hands balling into fists against the ground. For a moment nothing was said, the hallway silent save from a few shuddering sighs and heaving breaths from Stynct. Sobs, Miles realized as heavy tears dropped to the floor in front of her.

“I’m sorry…” she said between sniffles. “I’m so, so sorry…”

There was a slight hesitation, then Drinker knelt down before her, resting a tentative hand on her shoulder. “But Xena… why?” he asked, voice breaking with emotion.

Her head shot up. “I- I didn’t mean to! I…” she messily wiped her face on her sleeve. Belatedly, Miles produced a handkerchief from one of his pockets, handing it to Drinker to pass along.

She continued once her face was a little drier, a little bit of composure regained as well. “I never wanted to hurt her - not like this, but it was my research. My breakthrough. The Mustelidae Debate wasn’t even on her radar until she must have seen that replica fang on the desk and read my notes on it. What I told you earlier was the truth - she came by, asked me for a map, and then disappeared. That was the last we'd interacted until today, when I read the article.”

“When you decided to take your revenge,” Miles pointed out.

“I just wanted to talk, I swear! But…” Stynct heaved a deep sigh, hugging herself. “It was like she didn’t even care about what she’d done to me. All that mattered to her was that grant. She wouldn’t even admit to a collaboration because she didn’t want to risk having it revoked. ‘Just in case’ she said. Just in case.

“I was so angry,” she said with a shaky breath, wringing the handkerchief between her fists. “The argument started to get heated… and eventually physical. I don’t remember which of us started it, it was all a blur - literally, she’d ripped my glasses off during the struggle. I just know at some point I had her pinned up against that shelf. We tussled, grabbing at each other, knocking things down, but I think it was too much for the shelf. All of a sudden I was being forced back as it came crashing down with a heavy slam, Dorado trapped beneath it. Not moving…

“Shocked, I started to back away, only to hear a crunching noise underneath my foot, which is how I found my glasses. I went to pick them up, slowly realizing what was happening. What I’d done. I was so scared that I just… bolted. I locked myself up in my own office for the rest of the morning and threw away the only thing I thought would prove I was there, hoping no one would find out.”

“So, it all really was an accident,” Drinker mused in a solemn tone.

“It really was, I promise. I never wanted this. I never wanted any of this to happen.”

“Intentions aside, this is not something you can just run and hide from,” Miles said. “Because of your actions someone is dead and another could have been indicted in your place.”

She looked up in his direction. “What? But…” She pushed herself back to her feet, Drinker following suit. “I don't want anyone to go to jail for this! It was supposed to look like a freak accident!”

“Be that as it may, it does not change the fact that Archie Buff has sufficient motive and a flimsy alibi. He was being brought into custody last we heard.”

Stynct dipped her head down, exhaling deeply. “I… understand. I’ll go turn myself in, have them release Archie. He shouldn’t be paying for what I did."

“Already taken care of.”

The three of them turned to find Agate approaching them as she put something, likely a phone or some other communicator, away in her pocket.

“Detective Agate? What are you doing here?” Miles asked as she came to stand beside him.

“Just passing through,” she replied. “I called for backup, which will be arriving soon. Then you, madam, have quite of bit of explaining to do."

Stynct swallowed loudly and gave a solemn nod in response.

Reinforcements arrived with little fanfare shortly afterwards and Stynct was handed off to them. As Agate was giving her force instructions, Miles watched Drinker slowly approach Stynct and present something to her. The officers around tensed themselves in alarm until the object was revealed to be a pair of glasses. Drinker must have been fiddling with them while they weren’t paying attention to him because they were back in a reasonably wearable state.

“Here,” he said, sliding them on her face. “You’ll probably need these.”

She didn’t reply, but there was a teary smile on her face as she was led away.

Miles left him to the moment turning instead to Agate, who had lingered behind. “So, Detective, what were you really doing here?"

She cast him a sidelong glance, smirking. “Let’s walk and talk a bit.”



“You were tracking me?!”

Agate had, in short, explained that she’d only left them to their own devices because she’d ordered her subordinates to keep tabs on their movements. Nothing as direct as tailing the two men, just reporting back to her what they saw or overheard should paths happen to cross. Then, after getting head’s up from the officer guarding the crime scene that they were going after Stynct, she’d decided to follow them herself. She’d been there for almost the entire exchange with Stynct.

Miles’ outburst caught the attention of a few of those previously mentioned subordinates still milling about outside the crime scene as they wrapped up the investigation. They quickly averted their eyes and feigned disinterest in the conversation at the look their boss gave them.

She slowly shifted her attention back over to Miles. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

“For what purpose?” he demanded, irked at the audacity of this detective. He’d kept his promise to not hinder her work, had he not?

She snorted at him. “I get that you’ve got some sort of reputation, Prosecutor, but that doesn’t change the fact that you also have no jurisdiction here. You told me you were only seeking the ‘truth’ when I asked you what your stakes were. Did you really expect me to just go along with that?”

Miles glowered at her. Given that that was his exact intention, what else was he suppose to say? Would she have preferred he lie?!

She pressed on, unaffected. “You’re a stranger, Prosecutor Edgeworth. Not just to me, but to this legal district. Forgive me if I maintained some reservations.”

“That’s understandable,” Miles said. He was working independently after all. “Though you could have been upfront about it instead of all these theatrics.”

Agate smirked. “Where’s the fun in that? Besides, if you knew you were being supervised, you would have been on your best behavior. I wanted to see what you really wanted.”

With crossed arms, Miles raised a brow. “And did you get your answer?”

She rested her hands on her hips. “Well, from everything I’ve gathered, you seem sincere enough. I guess I just don’t get it. I was expecting some ulterior motive.”

Miles’ expression faltered slightly, but just enough for the eagle-eye of a detective to catch. Her smirk shifted to a sharp grin. “Oh-ho, not quite the goody two-shoes then, are we?”

“Do not misjudge me, my ultimate goal was to find the truth in what happened here, but I cannot say my reason for getting involved was entirely altruistic.” She nodded, urging him to continue. “Earlier, I told Stynct that she cannot run from the things she’s done, but I have been doing that very thing myself."

Drinker, who’d been quietly listening up until now, spoke up. “You didn’t… also kill someone, did you?”

A loaded question if ever there was one. While he had never directly taken a life, despite what his nightmares had him think for years, indirectly was another beast. Through guilty verdicts in pursuit of a worthless record and the approval of a man who did not deserve it, Miles could not say his hands were entirely clean.

This, however, he did not need to voice, especially in front of Agate, so he settled for rolling his eyes at the paleontologist instead.

“Recently, I came to learn that I became a prosecutor for the wrong reasons. My career was driven by a blind hatred for criminals and the influence of those who saw me as nothing more than a pawn to be cast aside when the time was right. In light of this, I have stepped away from the courtroom. Before I am to return, I need to understand what it means to be a prosecutor and to seek justice on my own terms. That is why I got involved.”

“…pretty inspiring words there, Prosecutor,” Agate replied, looking mildly impressed.

“I cannot fully take credit for them. A… dear friend has been helping me through this. He’s been the one pushing me to find my path.”

“That friend sounds like something.”

Miles couldn’t help the slight smile the crept to his lips. “Yes, he is."

“Well, if today was any indication, you might be on the right track for that. Much as it pains me to admit, without your help, we might not have figured things out. We were pretty close to ruling that whole thing as an accidental death before you wrung those confessions out.”

“By the way, what’s going to happen to Xena? I mean, technically it was an accident, even if she directly caused it,” Drinker asked.

“That’s the kind of stuff that gets settled in court. He would have a better idea than me,” Agate said, hands in her pockets.

He turned to Miles expectantly, but the prosecutor only shook his head. There were too many variables to say how harsh or light a sentence she’d receive.

“Now, I need to make sure the wrap-up is progressing, but if you’re ever in the area, don’t be a stranger. Maybe I’ll let you meddle again."

Miles grimaced. “For the sake of your city’s crime rate, let’s hope that won’t be necessary.”

Barking out a laugh, Agate turned away from them, shouting out orders to her subordinates (still pretending to not be listening in) to move things along.

“Guess that wraps things up for us too, huh?” Drinker commented as she left.

Miles slid a glance his way. “You don’t sound satisfied.”

“I mean…” he groaned, running a hand along his face, “I’m glad justice was served, but the whole thing just sucks. Not just for Alanis, but Xena too. She’s my friend, after all, I can’t be happy that she’s probably going to jail, even if she deserves it. And who knows what’ll happen to Shadow since she tried to interfere with the police.”

“Actually, I only really interfered with you two, so they let me off with a warning.”

The two men yelped as Morrison once more materialized behind them.

“Shadow…” Drinker warned once he was done catching his breath.

“Sorry,” she said, “and not just for startling you. I know it was wrong, but I was worried about Professor Buff. He’s been under fire before for his… habits…”

“Kleptomania,” Drinker supplied.

“I was afraid that if anyone found out about the grant, that he’d be arrested for sure.”

“I understand your concern, but if you truly believed in his innocence, then you shouldn’t have tried to hide the truth,” Miles told her. “Sometimes it only makes matters worse.”

“But you might not have spoken to Xena if I hadn’t,” she pointed out, tapping at her clipboard, “but I understand your point,” she finished at the strangled noise Miles made. “I just wanted to thank you for figuring out what happened. I’m sure Professor Buff would too, if he were still here.”

“He’s left already?”

Morrison nodded. “As soon as they gave him the all clear and ended the lockdown order. He was supposed to leave early to help his wife, after all.”

“If that’s the case, perhaps it is time I take my leave too,” Miles said. He’d been at the museum far longer than he’d planned to be. “I did get the chance to see what I initially came here for before everything occurred, though it’s a shame I never got to speak with Dorado on her occult research.”

“Oh, I can help with that,” Morrison offered. “The occult stuff might not have been an area of special interest for me like it was her, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t pay attention. Whatever you wanted to ask Alanis, I should be able to answer.”

Miles blinked in surprised. Well, if that was the case, what’s another hour at this point? “If it’s not too much of an imposition.”

“Are you kidding me? After all you did to help us, this is nothing.”

“Sounds like Shadow’s got it covered, so I should probably go check on manager things. Now that it’s all settling down, the fallout is gonna be hell.” Drinker sighed, running a hand through his bangs. “’sides, I think Edgeworth’s probably sick of me by this point.”

“Don’t discount your contributions. There were a few things I would have never figured out without your help,” Miles told him, though admittedly, yes, the man was a bit much at times.

Drinker waved it off. “Stop, you’ll make me blush. Anyway, I’ll see you later, Shadow. And Edgeworth? Next time you’re around, bring that friend of yours with you, I’ll give him a tour, too. Hopefully one that doesn’t end like today’s did.”

“I’ll… consider it…” Miles replied, waving him off.



Deciding there were better places to talk than the middle of a hallway, Morrison brought Miles down to the museum’s archives.

“I don’t have an office of my own where we can chat since I’m just an intern, but it’s quiet down here. Plus, some of Alanis’ old projects are in here.” In demonstration, she grabbed an old staff leaning against the wall that looked like it might’ve been used in some sort of ceremony. “Now, what exactly did you want to know?”

“I noticed she had a fairly detailed display on the Kingdom of Khura’in and their connections to spirits. I’d like to start with that.”

What Morrison had to say was mostly an expansion on what he’d already read at the exhibit. The royal family’s ability to channel spirits greatly influenced their entire culture, though not much was known outside of that. There was some speculation amongst parapsychologists on the exact nature of said abilities, but given the status of the people performing these feats, not to mention the attempted coup that stole Khura’in’s last queen’s life, studies on it have never been allowed.

“Now there is, however, a spirit channeling village off the west coast that has some cultural ties to Khura’in. Alanis has visited them a few times over the years, though unfortunately due to a scandal, she couldn’t use any of the research she gathered officially.”

“Ah yes, I’m…” Miles cleared his throat, “familiar with that village…”

“Oh? Then you probably don’t need me to retread on that then.”

“No, not especially.” He could get that information from the source after all. “Now, you’ve mentioned studies being done, or at least attempts, on spirit channeling, but is there any work on other types of spiritual interactions?”

“Depends. What do you mean?"

“I was told once about people summoning spirits that were not the souls of the departed."

Morrison hummed in thought. “You mean like, familiars?”

“Familiars?” he echoed.

“Beings, usually in the form of animals, that were partners to people with occult abilities. Their exact nature varies from culture to culture, but some people call them spirits. And, actually…”

She moved over to one of the shelves, pulling out a large tapestry that she had to shake out a bit to rid it of the healthy layer of dust that had settled. Satisfied, she draped it over top the shelf, letting it hang down for viewing.

The image depicted several people knelt down in prayer and, soaring around them, were the delicately stitched images of warbaa’ds, depicted not in their usual black and red, but a rainbow of colors.

“The warbaa’ds are sacred to the people of Khura’in. Not only are they considered to be envoys between our world and the afterlife, but powerful guardian spirits themselves. So powerful in fact, that there are theories that the power of channeling initially came from them.”

Miles reached out, gently tracing the stitched feathers of a crimson warbaa’d. A guardian spirit... could Phoenix have found himself bound to one? Maya had once described his curse as a twisted version of their channeling technique and now, having seen it for himself a few times, he understood how that conclusion was drawn.

And yet, channelings could be stopped. Just how powerful was this spirit that the connection couldn’t be broken and just what was Dahlia Hawthorne doing with that sort of power at her command?

Morrison suddenly laughed softly. “Charles did say you liked birds.”

That caught Miles off guard. “What?”

“Your tattoo. He said you had one of a phoenix. That’s what caused that whole thing you got mixed up in in Greece.”

“Oh, yes… that.”  He rubbed at his, still tattoo-less, arm.

“You don’t have to talk about it, I just thought that might’ve been why they caught your interest in particular.”

“In a sense…” Miles muttered. “Though the theory that they taught people how to channel spirits is intriguing.”

“That’s only one of the theories. The other is that they literally got the power from them. There are certain artifacts used to conduct and enhance spirit energy, sometimes allowing those who aren’t gifted powers a chance to use it. It’s believed these talismans could have been used to draw the power from the warbaa’ds themselves.”

Something clicked for Miles and he reached into his pocket, retrieving a certain green jewel. “Something like this?” He held up the Magatama by its string.

Morrison gasped. “Is that an actual Magatama?"

“It was given to me by a friend as a… protection charm of sorts.”

“Well that friend picked a good one. That’s exactly the type of talisman I meant. All sorts of mystical feats are said to be able to be done with them.”

Including lie detection, Miles mused as he returned it to its pocket. Taking one more look at the tapestry, Miles turned to his guide. “Thank you, Ms. Morrison. You’ve certainly given me some food for thought.” Next he spoke to Maya and Phoenix, he’d get their opinions of what he’d gathered here.

“No problem at all, like I said.” She reached up to pull down the tapestry, neatly folding it back into place. “Glad I could help.”



Morrison escorted him back out to the guest side of the museum, where he made his way to the exit. He never did get a chance to look at the other exhibits the museum had to offer, but what was supposed to be a morning trip had taken up nearly an entire day and he was more than ready to retire for the night.

After a short shower, Miles settled into bed, his head buzzing with thoughts. Not just of his discussion with Morrison and how it might apply to Phoenix’s curse, but the one he had with Xena Stynct.

His own words were echoing back at him - ‘this is not something you can just run and hide from’. He’d been running away from the Demon Prosecutor, but he needed to accept that dark part of his past before he could truly move on and forge something new. Something better.

And he wasn’t going to do that here, at a museum halfway across the country, or in a courtroom on the other side of the world, where nobody knew his name. No, Miles had made up his mind.

He was done running.

Notes:

I liiiiiiive.

Almost got this out in time for the anniversary, but this case is supposed to be happening in mid- October, so it still works.

Chapter 39

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Despite his personal readiness to return, Miles did have a few obligations to take care of before he was able to. As both a key witness and investigator in the Dorado case (which, after a few days, concluded with a guilty verdict for manslaughter, though Stynct’s attorney had to fight to keep it away from a murder conviction), he was involved in a good deal of the proceedings. Proceedings which also put him in contact with a number of members of the district’s court system, with whom he spent time afterwards networking with while he sorted out travel arrangements.

After all was said and done, the calendar had rolled over into November when he finally touched down in L.A.

Miles bundled his coat a little tighter to shield himself from the crisp night air as he exited the airport, following the signs for the taxi stand. It was late enough that the queue was relatively short, so the wait was not long before he procured a ride for himself. He stowed his luggage away in the trunk, passing along the name of the hotel he'd be staying while he reestablished himself to the driver as he got into the back. The driver repeated it back, for confirmation, and then they were off.

The radio was low, set to what sounded like a talk show. Miles tuned it out, checking for updates from any of his recent correspondences. His last text from Maya had been a smiling face - her confirmation to their agreed upon meeting time tomorrow, so he didn't expect that particular thread to continue. There’d also been an ongoing discussion with Gumshoe, Miles assuring him that, no, he did not require his services as a chauffeur as he intended to retrieve his car from long-term storage in the morning.

The last was with the Chief Prosecutor, confirming a meeting in two day’s time to discuss Miles' status upon his return. While he was still an acting prosecutor, despite his absence, Miles doubted things would just pick back up as if he'd never left. Gumshoe was actually helping out with this, keeping him updated on the general environment around their respective workplaces so he'd have some idea of what to potentially expect. He knew things had been relatively calm since Franziska had left shortly after the Kurain Village murder, though Miles knew she'd be back once news of his own return began to circulate.

Franziska. As much as it needed to happen and as much as he did wish to make amends with his sister, he was... not looking forward to seeing her. Their inevitable reunion was probably going to be just as volatile as the last one, though hopefully without an underlying murder investigation to add stress to their already tenuous relationship.

Miles sighed internally at the thought, staring out the window as the city lights zipped by. They really were overdue for a talk, weren’t they? Long overdue (About half a decade so, if he was honest with himself).

He just hoped they'd actually talk when it came.



“Oh, look, there he is. Miles! Miiiiles!"

Miles' eyes were glued to his phone and a current events article he'd been skimming, so he heard Maya before he saw her, her voice clear and unfiltered by the static of a shaky connection for the first time in months.

He’d a plan laid out for the morning; acquire a rideshare to deliver him to the storage facility so he could retrieve his car at the earliest convenience. By then, Maya and Phoenix's train should have arrived, so he could swing by to pick them up and return to the hotel from there, grabbing something for breakfast along the way.

He was about halfway through his morning routine when that plan was derailed by a call from Maya asking him for the name of his hotel. Not only had they boarded an earlier train and were already in the city, but Maya had nearly gotten on a bus headed downtown before Phoenix had to remind her that they didn't know where they were going.

(In hindsight, Miles wasn't sure why he bothered to make itinerary around the two most spontaneous people in his life in the first place.)

He gave her the details and quickly finished the rest of his morning prep, endeavoring to at least meet them at the front of the hotel.

Still, he supposed as he rose from the bench he was seated on, he couldn't be too annoyed with someone who seemed that genuinely excited. Maya had a bright grin on her face as she rushed over to him, her arm still raised in an enthusiastic wave.

She didn’t launch herself at him this time, but Miles still braced himself for impact as she came in for a hug. They exchanged a few brief pleasantries, then Miles led her inside where they could all talk properly.

“Man, I'm starving, what have you got to eat here? Maya asked, crossing the threshold into the room as soon as Miles unlocked the door and shrugging the slightly over-sized jacket she was wearing off, essentially tossing it at Miles. He gave her an unimpressed look that went unnoticed as she was already walking further into the suite, and moved to hang it on one of the hooks by the entryway.

“Nothing, given I just got in last night," he explained as he hung up his own. “I had initially planned on getting food on the way back from the station, but since that’s no longer on the table, we can order room service for now.”

“See? I told you we should've just waited for the late morning train.”

"Oh don't act like you weren't just as anxious to get going."

Miles, who had still been facing away, turned at that second voice, vision filled by a surge of vibrant plumage. Maya was holding her arm out to accommodate him as he settled, since he didn't fit as comfortably on her shoulders as he did on Miles' broader ones, his tail feathers fanning out to wrap slightly around her torso.

A head turned and their eyes met, Phoenix's crinkling into a smile.

“Hi."

"Hello yourself," Miles replied.

After a moment or so, Maya loudly cleared her throat. “Right, I'll leave you two to… that.” She dipped her arm a bit, then swung it back up, cueing Phoenix to fly to a new perch and effectively cutting off whatever indignant reply he had waiting on his tongue. “Now, where's that room service menu…"

As she wandered to scour for their food options, Phoenix settled on to the back of a chair in the seating area. He favored her with a shake of his head and returned his attentions to Miles.

“So, uh, how are you?”

“The same as I was five minutes ago when Maya asked me that same question,” Miles returned, an amused smirk on his face.

“Okay, well, I didn't get to ask you,” he countered.

Miles rolled his eyes. “I'm fine, Phoenix.”

“Okay, good. Good. Flight went well?”

Miles took a seat on the couch before he answered. “It was... uneventful.” He'd spent most of the short trip reading, the only remarkable thing that happened being a, blessedly brief, bought of turbulence the plane had hit. It was the one thing he always dreaded when traveling by plane, the rumbling and enclosed space too alike to a certain event from his childhood.

"Oh? No mid-transit murders to solve?” Phoenix asked, changing the topic. They might not be presently bonded, link severed by prolonged distance, but the symbiont had been on enough flights with him to make the proper inference.

Miles took the bait, absurd as it was. “The occasional incident happening in my proximity does not make me the magnet for trouble that you and Maya believe me to be.”

“I dunno, starting to feel like a trend at this point.” He moved to the couch arm. “I mean, the museum, the hotel, that café in Bern…”

“That was a legal dispute, not an incident," Miles pointed out. A dispute he'd only intervened in because the instigator’s very loud and very wrong arguments had been giving him a headache.

“I'm just saying," Phoenix continued, "maybe the universe keeps throwing things at you because it knows you're so good at solving them.” His tone slipping into something more sickly-sweet, the symbiont tilted his head a bit and fluttered his eyes a few times. He held it for a few seconds before bursting into laughter at the tired sigh Miles replied with.

Rubbing at his temples, Miles slid his gaze back over to Phoenix, his laughter receding into a few soft chuckles. While the notion of the universe just handing him mysteries to solve was a ridiculous one, there was one sitting right next to him.

“Were you and Maya able to learn anything more on familiar spirits?” After the museum case, he'd shared what he'd learned from Morrison with Maya and Phoenix. Maya said it wasn't anything she'd heard too much of, but she'd look into it.

Phoenix shook his head. “The manor has a few archives, but Kurain mainly keeps an oral history and the people who might know it don’t want to tell her anything.”

“That seems.... counterproductive,” Miles settled on. What’s the point of keeping your history in stories is you weren't going to share them?

The symbiont shrugged. “The divide between the Fey branches is hard and their drama complicated. I don't know how much it's worth digging into that rabbit hole.”

“I’m gonna recruit Pearly to help at this rate, if they keep dodging my questions,” Maya said, announcing her return. She plopped herself down on the couch between them, waving a booklet in her hand. "Found the room service menu, by the way."

Miles took it from her when her gesturing nearly clocked Phoenix in the face, had he not pulled his head back in time, placing the booklet on the coffee table instead. “Let’s just find something to eat. We can discuss more over breakfast."

After getting their orders, Miles having to talk Maya down to something more reasonable (“The fact that I can afford it does not mean you are required to order an exorbitant amount of food. No, you cannot say you’re eating on Phoenix’s behalf either.”), discussions on Maya and Phoenix's investigations resumed. Or, attempts at investigations, as it seemed the Kurain elders were proving to be a rather massive roadblock on that front.

“It's like they think I’ll forget everything I know about channeling spirits if I learn too much,” she vented. "I don't see what’s the big deal about just asking."

“They want you to just focus on your training and they don't think it's relevant,” Phoenix said, getting a sidelong look from Maya. “What? I'm not saying I agree, but that is what they told you."

Miles idly swirled the spoon in his tea cup around, letting his thoughts connect. “Your training pertains to you eventually taking over as the Master, correct? I would think having an understanding of all facets of your family’s abilities would be especially relevant.”

“Exactly!" Maya exclaimed around a mouthful of muffin, swallowing before she continued. “But every time I try to argue, I get a lecture about what’s ‘proper’ or ‘traditional’ until they’ve changed the subject entirely. It’s so annoying.”

Miles hummed softly. “As the village elders, I suppose they would see it as their duty to uphold tradition above all else.” Though he couldn’t help the slight frown that fell upon his face as a less pleasant explanation came to mind.

Phoenix’s perceptive eyes quickly picked up on it. “Oh, I know that look. What’re you thinking?”

Miles considered brushing it off, but they deserved to hear his thoughts. “Not to arise any sort of alarm or… conspiracy,” he said, pausing to consider his wording, “but could they be plotting something?”

She and Phoenix shared a glance. “We thought about that, especially after…" Maya waved her hand, letting the unsaid speak for itself, “but I really think they think that the main family shouldn’t know about these things. And I can’t just tell them it’s not for me, not if they’re going to be this weird about the whole familiars thing. Who knows what they’d do if they knew I’ve been rooming with one.” She went a little quieter, staring at her hands where they rested in her lap. “If the elders really want what’s best for me, what happens if they decide Nick’s not? I don’t want them to try to separate us.”

“Hey,” Phoenix cooed softly. He dropped his head down to move into her line of vision. “I told you, they can try, but I wouldn’t let them.”

“But what if they do the Spirit Severing Technique - that’s what Sis used when she met you. You wouldn’t have a choice!”

For a moment, Phoenix didn’t say anymore. Maya’s face shifted to something apologetic, but before she could make any further comment, Phoenix spoke.

“Except, your theory is flawed. Back then… I did have a choice, if only for a moment. I chose Mia. And I would choose you every time, no matter how often they tried. You know how stubborn I can be.”

Maya giggled a little. “You are pretty stubborn…”

“See? So don't worry about me.”

Maya shook her head fondly, reaching out to rest her hand upon his feathered crest. “I just don't want something to happen to you. You're my family, Nick.”

“And it won't. I promise,” he replied.

Maya did not look entirely convinced, but the playful way she took her hand, still atop his head, and ran it through his feathers enough to muss them seemed to indicate she was reassured for the time being.

“Well, I at least don't have to worry about you getting in trouble with the elders for a while. Not while you're with Miles.”

Phoenix pulled away from the unprompted ruffling. “So now you're sending me away?” he replied, as if this were news and not an arrangement the three of them had agreed upon months prior.

They had suspected as much before, but these past few months had truly confirmed that Kurain had little to offer the firebird, his legal mind unutilized. Her concerns regarding the elders aside, the village just wasn't the most ideal place for him.

“Maybe I'll actually get some training done. I mean, no offense, Nick, but you are kind of a distraction sometimes,” Maya continued, her voice all teasing.

“Hey!”

With not much else to discuss on their research into Phoenix's curse, the conversation naturally shifted to lighter topics: Interesting things Miles had encountered on his travels, potential clients Maya had been in contact with, and developments surrounding their shared hobby.

Phoenix, as expected, let out a long-suffering groan as soon as the word 'samurai’ was uttered and excused himself.

With the firebird off to find his own entertainment within the suite, Miles and Maya dove into their discussion. It was one of the things he looked forward to when they spoke - Miles was no stranger to online fanspaces for the Steel Samurai and its now related franchises, but those were interactions he kept as impersonal as possible. Having Maya, someone who he, by now, did consider a close friend, to chat and share analyses with was an entirely different experience.

Even when those analyses were patently wrong.

“Come on Miles, if they were gonna pull off a twist like that, they'd do it with Tin or Aluminum.”

“And I stand that you are underestimating the writers,” Miles replied. “They were considering a similar plotline for the Steel Samurai, before its cancelation.”

Maya paused to wrack her brain. "You mean the role-swapped universe arc? That's not even the same thing!"

“No, not exactly, but it shows that there is precedent for the concept.” He paused when Phoenix reemerged, but the firebird was content to flop on the back of the couch between their heads. “Additionally, this is the third series in the franchise, which makes it optimal for more experimental plot threads.”

“Oh, whatever. Nick's here, let's have him decide.”

“Let's have Nick do what now?” Phoenix responded, though he didn't pick his head up from his lounged position.

“Miles thinks the Nickel Samurai is leading up to a big reveal where Nickel betrays his brothers, and I say that’s never gonna happen. He’s the lead character and he's way too popular to risk that."

The firebird let out a low hum in contemplation. “...which one is that again, the one with the guitar?”

“No, that's the Jammin’ Ninja, duh! You'd know this if you'd just watch the show already."

“I’d rather watch Kids' Masterpiece Theatre with Pearls to be completely honest,” Phoenix responded.

“Hopeless.” Maya shook her head at him.

“If Phoenix is going to remain neutral on the matter,” which was about what Miles expected from him, "then it appears we have reached a stalemate."

“Yeah..." she sighed. "We'll have to wait for the show to totally prove me right.”

Miles chuckled. “We’ll see.”

The conversation began to wane from there, which was all well and good for Miles that it did. The lapse reminded him that he still needed to go to longterm storage to claim his car - an errand he'd prefer to do sooner than later. He offered for them to hang back in the hotel room, but both Maya and Phoenix were in agreement that they'd rather tag along for the ride.

Miles called for a car with a relatively short ETA as they gathered their belongings to go meet them downstairs. Maya went to pull her coat back on, stopping halfway so she could offer an exposed forearm to Phoenix. He started to go to her, but hesitated.

“Actually,” he said, "let me go with Miles. I need to reestablish our link anyway.” He looked over to Miles, a question if that was all right in his eyes. The prosecutor responded by pushing up one of his sleeves.

As Phoenix coiled up around his arm, he'd been expecting the sudden warmth from their points of contact. What he hadn't expected was the burst of emotion blooming in his chest as the empathic link rekindled itself, nearly throwing him off balance by its intensity. It was true that Phoenix was a passionate person and his emotions could run strong, but never quite like that. Perhaps it was a side effect of their prolonged separation reseting the link, but even their initial bond hadn't been quite so overwhelming.

(In hindsight, there may have been additional factors contributing to that. Miles' stress and fatigue from the long day that might have led him not to put any lingering consideration to whatever odd sensations he’d experienced. The fact that the firebird had been unconscious at the time more so.)

Now, Phoenix was very much conscious and practically vibrating with emotion, making it difficult for Miles to readjust to the bond.

Phoenix, calm down, he told him, which unfortunately had the opposite effect at first, ramping up the symbiont's emotions to a sharp spike of alarm before he caught on and made an effort to mellow himself out. Miles breathed a low sigh out of his nose as things in his head settled, letting his eyes briefly fall shut as he took in the familiar sense of comfort he had come to associate with Phoenix’s presence.

When he opened them again, Maya was smirking at him.

“What?"

“Nothing~” she sang, her expression unchanged. “Come on, didn't you say our ride was almost here?"

She hopped over to the door, looking at him expectantly as she waited. Miles moved to follow, opening it and gesturing for her to exit first. Miles gave her one last questioning look as she passed by, but Maya made no effort to explain herself.

Is she plotting something? Miles asked as he closed the door behind them, Maya already a few steps ahead as she headed towards the stairwell.

She's always plotting something, Phoenix answered. It’s nothing to worry about unless you’re the usual victim of her schemes.

And who would that be?

I'll give you three guesses and the first two don't count.

“Come on, guys!” Maya called from halfway down the hall.

Accepting Phoenix’s general explanation of ‘Maya being Maya’, Miles pushed the odd interaction aside and went to join her.



It took a while to get all the particulars finalized - sorting through the paperwork and getting the maintenance done to make sure his car was once again in a drivable state - but soon enough he was back behind the wheel.

Currently he and his two passengers were taking a ride around the city to ensure the vehicle was in perfect working order. Maya had suggested Kurain as a destination for this warm up drive so she could skip the train home. It was tempting, a long drive in his beloved car after so long, but Maya lived quite literally in the middle of nowhere and it wasn't worth the risk of getting stranded somewhere along the way if an issue did arise from the months of disuse. She waved it off with a laugh, saying she'd been mostly joking anyway.

“You can drive me back to the station later, though,” she added while they were stalled at a red light.

Miles nodded. That had been part of the initial plan. “When do you need to return?”

“In an hour or so, maybe,” she said after a moment's contemplation. “I’d rather catch one of the afternoon trains than have to wait for the ones that run real late in the evening.”

“Ah, you did mention the trains to the mountains were irregular."

“The schedule is so weird. I almost always had to meet up with Sis at night cause of it.” Maya sighed. “Hopefully it won't be a problem when Pearly and I go to the circus next month.”

Miles offered a quiet hum in response. In front of them the light turned green and he continued their drive to nowhere in particular.

In his peripheral, he saw Maya lean forward. Phoenix let out a grunt as he was probably getting mildly squished in her lap. “Have you thought about it? Coming with us?” she asked.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened. “I’ll be honest Maya, it's unlikely. The timing is… not ideal.” The idea of the circus didn't inspire much excitement on a normal day, but it had unfortunately picked the last week of December to be in town. "However, I can meet up with you briefly should Phoenix wish to join.” His trauma shouldn’t keep the symbiont from enjoying himself.

“I don’t need to go," Phoenix stated. “It’s just gonna be a lot of noise and I won't be able to see anything.”

“But I’ve got all these ideas on how we can sneak you in where you could watch the action.”

“And I told you I'd rather keep my dignity," he replied.

(Miles wondered just what those ideas were to elicit that response, but he'd learned with these two that sometimes it was better not to ask.)

“Boo, you’re so boring, Nick.”

“So I'm not the boring one anymore?” Miles remarked in reference to many past conversations.

“No, you both are. But... I also understand you not wanting to go. Well, not Nick. Nick just doesn't believe in my amazing ideas, but I'll forgive him this time."

“Gee, thanks,” Phoenix deadpanned.

Maya did not acknowledge him. “Offer's always there if you change your minds. And, if not, Pearly and I'll make sure to take lots of pictures for you guys!”

Miles smiled softly at her earnesty. "That would be nice."

They stayed out a while longer, neither their conversation or drive having any real direction, until a check to the train schedules denoted that, if Maya still wanted to catch one of the afternoon ones, they needed to head to the station soon.

It took Miles a moment to find somewhere to idle, even in the drop-off zone, the station bustling with afternoon activity. As he put the car in park, Miles looked over to his passengers, feeling a not unwarranted sense of deja-vu.

“Well, this is me. Thanks for the ride,” Maya said. Phoenix had scooted over to the middle console to allow Maya to lean across and give Miles an awkward, one-armed hug. She then turned to Phoenix as if to do the same, but instead squished his face gently in her hands, pulling him forward enough to plant an exaggerated kiss between his brows.

“Ack!” the firebird squawked indignantly, trying to flap his wings, but unable to from his cramped position between the front seats.

Maya laughed as she pulled back, releasing him. “The village is gonna be so boring without you around to bother."

Phoenix, shaking himself off from the light manhandling, paused mid-motion. He lowered his head to look upwards at her. “I can still come with, if you need me to," he said softly.

Maya shook her head. "Nick, I love you, but we've had this conversation. You’ve done enough for me.”

“I just want to look out for you,” he replied.

“And I want you to think of yourself for once. I know where you really want to be, and it's not Kurain."

Miles thought he saw Phoenix’s eyes drift towards him for the briefest of seconds, but the movement was too quick to be certain.

Maya spoke again. “I’ll be okay. Things back home have calmed down, it really is just going to be boring.” Phoenix gave her a look, unconvinced. “If it gets too much, you’ll be the first to know.”

This seemed to at least mollify him. “I’m holding you to that.”

She gave him a gentler goodbye, a quick press of foreheads, then flicked her gaze up at Miles. “As for you, just because we're all in the same state again, doesn't mean you’re off the hook. I'm still gonna call you regularly.”

"I expected as much.” Miles inclined his head towards her, smirking. “Afterall, how else will you admit to your inevitable defeat when the Nickel Samurai reveals his true colors?”

“Oh yeah?" she countered, challenge sparking in her eyes. "You wanna bet?”

"Please don't wager over a kid’s show," Phoenix groaned.

Maya sighed dramatically, pushing at the door as she began to slide from her seat. “Fine. I'll spare you this time, but this isn’t over."

“Of course," Miles replied, returning the wave she gave them both as she stepped out of the car.

“Call us when you get back!" Phoenix called out just as the door closed. Maya gave a dismissive gesture through the window, her eyes rolling. She turned to walk away, heading towards the station entrance. Miles lingered a moment longer, letting Phoenix settle in the seat Maya once occupied, finally driving off once her form had disappeared entirely into the bustling crowd.



“Are you bringing this with you?”

Miles was in the living area getting organized for his meeting with the Chief Prosecutor in a couple hours when Phoenix called out to him. He looked into his briefcase, but everything he’d planned to bring along was already in it. Certain he hadn't forgotten anything, he leaned into the doorway of the bedroom where the firebird was for clarification. Phoenix was up top of the dresser with the cord that held a certain object resting on the bridge of his beak, allowing him to gently swing it from side to side like a pendulum.

Miles furrowed his brow. “The Magatama? Why?” He had planned to grab it before leaving, but only because it was the sort of object he felt shouldn’t be left lying around.

“I dunno. In case the chief gives you a hard time and he doesn't want to explain himself.”

One of his eyebrows raised from its position. “I don’t believe that will be necessary.”

“Hey, you never know. You ended up needing it during your travels, right?"

“It… came up," Miles admitted, though he would hardly call that needing it. “Though I do find I prefer non-mystical forms of information gathering."

“Not your style?” Phoenix commented, tilting his head back so the cord slid down around his neck. The Magatama hung low on him, nearly touching the wood beneath his feet.

“No, not especially.”

“Is it mine?” The firebird struck a few poses, as if modeling the accessory.

“You look lovely, now, do stop fooling around, we have places we must be. And give that back while you're at it.”

“Yessir." He gave a salute then unfurled his wings. Miles held out an arm in anticipation and the firebird alighted upon it. His head hovered above Miles' hand and the prosecutor opened his palm, expecting Phoenix to slid the Magatama off into it. Phoenix, however, had other ideas, using the opening to merge directly into his two dimensional form.

“Phoenix!” Miles chided, realizing he was expected the catch the Magatama. His hands fumbled around in empty air, grasping at nothing, and Miles quickly turned his gaze downward to see where it had fallen.

He didn't, nor did he hear the thud of a stone falling to the carpet. It was as if the heirloom had vanished.

Phoenix, where’s the Magatama? he asked.

What do you mean? he replied, heavily confused. It’s somewhere with you. Not like I brought it with me.

There was a long moment of silence as Miles looked around again, in case the string had caught on something or he actually did somehow miss it dropping to the floor.

Then, Phoenix spoke again. Miles, I think I brought it with me…

What?!

Miles felt Phoenix moving back towards his forearm, allowing him to roll his sleeve up enough to get a good look at him. Sure enough, amongst the red feathers, there was a flash of green from the gem still around his neck.

How?!
Miles demanded.

I don’t know! Phoenix admitted, fidgeting. Maybe because we’re both magic?

Miles thought back to the conversation with Shadow Morrison, how it was believed that the ancient Khura’inese may have used stones much like that one to harness the spiritual energy of the warbaa’ds.

You don’t, feel any different, do you? he asked cautiously.

No, just confused. I should just -

Wait,
Miles said, halting any further movement from the firebird. While this had raised a number of questions, there was one in particular that needed to be addressed. Before you do anything else, lie to me.

What?!
Phoenix exclaimed.

Tell me a lie,
Miles reiterated.

Uh… I’m definitely not freaked out by this at all.

Nothing, though perhaps it wouldn't have worked anyway with such an obvious fib. People had lied around the Magatama before without it reacting - it needed to be a guarded secret.

Phoenix…
he began, slowly, tell me about the curse.

There was a flash. Those two blue locks appeared, intangible chains looping around his position on Miles' arm, then disappearing almost immediately as a startled Phoenix emerged and landed back on the dresser.

“Are you alright?!”

“Yeah. Yeah, sorry. I just wasn't expecting to see the locks. I could only sense them through our bond before.” Which made sense, that was about the same reaction Miles had had the first time they’d appeared before him. “Could you still see them?”

“I could. It seems that, despite the circumstances, the Magatama still works as intended. The spiritual energy used to charge it might be similar to what was used to transform you, allowing a sort of resonance,” Miles reasoned. Phoenix’s only response was a slight tilt of his head. "This requires further observation - why don't you hold on to it for now.”

“You sure?” he asked, midway through the process of sliding it back off. “We don’t know what kind of effects it might have.”

“We’ll carefully monitor the situation moving forward, but so far it doesn’t seem detrimental to either of our well-beings. We’ll have to confer with the Feys next we speak, but perhaps this could even be another step towards unraveling the mystery surrounding you.” Folding his arms, Miles began to pace, possibilities unfolding in his mind.

His thoughts were interrupted by a gentle chuckle from Phoenix. “I like how enthusiastic you are, but weren’t you just telling me we had to be somewhere?"

Miles paused. Right, the meeting. “Er, yes. Verily,” he flushed, embarrassed by how quickly it'd slipped his mind.

The firebird laughed again, cutting himself off as he returned to tattoo form so they could get going, intentionally bringing the Magatama along this time.

Notes:

Happy New Year everyone! While you're here check out this fan art by grisnyx over on twitter!

https://twitter.com/grisnyx/status/1479714960066310148?s=20

Chapter Text

A couple weeks had passed since the, admittedly unremarkable, meeting with the Chief Prosecutor. Despite the numerous concerns he’d had leading up to it, after a few words about his ‘disappearing act’, Miles was dismissed with an order to report back to the Prosecutor's Office the next morning, even being reinstated to his same office, which remained unclaimed in the passing months.

The chief did stipulate that Miles might not be assigned any cases for a while, but even with that minor caveat, he was hardly idle. Paperwork was generally unsympathetic to whether or not one was around to attend to it, and his absence had left ample opportunity for it to build up, both in personal and work related matters. He of course had Phoenix to help him out with this backlog, the firebird eagerly diving back into his role as paralegal.

Although, at times, perhaps too eagerly. Pulling away from his laptop, Miles' attention was drawn to the middle of the floor by a heavy groan and light thud. Phoenix was laid out on his back amongst the files he was reorganizing, wings out at his sides in a, to be on the nose, spread-eagle position.

“You look as though you’ve just had a crash landing," Miles observed.

“My brain's having one for sure. All these old cases are starting to bleed together. Was the crowbar the weapon in the CG-5 or the FO-B incident? Or was it both? Or, was it neither and I'm actually thinking of AA-2…”

“That second one is not a valid classification code," Miles pointed out, not that he remembered what is was supposed to be. His bad memory aside, he hadn't looked at those files in ages.

Phoenix picked up his head, squinting at something just off of his right. “...8. FO-8.”

“Perhaps you should take a break. You'll be of no help if you can't keep the files straight.”

Phoenix looked for a moment like he was holding back some retort, settling for an echoed ‘Perhaps’ instead. He tucked his wings in and, with a grunt of effort, rolled himself onto his front so he could stand. The movement sent the Magatama he still wore about his neck, its cord shortened to fit better, swinging until it settled back in place below his ruff, bright green against the yellow patch on his chest.

He unfurled his wings again, this time to stretch, before launching himself up onto Miles' desk. Miles preemptively slid a notepad out of the way before he landed. Phoenix’s eyes tracked its movement before drifting up to Miles' laptop and the page he'd been looking at. “House hunting notes?"

Miles hummed in affirmation. Unlike the office, the condo Miles had lived in for the past several years was not waiting for him upon his return, likely snapped up off the market soon after he'd forfeited it given the real estate market in their area was highly competitive. It might have been bittersweet, but Miles had very few memories attached specifically to his place of residence to feel much about its loss.

“So what's the status? Finally drawing up papers for that down payment on your dream home?”

Miles gave him his most unimpressed look. “You have an interesting idea of how this process goes."

"I know. Thats why you're the one looking at listings and not me."

The look flattened, though the firebird was right. Miles was the one with all the background information to decide what was and wasn't viable. Phoenix could only do so much to help.

“I think I've finally gathered enough options,” he said instead. “We’ll need to narrow them down even further before we start attending open houses, though this one in particular seems promising.”

“Yeah, it looked good.”

“... you didn't even look,” Miles pointed out. The firebird's eyes had been on the screen long enough to register it as a house listing and nothing more.

“No, not really,” he admitted, "but I trust your judgement."

Miles felt a pinch between his brows. Phoenix not helping with the main search was one matter, but the vetting had already been done. “The sentiment is noted, but that does not tell me what you think.”

“I think that it’s your place."

Miles’ expression shifted fully into a glare. “That you will be living in with me, so, believe it or not, your opinion does matter."

“Does it though?" he replied, genuine confusion in his tone.

It was enough to make Miles backpedal, his expression softening. “Do... do you truly not think so?”

“No? I mean…" He shuffled in place a bit, scratching at his leg with a talon. “You wouldn’t ask your pet its opinion before you move to a new place, would you?”

“You are hardly some pet,” Miles objected, slamming a hand on his desk for emphasis.

Phoenix jumped, wide eyes flicking up. “I know, it's just..." He retracted his head a bit as if he was trying to let himself be swallowed by his ruff. “It’s just… I've never needed to have an opinion, you know? You already had a place when we met. Same with Mia and these past few months with Maya. I moved in and you all found a space for me.” He shrugged, though he was deliberately avoiding Miles' eye. “Not like I need anything outside of being bound to someone.”

“It's not about anyone’s needs. I would prefer not to settle upon a listing that suits my sensibilities only to discover that you absolutely despise it."

“I liked your old place," he said as if that solved things.

“Well, it's a start,” Miles sighed. "Now what about my condo did you like?” He could then at least use whatever responses he got as a guide.

“You lived there,” Phoenix automatically replied. “Y-you know, because of the whole… bond… thing,” he then explained, looking frazzled. Miles gave him a questioning look, but he quickly moved on. “I’m just saying that you don't need to go out of your way for me. I’m pretty adaptable."

Miles stared at him long and hard, the symbiont shifting awkwardly under the scrutiny. “Come here," he said after a spell.

“What, am I in trouble now?" Phoenix replied in a teasing tone, not moving.

“Just come here."

He acquiesced this time, scooting over to sit beside Miles’ arm on the desk. He watched as the prosecutor recentered the laptop and opened up several tabs from his bookmarks.

Miles switched back to the initial page and adjusted the screen just enough that it was directed mostly towards Phoenix. “Look at this, and actually read it this time,” he instructed, pointing to the breakdown of the listing.

Phoenix tossed his head back as if to voice what an ordeal it was to be asked this, but his eyes soon trained themselves to the screen. He didn’t get far before his brow began to crease.

“It's a three bedroom? You only had two before.”

Miles nodded. "Most of the homes I've saved have three.”

“So… what?” he began. "You want another guest room?”

“No. One will be a dedicated guest room, but I have a different plan in mind for the second," Miles replied, leaving it there to see if he would catch on on his own accord.

Phoenix blinked slowly, gears turning in his head, though evidently in the wrong direction. “A home office then?”

“That is one potential use,” Miles agreed, though he never had much need for home office space. On the rare occasions he didn’t stay at the Prosecutor's Office late to finish up work, anything he took home would just get done on whatever flat surface was most convenient. “However, and not that you aren't welcome in my room, but I thought that you might have a space of your own. Your arrangement in Kurain inspired me.”

“That was just Mia's old room…"

“Your point?”

Phoenix started to open his beak to give one, but Miles cut him off before he had the chance.

“I’ve also been looking into homes with private outdoor spaces,” Miles switched tabs to one such listing and scrolling to an image of a fenced-in yard, “in the event you were so inclined to experience the outside world for a change.”

Phoenix’s eyes were wide. "But…"

“Don't. Difficult as it may be for you, you are not arguing with me on this matter. You are not moving into my space, we are moving into a new home together. I have been factoring you in from the very start in my choices, I just need to know if those choices have any merit to them.”

Phoenix replied by pressing his face into Miles’ shoulder.

Miles let a soft chuckle rumble in his chest, reaching up to gently pat Phoenix’s head. The firebird shifted at his touch, accompanying the movement with unintelligible sounds made in the back of his throat.

“If you’re trying to speak you need to stop burrowing into my jacket.”

The pressure being applied to his shoulder stopped, feathered face appearing moments later. “I like the yard,” he finally said, barely above a murmur.

“Was that so hard?” Miles said, making note of that on his pad. “Now will you please go through these listings as I requested?"

He expected some cheek from Phoenix, a last little bit of defiance for contrarian's sake. What he got was a loud sniff and a face being buried back into his shoulder. "Okay..." was muttered weakly in response.

Miles blinked in surprise, looking downwards at him. "Are you crying?

“N-no…" Phoenix replied unconvincingly. He shifted again so his eye appeared, large and shining. “It’s just really sweet..."

He could assess from the lack of distressing emotions emanating through their bond that this was the case and he shook his head at his companion’s ability to find sentiment in the oddest of places. “It's logical,” Miles corrected.

“Yeah, yeah," Phoenix said and there was that snark he'd been waiting for. With one last sniffle, he pulled away to give his full attention to the screen. "Alright, then. Let’s see what you've got."

Finally having garnered Phoenix's cooperation, Miles opened up his bookmarked folder of everything he'd saved, Phoenix balking at the size of the list.

“I did say we needed to narrow them down," Miles told him with a slight hum as the two of them set to their task for the afternoon.





Loathe as he was to admit it, Miles was somewhat grateful that von Karma's need for control had extended its influence even to Miles’ living arrangements, if only because it meant he'd little to do with the house hunting process when he'd first returned to the states to prosecute.

If his 20-year-old self had been forced to go through the same sort of runaround some of these sellers had put him through, he might have taken them to court (At 25 it was still tempting, but now he had better self-discipline).

But, after all was said and done, papers were signed, downpayments made, and he and Phoenix were finally settling into their new abode. It hadn't been a first choice, but the family home was a good middleground between Miles’ (admittedly) high standards and Phoenix's apparent lack thereof while still checking the most important boxes.

They'd been moved in for a little over a week now, with all of Miles' possessions officially out of storage and in the house (Gumshoe had eagerly offered his assistance in that particular task). Unpacking, however, was another beast of it's own. Between Miles’ busy schedule and furniture orders that had yet to arrive, many boxes still hadn’t been attended to aside from the items inside being sorted and moved to their proper rooms.

Today, Miles had finally found the time - and more importantly, resources - to tackle one of the more egregious rooms in terms of clutter - Phoenix’s. Specifically the office side of it (the firebird had still felt conflicted about taking up an entire space for himself, so they'd compromised) as the shelves that would finally allow them to unpack the myriad of boxes containing Miles' books and files had finally arrived yesterday.

Unfortunately, those shelving units had arrived unassembled and Miles had never fancied himself a handyman.

“I think that piece is facing the wrong way," Phoenix unhelpfully commented, overlooking Miles' workspace from atop the desk, his head craned sideways.

“I asked you for measuring tape, not criticism," Miles grumbled as he tried to get the wooden pieces to slot together along the dowels. He’d already put together two of these blasted things, why was the last one giving him issue?

“Yeah, but I don't think that's going to help here," Phoenix replied, though he dutifully picked up the requested item that lay beside him to ferry over to Miles. Miles muttered a quiet thanks as he accepted the item, double checking that the already assembled pieces were at least even (perhaps the issue was a manufacturing one?) while Phoenix returned to supervising. It was a familiar routine - Phoenix’s lack of opposable thumbs greatly limited how much he could actually assist in unpacking, so he liked to keep Miles company as he worked when he wasn't otherwise exploring every nook and cranny the house had to offer (Sans the outdoor area, as it was currently too cold outside for Phoenix's tastes). They had found that, despite the house being larger than both his condo and Mia Fey's apartment, it wasn't so large that he and Phoenix could be on opposite ends of the property and still be within the range the bond allotted him.

“I still think-" Phoenix began, though he was cut off by a chime from the other side of the room, where Miles' phone lay, far away from the chaos of construction. “I'll get it."

As the firebird went to go check on whatever the notification was, Miles squinted at the diagram again. Goddammit, it was the wrong way.

“It’s a text from Maya.”

“What does she want?” Miles said, rotating the board the proper way and hoping Phoenix was distracted enough not to notice.

“Something about a package before the preview cut off.” He scooped up the phone in his talons to deliver it into Miles' awaiting palm.

He unlocked the phone to read the message in full. “She’s planning on shipping down your belongings,” he relayed, furrowing his brow. There was also a picture included of a decently sized box covered in various Kurainese iconography - odd for one whose key argument over not needing the space was a lack of material possessions.

Phoenix addressed this contradiction with a question of his own. “Belongings? What belongings?"

“Should I ask her to clarify?” Miles asked, pausing from drafting his response to Maya.

“No,” he replied after thinking on it. “It’s probably just some old stuff of Mia's - lawyer things she has no use for, you know? Or stuff from the apartment Maya thinks is mine cause she saw me using it more.”

“Like my throw,” Miles said, his eyes trailing over to the object in question - a large flannel blanket bundled up amongst some pillows in the corner of the other major piece of furniture in the room, Phoenix’s sofabed.

“I told you you could have it back."

“No. I’ve not much use for it.” Phoenix had gotten far more mileage out of it as bedding than he ever did as the decorative item he'd bought it to be. Besides, if he did, he'd need to buy Phoenix some sort of replacement and the firebird had been dodgy about letting Miles get him things (No qualms when it came to bugging Miles to spend money on Maya, but the moment attentions turn to himself, he starts dragging his betaloned feet).

Nowhere was that fact more obvious than in this very room, where the only new furnishings were ones bought for the home office portion - exacerbated by the addition of the shelves. Once the books were unpacked and displayed Miles suspected the room was going to look like an office that just happened to have a sleeping area, rather than the intended reverse.

“Well, I'm sure whatever it is she'll be sending, it should help to make this room feel a little more ‘lived-in'," Miles remarked, finishing a confirmation that they'd keep an eye out for the package. Phoenix bristled a little at the dig, though he did not voice a response. Text sent, he handed the phone back off to Phoenix to set aside once more.

Miles then turned his attentions back to his assembly work, realigning that troublesome shelf and breathing a sigh of relief as it finally, finally, snapped into place. Another request was made to Phoenix, this time for the bag of nails for anchoring the backboard in place. The firebird deposited it, but lingered for a moment.

“So..." he began, “was it facing the wrong way afterall?” he asked, a smug look on his face suggesting that he already knew exactly what the answer to that question was.

Miles tossed the instruction sheet at him.





It was with deep, shaky breaths that Miles found himself awaking from familiar night terrors. Chest heaving, he pushed himself into an upright position, fingers digging into the bedsheets beneath him.

Sheets, not metal, he told himself, grounding himself into his surroundings. He wasn't there, he was at home - his new home he’d moved into with Phoenix - in bed, underneath blankets and a slight pressure on his legs that shifted slightly with every motion he made.

In any other circumstance that particular revelation might have brought alarm, but to Miles it only brought him further back to his senses, and he reached forward to let his hand sink into the soft feathers of his companion.

It was hardly the first time he’d awoken to Phoenix on his bed where he hadn't been before, though it was the first time since the firebird had his own room. Miles must have been fairly distressed to draw him out from down the hall.

“You called out for your dad,” Phoenix said to his unasked question. He was curled up in Miles' lap in a neat little ball. The early morning’s light was beginning to leak through his closed curtains, allowing Miles the visibility to make out a single eye opening. "I thought you weren’t having the nightmares anymore.”

His other hand ran through silver bangs, pushing them aside. It had been nearly a year since his sleep had been plagued by the memories of his father’s final moments - long enough to falsely believe it'd lost its grip on his subconscious. “They’ve always been particularly bad close to the date,” Miles offered as way of explanation.

Phoenix hummed softly in response, eye closing again as if to return to sleep. "The anniversary’s pretty soon, isn't it?"

“In two weeks,” Miles confirmed, shifting his legs to signal to Phoenix he was going to move. The firebird slunk off, resettling in the middle of the bed as Miles swung his legs over the side.

“I have been thinking of him recently. My father," he confessed, back now to Phoenix. “I…” He hesitated, words as heavy on his tongue as they'd been on his mind. Thoughts of his father were always… complicated. A mixture of memories both fond and painful, with a dash of bittersweet bouncing between regret of what could have been and relief that his father never had to see what von Karma had molded him into. "I returned to face the past," he continued, “but I realize von Karma is not the only part of my past I’ve run from.”

His fingers clutched at the sheets again, gathering the fabric within his fists. Behind him he felt Phoenix shift closer, prompting Miles to take a slow breath to steady himself.

"There's somewhere I’d like to go. Someplace I should've visited a long time ago," he said once he'd found his words again, twisting around to face Phoenix fully. “And I'd like you to accompany me.”

The weight of the request hung in the air. It was without question that Phoenix would be taking this journey alongside him - even if they weren't bound, the symbiont was far too loyal to leave him in times like these. It had felt pertinent to ask anyway, because Miles needed him to know it wasn't just out of necessity, but out of a different sort of bond they'd formed.

He wanted Phoenix to come.

And from the way Phoenix whispered his affirmation, leaning all his weight into Miles' side as they greeted the morning in silence, Miles knew his message had been received.





They left bright and early the morning of the 28th, the sun just barely cresting the horizon line.

Their destination was out of the city - not nearly as out of the way as Kurain, but the route was similarly off the beaten path, consisting of quiet backroads with nary another car in sight, especially so early in the morning. The kinds of roads that were perfect settings for getting lost - both in direction and in one’s own thoughts. And while the GPS he was following made the former rather difficult to do, his mind was want to drift to unpleasant thoughts, fueled by sleep plagued by nightmares and anxiety.

Phoenix was his guide in this matter, filling up the quiet between the automated directions as he talked about everything from Maya and Pearl’s recent circus trip to recaps of the bizarre drama he’d started watching (he’d buckled enough in his stubbornness that Miles had been able to buy a TV for his room). Miles had long since lost the thread of the mostly one-sided conversation, content to let the firebird chatter about whatever topic popped into his head as it kept him out of his own.

It worked, up until their destination came into view, old stone walls rising up before them.

Cypress Grove Cemetery - his father’s final resting place.

Belatedly the GPS made an announcement towards their arrival, cutting off Phoenix mid-sentence.

“Oh, we’re here,” he stated, abandoning his train of thought entirely. Miles hummed, focused on pulling into the mostly empty car lot near the front gate and parking.

He stepped out of the car first, scanning the area. As they’d hoped by arriving so early, it appeared that no one else was in the vicinity. Miles passed this information on to Phoenix as he opened the passenger side door to let him out. The firebird nodded, gently scooping up the bouquet he’d been safeguarding to pass over before settling upon the prosecutor’s shoulders like a boa.

“Ready?” he asked.

Miles took a deep breath and the first step onto the cemetery grounds. “As I’ll ever be.”

They moved through a veritable maze of headstones, following a directory Miles had the foresight to look up before their arrival to a plot toward the center of the grounds. Vague memories were slowly coming back to Miles from when he last took this very route on the day of the funeral, paths familiar though changed by time. One strong image, however, was coming forth in his mind, and when they neared one of the large trees for which the cemetery was named, Miles knew they were there.

Miles kneeled before one of gravestones beneath the shade of the great cypress, feeling Phoenix slide from his shoulders to the ground beside him as he did.

“Hello Father,” Miles said, offering the bouquet. “I’m sorry I’m late."

Only the wind answered, a gentle breeze like a sigh blowing through to stir the silence. Miles breathed out a sigh of his own as he folded his hands in his lap.

“I’m alright," he said before Phoenix could ask, concern from the firebird's share of their bond ebbing in. Miles couldn't imagine what things felt like on his end, as Miles himself could hardly identify the sort of emotions that sitting here was stirring up within him. Grief? Catharsis? Perhaps some mixture of both or something else entirely.

“It’s strange," Miles said, voicing his thoughts. "I haven’t been here in sixteen years - at first by circumstance, then by choice. I didn’t think I deserved to - how could I when his death might’ve been my fault all along?” He reached out, gently running his fingers across the epitaph, tracing out the grooves that spelled out that fateful date. “Now that I’m finally back… I’m not sure how to feel. I’m not even sure what to say.”

The silence hung in the air for a long moment, carried by the breeze that continued to rustle past through the trees. Then, Phoenix spoke up.

“Tell me about your memories of him. The good ones.”

Miles let out a sardonic huff. “You can’t possibly want to hear about that.”

“Sure I would!” Phoenix pouted. “You don't have to if you don’t want to, it's just a suggestion. I know you don't like talking about your childhood much."

Miles' hand found its way to his elbow, clutching it. "That's not... entirely it. Much of my childhood, my past in general, is a bit of a blur. I may have blocked things out in an attempt to protect myself. What I do remember... I fear is not especially interesting."

“You should tell me anyway, if you're up to it,” Phoenix said, giving Miles a sympathetic pat with his wing. “Maybe you’ll even remember more than you realize.”

Miles looked over, the symbiont gazing up at him with a warm, open expression. It was difficult to say ‘no’ to that face.

Turning back, he released his arm to fold his hands back across his lap, squaring his shoulders so he was fully facing his father’s grave once more. Miles took in a breath and pulled forth one of those few cherished memories that he held close to his heart.

“He taught me how to play chess.”

Phoenix let out a snort and Miles immediately cut himself off, folding his arm across his body again so he could curl in on himself.

"No, no, no, I’m sorry!" the symbiont apologized, flapping his wings frantically in a placating manner. “It's cute! And fitting that that's one of the things you remember most." Miles gave him a suspicious look, slowly lowering his guard. Phoenix mirrored the motion, wings folding back in. “Please, go on. I promise I'll keep quiet."

Miles highly doubted that, but he continued with his story anyway.

“We played regularly - at least once a week most likely. I was proud, even back then, so I never wanted him to go easy on me. He usually won as a result, but he would always make a point to coach me so I'd do better the next time.” Miles felt a small smile drifting to his face. "I think I beat him exactly once. I was so shocked I couldn't believe it at first. I even accused him of letting me win to the point where we retraced the game moves so he could prove it was a fair victory.”

Phoenix chuckled, belatedly ducking his head to mute himself as he promised, but Miles didn't heed it. It was admittedly rather silly, in retrospect. His father had probably thought so too at the time, yet he still went to the lengths to reassure his son.

“He put that level of dedication into everything he did,” he continued. “Especially his work. You should’ve seen him in court, Phoenix, he was electrifying to watch. The conviction with which he presented his arguments, he commanded the attention of everyone in the room with just a few words. It's why I so desperately wanted to be like him.

At home I would act out mock trials to emulate his - with lesser stakes of course. Cases like ‘which of my stuffed animals took the last cookie’ and what not. Though in school I -“ Miles began, then stopped. He vaguely recalled… something. Something that had happened in class that he’d been so proud of, because he'd gotten to use what he'd learned from his father, but the memory was muddled.

“Miles? You okay?"

His already tenuous grip on the memory slipped at the interruption, jerking him to attention. Sighing, Miles ran his fingers through his hair. “Apologies. I can’t quite recall."

“No, no, it’s fine. It was over a decade ago. I think most people would have difficulties remembering that far back.”

Miles nodded. “From what I was starting to recall, I believe Larry was involved, so perhaps its for the best I've forgotten." Though he couldn't help feeling a bit of disappointment in his memory.

Phoenix laughed aloud this time. “It’s nice though, hearing about your childhood. It feels… nostalgic. In a weird, second-hand way.”

“It does," Miles agreed, though not for the second-hand remark. It was just nostalgic, letting himself draw upon those memories he usually kept locked deep within.

Perhaps that was one of those odd emotions that had been welling up from the start.

He shared a few more small memories before they decided it was time to go. Paying their final respects to his father, Miles promised that it would not be another decade and a half before his next visit, before they returned to the car.

They were approximately halfway home when the music from Mile’s phone suddenly stopped to make way for a phone call.

“It's Gumshoe,” Phoenix read as the contact appeared.

“What does he want...” Miles groaned, extremely tempted to just let it keep ringing.

“I dunno, but you better answer it or he's just gonna call you right back."

Conceding that the firebird was probably right, Miles accepted the call just before it could go into its final ring.

“Detective, this had better be an emergency,” he growled.

“Sorry, Mr. Edgeworth, sir," came Gumshoe’s voice over the car speaker. “I don’t wanna bug you on your off day, but…,” he trailed off, briefly interrupted by a voice in the background shouting ‘Traitor!’.

Miles’ grip on the steering wheel tightened. He knew that voice.

“Maya?!” Phoenix exclaimed.

“I’m sorry!” the detective repeated. “I’ve been trying to tell her that civilians shouldn’t be on crime scenes, but-“

“Hold on a moment,” Miles interrupted. “Crime scene?”

“At a circus of all places, can you believe it? The ring leader was murdered last night.”

He shared a quick glance with Phoenix, suspicion sinking in. “This wouldn’t happen to be the Big Berry Circus, would it?”

“Uh, yeah, actually. Something like that. How’d you know, sir?”

Miles let out the heaviest of sighs. Of course it was.

“Anyways, this fancy-pants magician is accused of the murder and Maya here is insisting we got it wrong.”

“Because you do!”
Maya shouted again. "Max is innocent and we're gonna find the evidence to prove it!”

“But pal, I don't want ya to get into trouble,”
Gumshoe replied, voice going a little muffled as he'd likely turned away from the speaker to address her.

“That girl…” Phoenix groaned softly.

“She’s certainly enthusiastic," Miles remarked, briefly entertaining the idea of just leaving the two of them to each other. Gumshoe could keep her from getting into too much trouble, afterall. “Detective, bring Maya to the station. Phoenix and I are on our way back to the city, we'll collect her there."

You got it, sir!” Gumshoe said, Miles picturing the salute he was doing with his free hand. “Oh, but while you're here, there's, uh, something you should know about this case.”

“I haven't been assigned it, have I?" Miles asked flatly. He'd yet to be given a case since his return, but it would be just his sort of dumb luck to receive one on the one day he historically took off.

No. Prosecutor von Karma's taking it. Just found out this morning.”

“So she's back,” Miles replied cooly. He'd been expecting her eventual return, surprised only by the timing of it. ”Is she around?”

“Not that I've seen, but I can keep you updated if that changes."

“If you would. I’ll see you in about half an hour, Detective.”

Aye aye, sir,” he replied, disconnecting the call and leaving them to process everything they’d just learned as music steadily began to fill the car once more.

It was Phoenix who, unsurprisingly, spoke first. “Sisters, huh?"

Sisters indeed. “Let's worry about yours first, shall we?”

Chapter 41

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Upon arrival to Criminal Affairs, Miles expected there to be some form of argument. Maya, much like her brother, was particularly stubborn once her mind was made up. She probably wasn’t going to come along without a fight.

He just thought he’d be the one she’d be fighting with.

“-and you would’ve just been okay with that?!”

He walked in to Maya near shouting, eyes trained fully on a familiar blue-haired figure.

So much for only worrying about one of them…

Neither of the young women had noticed his arrival, deep in the middle of what sounded to be a rather heated exchange. A few officers stood around watching with a mix of interest and concern, including Gumshoe, though none moved to intervene, likely kept at bay by fear of the whip Franziska held at the ready.

“A von Karma strives for perfection in all she does,” Franziska huffed in response.

“Who cares about perfection?” Maya snapped.

Franziska’s whip hand twitched, but she showed restraint and held back, scoffing instead. “I do not expect a simpleton such as yourself to understand.”

“I don’t want to understand,” was Maya’s retort and Miles felt the creeping memory of an eerily similar argument he’d once had with Phoenix. Judging from the way the firebird shifted, he remembered as well. “I just want to know what your deal is. It’s like you’ve got some sort of grudge against me.”

“You are too full of yourself, Maya Fey. I do not have to time to waste on someone like you.”

“No?” Maya replied, incredulous. “Because I heard that when I got arrested you insisted on taking -“

“Enough!” This time, Franziska did not hold herself back, whip cracking against the ground and causing a stir amongst the surrounding officers. Maya flinched at the action, but stood her ground.

Opening made, Miles took the opportunity to intervene. “That’s enough of that, Franziska,” he said as way of announcement, pushing past a few of the officers. “You can’t take your frustrations out on whomever you feel like.”

Franziska, who’s back had been mostly towards him, spun around, eyes widening a fraction. “You!”

“Miles!”

Maya’s near simultaneous exclamation drew Franziska’s attention back over to her, overturning her brief moment of surprise. “Of course,” she scoffed. “Even now, he still comes to your rescue.”

“Hey! Who says I need to be rescued from you?

“No one is being rescued,” Miles interjected before they could get into again.

Franziska ‘hmphed’ at him. “Good. Then leave, this does not concern you.”

“I’m making it my concern,” Miles said, easily sliding into a combative tone that was familiar between the two of them. He held back only because of a warning nudge from Phoenix, sighing. “Franziska, we need to talk.”

“Talk? Ha! I have nothing to say to the man who lost his perfect record and then left like a coward dog,” she spat. “‘Chooses death’ indeed.”

That note… Phoenix groaned. The symbiont had never been a fan of the wording, though Miles stood by the metaphor and how it reflected his feelings at the time.

“Hey, that’s not fair!” Maya countered. “Do you even know what he’s been throu- AH!”

The whip hit its mark, Franziska reeling it back to snap menacingly over her own head. “Quiet you! Your opinion is not required.”

Maya frowned deeply as she rubbed at her arm, her pride evidently more wounded than her body, because she was already opening her mouth to continue despite the warning.

Miles gave her a look, silently imploring her to back down for her own sake, before turning back to his sister. “Leave her alone, Franziska. This discussion is between us.”

She scoffed again, arms coming down to fold across her chest. “There is no discussion. Were you not listening earlier when I said I have nothing to say to you?”

Miles let out a slow breath, lowering his voice to try a different approach. “Please, this is important. Stop running from me.”

It was, evidently, the wrong one. “Do not speak to me of running!” Franziska snapped as she tilted her head back, doing her best to look down at him despite the height difference. “My entire life you’ve left me behind, forcing me to chase after you! Now it’s your turn to do the same.”

The sudden admission was enough to silence a further rebuttal, Miles’ eyes going wide.

“What…” ‘do you mean?’ he’d been about to ask, but he knew exactly what. He’d just, perhaps foolishly as she would say, assumed she’d stopped caring about that.

“You listen to me carefully, Miles Edgeworth, for I shall not repeat myself. I intend to put an end to your foolishness once and for all! By my hands you will know what perfection looks like - what it means to be a prosecutor!”

“Is that so?” he remarked softly, trying to keep his tone neutral. She didn’t know how he’d agonized over the creed instilled upon both of them and the man it’d driven him to become. That he’d left to unlearn that very thing she still clearly clung to, despite everything her father had done in the pursuit of it.

He couldn’t expect Franziska to want to distance herself the way Miles did, but the reminder still stung.

His impassiveness, like everything else he seemed to do, must have displeased her, for Franziska scowled at him and sneered, “I’ve had enough of this,” before turning heel to walk away.

“Franziska, wait.”

“No!” She snapped. “We’re done here. Go home, and take her with you.” She roughly gestured at Maya.

“Franziska!” Miles called after her, but she paid him no heed as she left the room.

Hey, you tried, Phoenix said sympathetically, though Miles couldn’t help but wonder if he could’ve done more.

A collection of whispers sounded from behind, quickly reminding Miles that their audience consisted of more than just Maya and Phoenix. Squaring his shoulders, Miles shot a glare in their direction. “I do hope, for the sake of future salary reviews, that you all have truly nothing better to be doing right now,” he snapped.

With muttered affirmations, the gathered officers scrambled back to their duties.

A particular figure in a green trench coat began to follow in their tracks, but Miles stopped him with a groan. “Not you, Gumshoe. You’re supposed to be here.”

“Yes, sir! Sorry, sir!” He fell back into place, standing at attention.

“I mean…” Maya said, hands clasped behind her back as she slunk forward to join them, ”technically he’s supposed to be at the circus.”

Miles gave her an exasperated look. “Don’t start. You’re not off the hook yet, young lady.”

Young lady?” Maya parroted, crinkling her noise. “Okay, Dad.”

Miles rolled his eyes as Phoenix snickered at him. He supposed he had that coming.

“She really wasn’t any trouble, sir,” Gumshoe insisted, as if Maya was at risk of a salary review like the others. “I was just worried about something bad happening, y’know.”

“Something bad’s already happened. I’m telling you, Miles, Max didn’t do it!”

“Tell me on the way out, then.” Maya pouted, ready to argue more, but Miles cut her off again. “If you’re so certain, then let Gumshoe do his job and find the evidence to prove your theory.”

“I can check in on forensics and stuff while I’m here before I head back out to the field,” Gumshoe added.

Maya did not look entirely pleased, but allowed herself to be steered out of the precinct.



“You know they only suspect him cause he can fly,” Maya said with a huff after giving a full rundown of the murder.

As it was, the ringmaster’s body had been found after a rehearsal, slumped over a crate after being dealt a killing blow to the head. Any trace of the weapon had yet to be found nor, oddly enough, much trace of the killer. Last night’s snowfall had resulted in a clear trail of the victim’s footprints leading straight to the crime scene, but no one else’s. Galactica, however, was the last to see the ringmaster alive, making him the prime suspect.

Miles had to pause to make sure he’d heard her correctly, hand frozen on the car door as he held it open. “…fly?”

“Gumshoe said it himself,” she replied as she slumped down in the seat, waiting for Miles to get in on the other side. “He said there was no way the killer wouldn’t have left footprints unless they could fly. That’s Max’s big trick - he flies all around the bigtop to start his performance!”

“You do realize that that’s just a trick, right?” Phoenix was now out, settling momentarily on the center console.

“Duh,” she remarked, adjusting her arms so Phoenix could move to her lap. “That’s why he couldn’t have done it!”

“Of course…” the symbiont deadpanned.

“Is that the only reason he’s suspected?” Miles asked, buckling his seatbelt. Arrests had been made with minimal evidence in the past, but usually not that minimal.

“Well… no,” Maya admitted, deflating a bit. “There was a witness who says he saw Max at the crime scene and they found his hat there - but that could’ve been planted!”

“And the witness?”

“You complain all the time about witnesses either getting things wrong or flat out lying.”

Miles chose not the reply because she did have a point, instead turning the ignition to start the car.

“Where are we even going?” she asked as the vehicle began to move towards the exit of the parking deck.

You, are going home. I’m bringing you to the train station.”

“What?!” she exclaimed, jostling Phoenix. “But what about Max?”

“We can keep you updated?” Phoenix offered as he maneuvered back into a comfortable position once she’d settled again. “We might not be working it, but I doubt Gumshoe would keep anything about the case from Miles if he asked.”

“I’ll consider it,” Miles muttered, ignoring the look Phoenix was giving him.

“Hmmm… I guess I can take that. Plus I did promise Pearly I wouldn’t be gone all day, but I just had to know what was happening when I saw the news this morning.”

“You have connections at the precinct,” Miles pointed out. “You could’ve just called if you wanted details.” She might not have gotten them, but it would’ve been a more reasonable course of action.

“I did! I called Gumshoe cause you guys were taking a personal day. He said he was too busy at the crime scene to talk so…”

“…so you decided to show up,” Phoenix finished with a heavy sigh. “You’re lucky you didn’t get arrested for trespassing.”

“Honestly, I think they thought I was one of the performers.”

Miles found himself making a face at that. Maya's attire may be unorthodox, but it hardly screamed ‘circus’. “It may be time for a refresher course on making sure unauthorized personnel are not allowed onto crime scenes,” he remarked.

“No fun. Either of you.”

“Ah yes,” Phoenix droned, “murder investigations. Peak entertainment.”

Maya poked at his side, causing the firebird to yelp. “Not the investigation part. Where it’s happening!” She sighed a bit. “I didn’t even get to meet any of the performers.”

“See, this is why no one can bring you anywhere,” Phoenix replied, gaining himself another poke.



“So what were you and Franziska even arguing about?” Miles asked after a little while, the car having lulled into a silence. “You were both quite worked up.”

Maya made a noise of disgust. “Ugh, she just came in, demanding reports or something, and then got all mad when she saw me. I wasn’t even doing anything! So I asked her what her problem was and she just got even madder! Told me I was lucky I never got prosecuted by her, or else I would've definitely been found guilty. Never mind the fact I was, oh I don’t know, innocent?”

“Unfortunately, under normal circumstances, she never would have minded that you were innocent. She likely wouldn’t have even considered it,” Miles said sardonically. That must have been about where they’d walked in.

“I’d give her something to consider…” Maya grumbled before catching herself. “Sorry, I know she’s your sister and all.”

Miles shook his head. “Don’t apologize. She is a product of her father’s teachings.”

“Well, yeah, but, you were raised by him too and you’re not so… so…” She made an incomprehensible gesture with her hands.

Miles chuckled softly. “Be glad we never met when I was younger. I’ve... mellowed out some.”

“That feels like an understatement,” Phoenix commented.

It was true, but Miles still rolled his eyes. “Oh hush, you hadn’t met me either.”

“No, but…” and there was something in his tone Miles did Not Like in the slightest, “I’ve seen court records.”

It was only the fact that he was still driving that kept Miles from leveling the symbiont with a bewildered stare, because when and why? He almost inquired after that remark, but Maya interrupted him.

“…you didn’t have a whip too, did you?” she hesitantly asked, a concept which Phoenix found amusing judging from the stifled snort he let out.

Miles let it slide, for now. “No, nothing of the sort.”

“Good,” Maya said, nodding. “Cause I’d be pretty mad if you were secretly good at something cool and never told me.”

He quirked a brow. “You think assaulting people is cool?”

“Hey, don’t ‘lawyer’ me, you know what I meant! You have to admit the whip’s kinda cool… when she’s not using it on you, at least.”

“Did she hit you?” Phoenix asked, his mother-hen mode activated. “Are you hurt?”

“I'm fine, you worry-wart.” Maya pushed at him a little. “It stung a bit, but not as bad as you would think it would have.”

“That likely means she held back,” Miles offered. Which was good, if not perplexing. Franziska probably only held back with him out of some form of familial obligation. “It’s bad enough you’ve gotten caught in the crossfires of our bizarre sibling rivalry, I don't need you getting harmed as well.”

Maya didn’t reply, leading Miles to believe that was the end of that line of discussion until, after a moment, she spoke up again.

“Is that what she meant then? When she said she’d been chasing you?” There was an uncharacteristic hesitance to her tone as she posed her question.

Slowing to match the speed of the cars ahead of him, Miles risked a glance in her direction, briefly meeting Phoenix’s eye from his position in the circle of her arms. Maya herself was looking away, idly toying with one of the firebird’s tail feathers as she waited for a response.

He began it with a quiet hum. “In a sense.”

“You don’t have to say anything if it’s a sore subject.” Her voice had gone muffled by Phoenix’s ruff.

“It’s not,” he assured her. “Rather, no more so than anything else regarding our upbringing. von Karma always had high expectations of us, especially Franziska. She was only 13 when she passed the bar exam.”

13?!” Maya exclaimed.

Miles nodded. “I’m afraid that I had become a standard she was held to and expected to surpass - which I didn’t exactly discourage. When I became a prosecutor, it meant she had to as well, lest she fall behind and disappoint the von Karma legacy.”

“Legacy, huh…” Maya muttered, prompting an inquisitive noise from the symbiont she was still partially wrapped around. “Well, it’s just that… I actually get where she’s coming from. After Sis left, Aunt Morgan would remind me all the time about how strong her spiritual powers had been and how hard I had to work to get on the same level - especially as an heir of the Master.

“I didn’t mind as much early on - I mean, I adored my sister, why wouldn’t I want to be more like her? But it got worse as I got older and the expectations got higher. Then there was that part of me that couldn’t help feeling a little bitter sometimes, like Sis abandoned me to deal with our aunt and the Fey legacy all by myself.”

The car grew quiet for a long moment, Phoenix speaking up first with a quiet, “I had no idea.”

“That was the point,” Maya replied, giving him a playful nudge. “Then Sis would’ve known too. You couldn’t hide anything her.”

“Hey…” he barely protested.

“And you think that’s what Franziska is feeling?” Miles asked.

“I know that's what she’s feeling. That… might be why she keeps getting so mad at me too, actually. She probably thinks you’ve replaced her - it’s why I was jealous of Nick for a while.”

“H-huh? Of me?!”

“You lived with her, Nick. You two were together all the time while I was stuck back home doing acolyte stuff. I know you didn’t have much control over that, but it still stung sometimes.”

“I’m sorry…” the symbiont murmured, nuzzling into her.

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault. And it’s not your fault, either,” Maya said, causing Miles to flinch a bit when she suddenly jabbed him in the shoulder.

He sighed. “While I appreciate the sentiment, I feel the situations are a tad different.”

“Maybe not. Mia was constantly reaching out to me - we talked about her cases, she gave me evidence to hold on to, confided to me when Nick came along. If I didn’t have all those little reminders that she hadn’t forgotten about me, I might’ve been the same way as Franziska. I mean, I wouldn’t have been as rude as she is about it - did you know she personally requested to prosecute my case? Just cause she was jealous? Who even does that?!”

Miles let out a soft sigh because he knew exactly the type of people who did that unfortunately well.

Maya reached over again, this time to lay her hand against his arm. “All I’m saying is that, maybe, she really does need you to chase after her now.”



After dropping Maya off - who promised to return sometime in the near future with Pearl for a real visit and a tour of their ‘fancy new house’ as she called it - Miles lingered for a moment, fiddling with his phone. Phoenix followed his movements, quirking his head curiously as a recent contact was pulled up and subsequently called.

Detective Dick Gumshoe speaking!” the eager voice of the detective called out after a few rings.

“Are you still at the precinct?”

“Straight to the point, huh?” Phoenix muttered half under his breath.

“Ah! Mr. Edgeworth!” Gumshoe exclaimed, clearly neglecting to have checked his caller ID. “Sorry sir, I was just checking in with forensics, but I guess I lost track of the time since that monkey swiped my watch.”

“M-monkey?” Phoenix exclaimed.

“Yeah, the circus has got this monkey; Loves shiny things - jewelry, equipment, trophies, anything he can get his paws on apparently. Hoards it all away somewhere. I was gonna go look for it whenever I got back - which'll be as soon as I can!” he hastily added as if suddenly remembering who was on the other end.

“Don’t rush yourself, I was actually hoping you hadn’t left yet. I want you to forward all relevant details about the case to me. Autopsy report, forensics results, evidence list, whatever you have access to.”

“S-sir?!” he stammered. “But what about Ms. von Karma?”

“Do not mistake me, it’s still her assignment, but I would like to follow its progression.” His connection to the case may be secondary, but he was going to follow through as thoroughly as he would one of his own.

“Of course, sir! I’ll get right on it.”

“Also,” Miles said before he could hang up to carry out the request, “please keep my involvement between us. I’d prefer if Franziska not thought I was trying to steal her case."

“Understood.”

Miles ended the call there, cutting the engine back on so they could finally be on their way back home. His hand moved to the gear shift, lingering as he felt a lingering pair of eyes upon him.

“What?” he asked as he shifted over to ‘drive’.

“Nothing,” Phoenix replied, still giving him that look.

“I’m simply covering all our bases,” Miles explained.

“Still didn’t say anything,”

“You’re thinking it.”

The firebird hummed a long note, neither confirming nor denying the claim. “So we’re going to the trial, right?”

“I imagine my presence is expected in some capacity. How else will Franziska show me how to be the exact thing I’m working not to?” came Miles’ dry response.

“…maybe it won’t be that bad?” Phoenix offered. “You haven’t seen her in, how many years? You’d improved some when we first met compared to how you were when you started off prosecuting.”

Miles groaned quietly. “This again. I still don’t know why you were ever looking into my early trials to begin with!”

“It was just the one!” he explained, then his tone shifted quiet. “The one… where you went up against Mia…”

“The… oh.” Now things suddenly made a lot more sense. Not just because obviously Phoenix would have access to Mia Fey’s court records, but because of the details of that particular case…

It wasn’t him the firebird had been looking into, he just happened to be there.

“Phoenix…”

“We’re off topic,” Phoenix said, which they admittedly were, so Miles let him push the subject away with a mental note to save it for a better time. “The point I wanted to make was that maybe she’ll surprise you.”

Miles shook his head, a small, but fond smile finding its way upon his lips. “Ever the optimist. I have little reason to believe that, but… we should go, regardless. Maya is right, I should keep reaching out and making myself available, otherwise I may risk driving her away entirely.”

“Good,” Phoenix replied. “Just, don’t let Maya know you said she was right, or we’ll never hear the end of it.”

“It’ll be our secret, then.”



By the time they'd arrived home, Miles had all the relevant information on Galactica’s case waiting for him in his inbox. Gathering up his laptop, the two of them moved into Phoenix’s room to go over the dossier, filling in some of the finer details Maya’s quick recount had left out.

The rehearsal was attended by the victim and defendant, as well as the ventriloquist, head clown, and animal tamer. All participants went their separate ways after it ended, except for Berry and Galactica, who retired to the ringmaster’s room to discuss salary negotiations. The autopsy report also revealed that it wasn’t simply blunt force trauma that had done Berry in, but specifically a snapped vertebrae. Whatever the murder weapon was, it had struck hard.

The last thing of note was the crate Maya had mentioned the body being found atop of, though perhaps ‘trunk’ was a more accurate term. It was large, heavy, and locked when they’d found it. Forensics had taken it back with them for further inspection.

“Did they find anything?” Phoenix asked, listening to the recap from his sofa bed while Miles worked at the desk.

“It was empty sans for a single bottle of pepper.”

“Pepper? As in pepper pepper?” Miles looked in his direction to see the firebird miming a shaking motion with his wing. When Miles nodded in confirmation, he furrowed his brow. “Weird.”

Weird was one way to put it. The trunk and its lone content felt too out of place to be there by happenstance, but they lacked the proper context to discern any deeper meaning from them.

“What other details do you have? Wasn’t there a witness?”

“I was getting to that,” Miles said, switching over to the tab with the testimony. “His name is Lawrence Curls, though evidently he goes by the name ‘Moe’. He’s the head clown. The murder took place right outside of his lodgings. By his account, he had gone to bed right after rehearsal and was alerted by a loud thump. He arose to see the silhouette of the defendant standing outside his window.”

Phoenix didn’t let him get much further in his synopsis. “Hold it! Just the silhouette? How did he know it was Max then?”

Miles smiled a bit. Leave it to Phoenix to immediately go on the defensive.

“There’s a note that Galactica is famed for his ‘three symbols’ - a cloak, hat, and roses. Mr. Curls could clearly make out the shape of the former two.”

“Ah… now that you say that, I think Maya might have mentioned those symbols a few times. But you said he only saw two of them.”

“It was 10 o’clock at night, Phoenix. I’ll forgive him from missing some details in the dark.”

Phoenix made a grumbling noise, one Miles had learned to interpret that the firebird was not entirely satisfied, but lacked the words to launch a proper rebuttal.

Miles took it as cue to continue. “The rest of his testimony is not entirely relevant to the case,” he said, choosing his words carefully. The cryptic phrasing was enough to draw Phoenix over, landing on Miles’ shoulder to read the… choice words the clown had offered officers in reference to Galactica.

“Ah.”

Miles hummed quietly. “It appears that, despite his apparent popularity with the crowds, Galactica is not well liked amongst his peers.”

Phoenix lit up, hopping over to the desk in his enthusiasm. “Then that’s reason for someone to want to frame him!”

“True, but I have a counterpoint - if the goal was to be rid of Galactica, then why wasn’t he the victim? By contrast, Berry was beloved according to various accounts from the crew and performers. No one had any motive to kill him.”

“Okay, then counter-counterpoint,” Phoenix retorted, looking pleased at the unamused frown Miles gave him, “what’s Max’s motive then?”

Miles smirked and the firebird’s smug expression fell immediately. “Salary negotiations.”

“Th-that’s…!”

He leaned back a bit in his chair, arms crossing. “Yes?”

“Hold on, I’m thinking."

Miles shook his head, turning his eye to their surroundings while the symbiont deliberated.

Maya’s ‘care package’ as she was calling it had arrived about a week ago and with its contents the room was finally beginning to look more homey. Miles’ reference books on the shelves were now joined by an assortment of books and documents from Mia Fey’s collection, not all of which were law related. A few DVDs were stacked up by the TV (one of the few things he was able to wear Phoenix down over and buy for him), and the sleeping area was similarly stacked with some extra pillows and blankets.

His gaze drifted just off to an end table, where a picture frame held a selfie Maya had taken as she grinned wildly at the camera. Beside her was her sister, also smiling, though more subdued, and an awkward Phoenix nestled between then - one of the only times, Phoenix had noted while trying not to get choked up, that he’d let them photograph him. Beside it was another, smaller frame hosting only a distinct, sunflower-shaped badge.

(Phoenix did get choked up at the sight of it and they’d had to put a hold on unpacking the box for the day.)

Miles found his attention drawn back as the firebird launched into a fervent counterargument on how contract disputes weren’t a valid motive without evidence that there even was a dispute, and their own past experiences that anyone could wear a distinct set of clothing. He lamented, not for the first time, that Phoenix couldn’t wear a badge like that of his own. He would be quite the force behind the defense’s bench.

“Plus I still think there’s something to those missing roses,” Phoenix continued. “And the missing footprints, and missing murder weapon… a lot of missing stuff, really.”

“The investigation’s still ongoing, it’s entirely possible we may have more details later.” Though as long as they were on the same page as the investigative team, Miles was content for their purposes. “In any event, it's not as though we’ll be presenting the arguments in court tomorrow.”

Phoenix laughed quietly to himself. “Oh yeah… guess I got a little carried away.”

“Well, if he’s lucky, perhaps Galactica’s attorney will be just as enthusiastic as you.”

“Who is defending him, anyway?”

“Unassigned, as far as I know,” Miles answered as he closed the laptop. “We may not find out until the trial.”

Phoenix let out a quiet, drawn out hum, toying with a pen that rested near his foot. “Hey, Miles?” he asked. “What do you think? Do you think Max really is the killer?”

Miles took a moment to consider his response. “I… do not know. My natural reaction still defaults towards guilty, but truthfully the evidence is not strong enough for me to say that with complete confidence.”

The symbiont nodded. “Maya believes in him, which makes me want to believe in him, but it’s not like either us have even spoken to the guy. Plus I know your sister’s gonna push for a guilty verdict no matter what, but that just makes me want to defend him more.” He rubbed at the tip of his beak, sighing slightly. “But we're not taking this one, so it doesn’t really matter.”

Miles was quiet for a moment as he observed Phoenix, crossed arms moving to crossed fingers that rested upon the lower half of his face. “…it’s not a bad thing to want to believe in someone, despite the circumstances. In fact, it seems to be a talent of yours.”

“Mia taught me that…” he replied in a small voice, his eyes falling over to the same photograph Miles had been looking at moments before. “That it’s a defense attorney’s job to believe in their clients to the end. It’s just weird when they aren’t your clients.”

“That’s never stopped you from derailing my cases before,” Miles remarked. He certainly hadn’t been defending people like Will Powers or Director Hickfield after all.

Phoenix snorted. “Yeah, well, too bad it’s not your case to derail then, huh?”

“I think Franziska would rather be shot than relinquish a trial to me,” Miles said with a grimace, pushing himself to a standing position. Honestly nothing short of a natural disaster would force her to yield, and even that was tentative.

Phoenix gave him a look of sympathy as he clambered up to perch on the prosecutor’s shoulder, both having come to the unspoken agreement that their deliberation was done for now. There were several uncertainties still surrounding the whole affair, but those would have to remain until new information arose, either through Gumshoe’s investigation or tomorrow’s trial.

Miles let his mind drift towards the trial as they left the room, lingering in the doorway as his hand moved to switch off the bedroom lights. A circus setting, a flying defendant, a clown for a witness, and at the helm of it all, Miles’ estranged, no-nonsense younger sister. They might not have all the answers, but there was one thing Miles knew for absolute certain.

Tomorrow was going to be interesting.

Notes:

Well... that was a longer hiatus than I would have preferred. Nothing bad, I just got caught up with finishing some cosplays in time for a con and then longer hours at work for a coverage thing. BUT things are getting back to normal soon and I'm excited to have the free time to work on this again.

(Also happy narumitsu week. Wasn't intentional, but hey, whatever works)

Chapter Text

The day started… normally enough, though Miles was hesitant to use that word knowing what was on the horizon.

They arrived to court fairly early, slipping into the mostly empty gallery and finding a place across from the prosecution’s desk. Franziska was already in position, the judge and defense having yet to arrive, organizing her notes amidst the relative quiet. She took notice of him right away, a knowing and extremely smug smirk falling upon her lips. A taunting finger was briefly waggled in his direction before her attentions returned to her task.

At least she’s in a better mood today, Phoenix commented.

For now, had been Miles’ rebuttal.

More people steadily began filing in, filling seat after seat to near capacity, the trial garnering more attention than usual due to the defendant’s fame. Soon the courtroom was abuzz with conversation and energy - the first sign that the trial was probably not going to go smoothly.

The second was the arrival of the defense.

Miles admittedly hadn’t speculated too much on the identity of Galactica’s representative - there were only a handful of defense attorneys he could remember by name - but he felt he shouldn’t have been as surprised to see Shields saunter up to the bench as he was. Shields certainly didn’t seem surprised to see him, barely reacting to his presence outside of a brief wink as he moved into position.

Franziska leaned upon her bench once he settled, her smirk turning from smug to predatory. “So we meet again, Raymond Shields.”

He leaned on his own bench in turn. “What can I say? I just couldn’t get enough of your lovely face."

She didn’t grab her whip just yet, but Miles could tell she’d considered it. “Fool! I do hope you’ll at least make this victory far more satisfying than the last time.”

(Miles had requested case details shortly after hearing that Franziska and Shields had crossed paths in court. He’d forgotten a lot by now, but he remembered the defendant being tragic, sympathetic, and undeniably guilty. Shields had been fighting for the sentence, not the win).

Shields took the taunt as he did most things - with an open-armed shrug. “I guess we’ll find out.”

The trial commenced as soon as the judge arrived, silencing all idle chatter with a call to order.

Gumshoe was the first on the stand, laying out the details of the crime during his brief testimony. Shields pressed him at a few points, but once all the evidence was presented, the detective’s role ended with little to note. Franziska unceremoniously shooed him off the stand to make way for her true witness.

It was not Lawrence Curls who advanced, but rather his stage persona, Moe, complete with clown costume and abysmal jokes that only he was laughing at - much to the chagrin of the courtroom. Only Shields didn’t appear to mind, though Miles had a suspicion that his clapping, while encouraging to the clown, was not entirely sincere. It took several warnings (both verbal and physical) before they ceased and allowed the testimony to commence.

Moe’s account mostly matched what they'd read in the report yesterday, with the occasional embellishment here and there - courtesy of Franziska no doubt. Noteworthy was the second silhouette he didn't mention to police and the moment of attack he’d witnessed.

The second half at least didn’t hold up for long - after some prodding Shields got Moe to amend his testimony. The ringmaster was already down when he’d come to investigate the sound that had alerted him, but the silhouettes he insisted upon.

His insistence, however, only opened up more holes for Shields to dig into. Because he could only make out slight details in the dark, Galactica’s previously discussed symbols were a key detail in identifying him. Moe only mentioned the two - the cloak and hat - and, just like Phoenix, Shields was quick to point out the inconsistency. Still, the clown stood by his account, noting that he wore those symbols the entire time, even as he left the scene. Another strike, as Shields reminded the court that Galactica’s hat had been left on the ground beside the body.

Moe’s testimony was falling apart, and while Shields was in the perfect position to force Franziska’s hand by ruling her witness as unreliable, he wasn’t quite done with the clown. He'd let one detail slip, something that had been eluding the investigation - he saw the culprit leave the scene. When Moe tried to insist he’d simply walked away despite the issue of the footprints, it was the last nail in his coffin.

And yet, Moe was not ready yield. Credibility hanging by a thread, the last of his patience dropped alongside the clown act. Franziska protested, but he persevered, revealing the truth that she’d instructed him to omit.

Galactica did not walk away from the crime scene, he flew. Straight up into the air from where he stood.

A normal trial would have dismissed him immediately, Franziska was certainly ready to, but this had never been a normal trial. Shields, either in a fit of brilliance or insanity, actually got the judge to consider the explanation - if only to have the trial postponed for further investigation.

As the judge brought down his gavel, adjourning court for the day, Phoenix spoke up. Well, that went well… I think.

For who?
Miles asked in reply, glancing across the way at Franziska angrily gathering her materials. Shields was harder to read, especially from the back, but the jabbering gallery around them certainly had opinions on his performance. I never thought I'd be glad to be on probation, he commented as he moved to slip out and away before they got any more riled up.

What? You mean you
wouldn’t want to be assigned this literal and figurative circus? Phoenix asked with mock surprise.

I already get enough of that courtesy of you and Maya, thank you very much.

Gotta keep you on your toes somehow,
Phoenix hummed.

What would I do without you? Miles droned in reply, nodding in passing to a bailiff as he moved from the public lobby to the back halls of the courthouse.

The area was mostly empty save for a few officials shuffling about, in route to trials being held elsewhere in the building. He lingered in the middle, standing off to the side, and watched the walkway the led to the prosecution's area.

I suspect she may already be gone…

Who? Franziska?
Phoenix replied after a moment. Were you gonna try to talk to her again?

I’m... not sure,
Miles admitted. Given today’s trial had not granted her victory, she likely was not in any mood to, but simply leaving the courtroom didn’t feel like the correct course of action either. I’m ‘reaching out’, as suggested.

As if on cue, an arm reached out and heavily slung itself across Miles' shoulders, causing both Miles and Phoenix (who’d been settled between his shoulder blades) to tense in alarm.

“Hey kiddo, it's been ages!”

Recognizing the voice the arm belonged to, he calmed himself. “Hello, Mr. Shields,” Miles sighed, extracting himself from the loose grip.

“Just ‘hello’? That’s all your Uncle Ray gets? You wound me,” he replied with a pout that did not suit a grown adult.

“…well done today?” he offered hesitantly, unsure what the other man wanted from him.

Shields let out a deep breath. “You know, I stopped by your office a few weeks after Lana’s trial. Just to see how you'd been holding up.”

“You did?” Miles asked, genuinely surprised.

I told you people would care, Phoenix said from his new position near Miles’ elbow.

“So,” Shields continued, “imagine my surprise to find out you'd pulled a disappearing act. Well, that’s not quite what the rumors called it, but you can't always trust those, can you?”

“I didn't think you'd even notice my absence…” he admitted, arms crossing defensively across his chest. He and Shields were on good terms, yes, but those terms had solely been on a professional level.

Shields leveled him with an unreadable, if not somewhat sad, expression, moving to stand by Miles’ side while he clapped a hand over his shoulder.

“I've got leads to follow up on, but after this is over? We should catch up. I’ll buy you a drink.”

Unable to find the right words after a moment or so, Miles settled on nodding.

Shields slipped back into his more familiar demeanor, giving Miles two quick pats on the shoulder. “Catch ya later, Miles.” He did a quick, casual salute then headed off in the direction of the defense’s lobby.

Looks like you’ve got another bridge to rebuild, Phoenix commented as he slowly wound his way back up Miles’ arm.

So it would seem… Miles took another gander down the opposing hall, but to no avail. At this point, there was little hope of her appearing. Well, shall we retire to the office?

The office?
Phoenix repeated it back like the word stuck wrong on a tongue he wasn't even using to speak. I thought you didn’t have to go in today.

We don't, but I have some leads of my own I'd like to look into.

He could practically see the symbiont's skeptical expression. What happened to ‘we’re not on this case’?

We're not,
Miles insisted as he pushed open the door to the courtroom’s stairwell, the trial having taken place on the second floor. It’s just... that clown's testimony. It's bothering me.

I think it bothered pretty much everyone back there.

Yes, well, that may be so.
He doubted there was a soul in there that enjoyed that experience.  But that’s not quite what I meant.

So,
Phoenix replied after a moment, drawing out the ‘o’ sound, you don’t think he was lying either. It wasn’t a question.

Miles paused at the bottom of the stairs, hand resting on the door handle. Whatever happened that night, Curls truly believes he witnessed Galactica rising into the air. I cannot fathom anyone insisting upon such absurdity otherwise.

Then what do we need to do?

Review the police reports, see if there are any details we may have overlooked. I’d also like to do some research into the circus itself and its residents. I fear there may be something else in play here.

Or someone,
Phoenix suggested.

Miles hummed his assent. Galactica’s guilt or innocence was yet to be seen, the truth of it all still obscured by the many oddities of the case. Now it was just a matter of uncovering it.



The Berry Big Circus was a mostly local affair, touring major cities in California and the neighboring states, only really having gained notoriety when Galactica - already an accomplished magician in his own right - had joined up with them. Unfortunately, it also meant most articles and press releases Miles was turning up had a bit of a bias towards their subject matter. So far he was lucky if the other performers got more than a paragraph collectively.

Still, information on the accused could still prove useful, so Miles didn’t shy away as he skimmed an article about the magician’s recent victory at something called the International Grand Prix.

The competition itself Miles could say with confidence was unrelated to the incident, but his eyes kept returning to the photos taken of Max receiving his award as a conspicuous object the lurked in the background.

“Didn't Galactica attempt to report a theft while he was being arrested?” Miles asked of his companion, tasked with reviewing reports while Miles scoured the internet for information.

“I think I remember that, hold on…” he muttered, shifting through the files Miles had requested be sent to his office. “Ah, here it is. It was over a bust Max said is usually stationed in the cafeteria, but hasn’t been seen in almost a week. I don't think the police looked into it.”

“I do believe they had more pressing concerns.” Though, as with everything a suspect said during an arrest, the statement was recorded in full. “I may have found an image of the bust in question however.”

Phoenix was at his side moments later, peering at the screen as Miles zoomed in on the photo that best captured that statue’s likeness.

A look of disgust passed by Phoenix’s face, which he quickly schooled away. “That’s a… big bust.”

“Don't phrase it like that,” Miles commented, though the statement was true. The bust was a life-size recreation of Galactica himself in the greenish hue of oxidized copper, the hands crossed over his chest holding a spread of cards that glistened under the stage lights.

“It’s impressive then,he modified, likely still in lieu of what he actually wanted to call it. Miles’ unimpressed snort reflected this thought. “Hey, I can acknowledge it from an artistic standpoint, but I also wouldn't want to look at it everyday while I'm eating.”

Miles raised a brow at him, though his full reply was interrupted by the ringing of his phone. He managed to mouth an incredulous ‘artistic standpoint’ back at him as he answered.

“Edgeworth speaking.”

“Sir!” Detective Gumshoe’s voice boomed over the speaker. “We’ve got a new witness!”

“Already?!” The investigative team should have only just arrived back on site.

“Yeah! It’s that ventriloquist, Woodman. He marched right up as we got here and demanded we take his statement. Told us his testimony was super important.”

“Then where was this super important testimony yesterday?" Phoenix dead-panned.

Even though the phone wasn't on speaker, he was standing close enough for Gumshoe to hear anyway. “So that's the funny thing, we tried to talk to him yesterday. No one could get more than a few stutters outta him before he’d clam up entirely. And it only got worse when Ms. von Karma got involved.”

“That tracks…”

“So why speak now? What changed?” Miles asked.

“Ringmaster's daughter found his puppet. He didn’t have it on him until now and apparently he can’t talk without it.”

“What's with this circus and things going missing?” Phoenix exclaimed, probably adding to the mental checklist he'd been collecting of lost items regarding to the case.

“This one was the defendant’s doing, apparently," the detective elaborated. “Sounds like they got into some kind of scuffle and Galactica took and hid it.”

Another glowing review for the defendant’s character. Miles certainly did not envy Shields.

Anyway, we’re still getting his statement, but so far he's backed up what the clown said this morning. He was standing out in the plaza after their rehearsal - right up until we arrived in fact - and saw Galactica walking to the lodgings right before it happened.”

“Yeah, but it also sounds like he might have a grudge.”

“Perhaps, but is that truly what you should be taking issue with here?” Miles suggested, tapping at his forehead. “Is there not someone else he should have seen?”

Phoenix pondered for a moment before it hit him. “Oh yeah! The victim!”

“Erm… he didn't say anything about the ringmaster,” Miles could almost picture Gumshoe scratching his head in confusion, “but he was pretty insistent about Galactica. Said, and I quote, ‘nobody else would be caught dead in those ridiculous symbols’.”

Miles exchanged a look with Phoenix. They both knew by now that distinctive clothing was not quite the definitive piece of evidence one would believe.

“Was that all, Detective?”

So far. Ms. von Karma wanted to talk with him herself, then we were gonna go investigate the lodgings again.”

“Then keep us updated if there are any new revelations.”

“Will do, sir!” he replied, ending the call.

Miles set his phone to the side, then looked back over at Phoenix. The firebird was staring off at nothing in particular, but there was an air of determination in his expression.

“Max was never at the crime scene, was he?”

“Depending on what Woodman was doing in the plaza, there's a chance someone could have slipped by undetected,” Miles said, offering counterargument. Then, he leaned back in his chair and sighed. “But that does not explain the oddness of the tracks or whatever Curls witnessed without subscribing to that ludicrous flying theory.” Miles had been made to accept a lot over the past year, but a line had to be drawn somewhere.

“Okay, so what can we explain then?” His focus was back on Miles. “Obviously the ringmaster had to go the the murder scene to leave his footprints and, well, get murdered. He must’ve been the person the ventriloquist saw - maybe he threw on Max's stuff because of the snow? He probably would’ve had access to them since they had the meeting right before.”

“A silk hat and cloak are hardly good protection against the elements," Miles pointed out.

“Okay, so maybe I don't know much about clothes, Mr. Fancy-tailored-suits, that’s not the point! We're trying to figure out who the ventriloquist saw, and the ringmaster wearing Max's clothes is the only person that makes sense. It explains the footprints and how that hat got there.”

“But not what our other witness is claiming. Need I remind you that it was Galactica’s face that Curls saw rise past his window, or are you changing your stance on his truthfulness?”

“No, I agree with you. It's too weird a lie to be that insistent about. I just haven’t figured it out yet - how could he have seen Max somewhere he couldn’t have been, doing something he couldn’t do?”

“The obvious answer would be that he didn’t,” Miles reasoned, leaving the firebird to ponder over the solution while he returned to his research, hoping to track down some other lead in the meantime. He tapped at his keyboard, awaking his laptop from sleep mode, the Grand Prix photo still open.

The sudden lighting change immediately drew Phoenix’s attention, a certain calculating look edging into his expression as mental dots began to connect. Miles glanced between him and the image onscreen, eyes widening as no doubt the same, absurd picture began to form in his own mind.

“You don't suppose…” Miles began.

“It would explain some of those inconsistencies. A bust can't leave footprints.”

“A bust cannot fly, either,” he pointed out. “While it could have been planted at the scene alongside that metal box, to create the scene Curls was claiming someone would have to hoist a presumedly heavy statue upwards several floors." And to what end? Just to create a witness?

“Well what’s our other option? Max couldn't be there, unless he like, rappelled down the side of the building to drop onto the ringmaster’s unsuspecting head.”

There was a beat, a moment where Phoenix's specific choice of phrasing processed through their minds. They both looked at each other at the same time, two wildly different expressions on their faces.

Miles slammed an arm against his desk, startling Phoenix. “No.”

“It makes sense!” the firebird replied with an excited flutter.

“I know,” Miles groaned, pushing away from his desk. "That's why I'm upset.” Because the solution was so ludicrous, so convoluted, that it fit perfectly with everything else about the case.

It also meant that, if this solution held any credence, suddenly a lot more hinged on today's investigation. With this in mind, Miles stood up, quickly snatching his phone off his desk in order to make a call.

Gumshoe answered after a few rings. "Yes, sir?”

“Has the investigation moved on to the lodgings yet?”

No, not yet. We're just wrapping up with the ventriloquist. We’re getting an affidavit that he saw Galactica that night, but Ms. von Karma doesn't think his testimony will be all that useful. It was the craziest thing too, let me tell you-”

“Later, Detective. I need you to confirm a few things for us…"

Of everyone the police had spoken to, the only ones deemed relevant to the case were Galactica and the three other performers who attended that final rehearsal. Other circus staff members had solid alibis for the time of the murder, occupied elsewhere on the grounds and largely unaware of events. The sole exception being an acrobat by the name of Ken Dingling, commonly referred to as Acro, who was in his room at the time - a room located two floors directly above Moe’s. His potential as a witness was quickly ruled out due to an injury that left him wheelchair bound and limited in mobility. By his own admission he could barely see out of his own window, much less below it.

However, with Acro's positioning relative to the murder scene and the other nearby rooms empty, his disaffiliation may have been premature.

“Listen carefully, Detective. When the investigation picks up once more, I want you to suggest a surprise search of Dingling’s room.”

“The acrobat?" Gumshoe questioned, no doubt scratching his head. “You think he’s involved?”

“I have a suspicion that he might not be as innocent as he had you believe yesterday. At the very least, we cannot ignore the fact that his room is right above the crime scene.”

“Oh yeah! He should've seen the same thing as that clown if he was telling the truth. Galactica could’ve even used his room as an escape route. You're a genius sir!”

“Let’s save the accolades until after the investigation,” Miles suggested.

O-oh, right, sir. But, um, what about Ms. von Karma? I dunno if she'll listen to me.”

“You’ll figure something out,” Miles began, though his train of thought was swiftly derailed by a strange repetitive noise coming from the other end of the receiver. “What on earth is that beeping.”

Ms. von Karma," Gumshoe replied as if that explained everything.

“What?”

“Everytime I hear that sound, she's usually not far behind!” His voice took on a more urgent tone. “I gotta go, sir!” he said before very abruptly hanging up.

Miles stared at his phone's home screen as the line when silent, shaking his head a bit.

“So, what's happening?” Phoenix asked.

“Besides the fact that my sister may have affixed a tracking device to Detective Gumshoe?”

Phoenix blinked owlishly. “H-huh…?”

Miles shook his head again. It was irrelevant to the matter on hand. “The investigation is moving forward. Whether or not our hunch is correct will be determined by its outcome or whatever happens in court tomorrow. Either way, I believe our role here is complete.”

“What, we’re just giving up here? But there’s so much we don't know yet!” Phoenix protested, hopping from the desk to the back of Miles’ chair, as if the height would add more weight to his plea.

“I’d hardly call it giving up, we’re merely passing the torch,” Miles said. “If Galactica is truly innocent, then I trust Shields to be able prove it.”

“Ah-“ The symbiont’s wings, which he'd been holding open, sagged downward sheepishly. “Oh yeah, right. Guess I got a little carried away.”

“You? Get carried away? Perish the thought,” Miles teased as he moved back to his chair and in range of Phoenix’s retaliation, though all the firebird did was resettle, resting his head atop Miles’ with a petulant huff.

With those matters settled, Miles turned his attention elsewhere. While he'd not planned to be in office that day, that did not mean he didn't have things to attend to. Phoenix stayed in position, watching over the top of his head while offering occasional commentary, until the prosecutor shooed him off to put away the physical documents.

They busied themselves around the office until early evening - a standard work day, all things considered. Miles could have worked longer, but Phoenix had convinced (read, bullied) him to reach a stopping point, which was also fairly standard.

The aforementioned bully was beckoned back over to his side as he finished organizing his briefcase, ready to depart for the night. Phoenix perched on his shoulder, watching with a tilted head as Miles briefly checked his phone before pocketing it.

“No updates from ol’ Gumshoe?” he asked, not for the first time.

“None. Franziska must be keeping him occupied.” Especially if she'd caught him on the phone earlier - assumedly slacking off from her perspective if he’d not come up with a justifiable excuse. “It appears as though we may be hearing the investigation’s results alongside everyone else in court.”

“Ugh, the suspense is gonna keep me up at night," the firebird groused.

“That’s hardly an issue for you,” Miles pointed out.

“It's the principal of it," Phoenix explained, flicking his tail feathers. Then… “So, tomorrow then?"

Miles gave a shallow nod. It would not be their hand that drew the final close, but soon the curtains would come down on this big top whodunit.

“Tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

“The prosecution would like to revise its previous theory of events.”

The trial began much like its previous session had, even down to the smug aura radiating off of Franziska as she gave her opening statement, introducing the existence of her new witness and his connection to the case.

“Due to this revision, we are now prepared to explain how the defendant flew that night. An explanation the prosecution will present if the need to arises... In fact, my detective stayed up all night creating a mockup of the scene, on my orders," she concluded.

Poor Gumshoe, Phoenix remarked.

The detective had managed to get back to them late that night, a bit sooner than expected, immediately launching into a flustered apology over the delay before Miles had to intervene so he’d get to the important part.

The raid went off with only the slight hitch that Shields happened to be talking to Dingling at the time, remedied by Franziska simply kicking Shields out. It was the actual search that occupied most of the investigation’s time - Dingling’s room hosted a large pile of objects ranging from musical instruments to jewelry (all courtesy of the circus’ resident monkey and its fixation on shiny things). It took ages for investigators to comb through everything, with no bust to be found and all other sufficiently heavy items ruled out as the murder weapon.

The lack of conclusive evidence explained Franziska’s somewhat vague opening statement - she was banking on her witness to seal the victory for her before anything else needed to be presented.

And as Ken Dingling wheeled himself up to the stand, Miles could see exactly why.

No wonder she’s so confident, he commented to Phoenix, a sardonic huff passing his lips.

Am I missing something?


Listen to the gallery.

But… I don’t hear much of anything,
he replied, and Miles could just picture the confused frown the firebird was sporting. The audience, full of raucous chatter since the trial's start, had now quieted to hushed murmurs.

Exactly. Dingling hasn’t uttered a single word, and yet he's already captivated the crowd,
Miles explained. Even without whatever testimony Franziska has crafted for him, I suspect he could say just about anything, short of confessing to the murder, and it wouldn’t matter. Franziska couldn’t have asked for a more perfect witness.

This perfect witness recited a testimony not unlike Curls’ from the day prior. Awoken by a loud sound that night, he turned his head towards the window only to see the visage of the defendant rising upwards into the night. The sight was the same as reported in yesterday’s trial, displaced a few stories upwards.

Similarities continued as Shields brought up a repeated contradiction - Dingling shouldn't have seen Max's hat, left behind at the crime scene, on the arising figure.

“Fool!” Franziska objected. “The hat could a simply fallen off after the witnesses saw him."

“Ah, but that's speculation now, isn't it? After all, if my client's hat doesn’t fall off during performances, where, might I point out for the court, he's doing a lot more than simply flying straight up, I don't see why it would’ve then.”

Franziska smirked, wagging her finger in his direction. “It's only speculation if one cannot back it up. Or need I remind the defense that the prosecution has perfectly replicated your client's manner of escape from the crime scene?”

The judge cut in. "Well, Mr. Shields?”

Shields hummed loudly, tapping at his chin. “I am kind of curious about this mockup the prosecution’s teasing… but I’d rather not waste everyone’s time by showing them something that won't matter in the end.”

“What did you say?” Franziska demanded, riling up the gallery alongside her.

“Order! Order!” The judge called with a few swings of his gavel. “Mr. Shields, please explain yourself!”

He shrugged. "I'm just saying, why bother with the diorama when we’ve got a witness right here who knows exactly how Russel Berry died that night.”

Franziska visibly scoffed, likely murmuring some variation on the word 'fool' under her breath, while the judge stroked his beard in thought.

“Are you... accusing this witness of the murder?” he asked.

“I just might be."

The gallery did not like the implication, their utterances spurred to curses at the man for 'picking on the disabled' and similar sentiments from the snippets Miles could pick out of the cacophony. Shields heeded them with the same level of nonchalance he did most things.

Dingling was surprisingly calm as well, despite the murder accusation, regarding Shields with a calm, if not somewhat unreadable expression. When he pointed out his limited mobility, thus making the crime impossible, Shields was ready with his explanation of how events unfolded.

He’d come to the same conclusion that the murder weapon must have been the missing bust, dropped from the 3rd floor window. The large metal trunk found on the scene, heavy enough to force one to bend over in order to lift it, was placed to ensure the victim was in the perfect position, eliminating the need to look out of the window to commit the crime. Afterwards, all he’d need to do was hoist the statue back up, creating the 'flying' culprit Curls witnessed. When Franziska objected that both witnesses testified to seeing a cloak, Shields proposed that the bust could've snagged a cloak worn by the ringmaster and pulled it up as well, thus completing the scene.

Dingling finally spoke up here, though still not in the way most would in his position, quietly calling for Shields' attention.

“You took the time to research our circus, didn't you?” he asked.

“I may have done some poking around.”

“Then you should understand why I think you may be off track.”

“Oh? Should I?” Shields asked innocently.

“Motive,” Franziska replied, jumping in on the opening. “This witness feels an incredible debt of gratitude towards the ringmaster. Anyone with any relation to the circus is well aware of this.”

Here Miles leaned in a bit more. This was the one area neither of them had speculated too heavily in, as, from the surface level of context they had from reports and articles, no one had much of a motive, not even Galactica (Yes, Miles had come up with one for arguments’ sake, but he was willing to admit it was weak at best).

The explanation would have to wait, however, for the judge called for a recess to let both sides prepare their next arguments.

With the opposing counsels heading off to regroup, Miles took the opportunity to retrieve his phone, sending a message out to Detective Gumshoe that his opportunity had arisen, informing him of the ten minute recess.

There had been one more detail to Gumshoe's report; Before Franziska had intervened, Dingling was showing something rather strange to Shields - a bloodied scarf. This was, of course, swiftly confiscated by Franziska and sent over to forensics for analysis.

“But why would he show Shields something like that in the first place?” Phoenix had asked at the time. "That seems… suspicious."

“I dunno, pal," Gumshoe replied. "But the boys at the lab already ran their tests and the blood doesn't belong to anybody involved in the murder. Plus the stain's apparently pretty old to boot, by a few months or so.”

“Then, I presume Franziska has no intentions of submitting it as evidence," Miles said.

“You'd be right, sir. She told us it was irrelevant.”

“Is that really the case?” Phoenix muttered softly, prompting a confused noise from Gumshoe who probably hadn't quite heard him over the receiver. “Something’s
definitely up with that acrobat, right?”

Miles nodded. “I'm inclined to agree.” Especially with Shields seemingly on the same track as them. He might’ve been onto something before he got interrupted. “Detective, I have one more task for you…"

From there, plans were made. Gumshoe couldn't obtain the scarf before the start of the trial, else he risk Franziska finding out and intervening, so his delivery needed to wait for court to enter a recess. After that, it was up to Shields.

Gumshoe sent a message once his task was done, informing Miles he'd be heading home if they didn't need anything else from him.

He’s not sticking around til the end? Phoenix asked.

I doubt he wants to be around once Franziska figures out what he’s done,
Miles said as he typed out his response.

Poor Gumshoe,
the symbiont repeated. You really ought to give the guy a raise.

You realize I’m in charge of performance reviews and not his actual salary, right?
he pointed out.

Then give him a good review, Phoenix countered. He knew the firebird was mostly giving him a hard time for the sake of it, though Miles supposed he could put it into some consideration. The detective had been sticking his neck out quite a bit for their sake.



When court reconvened, Dingling conferred his sad tale to all those present. Abandoned at a young age, he was then taken in by Berry, becoming an acrobat in hopes of repaying that kindness. It was the exact kind of testimony needed to tear down the defense’s arguments, but there was one curious detail that Dingling had included.

“You mentioned a ‘we’ in your testimony just now,” the judge acknowledged.

“My younger brother, Sean, or ‘Bat’ as he’s known around the circus. We perform together - well, used to,” he added with a somber note.

There was no mention of a Sean Dingling in the police reports, was there? Miles asked his companion, as Franziska went into her counterargument against the defense’s earlier claim. The police should have spoken to all circus personnel.

No, but I have a funny feeling why…

Miles didn’t get a chance to ask him to elaborate as the trial pushed forward and the court pushed for Shields to provide the witness’s motive. He instead provided an alternate interpretation - Dingling was the murderer, but the ringmaster hadn’t been his intended target. He backed this up with the fact Dingling couldn’t see who was standing below the window and a newly presented piece of evidence.

Accepted into the record was a note found in the pocket of Berry’s coat. It was addressed to a ‘murderer’ and claimed to have evidence, requesting their presence in the plaza around the time of death. The note initially came from the animal tamer, Regina Berry, who told Shields she had found it in her own pocket the day of the incident and posted it on the cafeteria bulletin board, presuming it was intended for someone else. Shields suggested otherwise.

“You planted that note on Regina when she came to take the trash from your room, didn’t you? She was the intended target.”

“You don’t have to answer this foolishly foolhardy fool and his foolishly foolish ideas!” Franziska snapped. “Do you even hear what you’re saying? If we follow your logic, then the note is declaring that Regina Berry is a murderer!”

“Hey, I don’t like the idea of accusing a cute girl like that of murder either, but that is what happened."

The judge made a quick strike of his gavel to get their attention. “N-now hold on. I would very much like to know what this incident the note is alluding to is.”

“Glad you asked, Your Honor…”

The incident, turns out, was the reason why his brother was not around to be interviewed by the investigation team, as Phoenix suspected. Six months ago the acrobats had had an unfortunate encounter with a lion, a near-fatal bite leaving Sean Dingling in a coma he’d yet to awake from, his brother wheelchair bound from trying to save him, and the circus short one lion, put down shortly afterwards (The whole incident was also covered up, hence why they were hearing of this for the first time. The type of research they’d done wouldn’t have turned anything up).

“That hardly makes Regina Berry a murderer,” Franziska said. “Not only is Acro’s brother still alive, but naturally the prosecution already looked into this incident. There is no way the lion could have been incited to attack a human being, nor would Regina Berry have done such a thing. What happened to Sean Dingling was merely an unfortunate accident.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say merely…” Shields hummed.

“Fool! What is it now?!”

“There’s one more thing we’ll be needing.”

The scarf, the last piece to the puzzle, was brought out, Franziska jerking back at its reveal.

“You- How did you get that?!” she demanded.

“A scarf?” the judge questioned as it was presented to him. “Oh my! It’s covered in blood!” he exclaimed.

“Not just blood. We also found traces of pepper on it too,” Shields said.

“Pepper?” His Honor asked with visible confusion.

Shields nodded. “Just like the bottle of pepper found in that metal box. The ‘conclusive evidence’ as it were.”

“But, conclusive of what?”

“Acro.” Shields turned to address the witness, posted silently at the stand, eyes not quite reaching anyone’s. “Regina gave this to Bat that fateful day, didn’t she? He put it on right before it happened.”

“Yes…” he admitted softly.

“And she’s the one who covered it in pepper, as part of an ongoing prank war between the two of them.”

The courtroom was silent for a moment, until the judge spoke again. “I’m sorry, Mr. Shields, but are you saying that she's guilty of pulling a prank? I’m not sure that’s a crime.”

“Mr. Raymond Shields…” Franziska said in an uncharacteristically quiet tone, her eyes wide, “wasn't it said that the lion seemed to be smiling?” This brought up even more confusion, but Franziska was quick to elaborate. “Right before Bat was bit by the lion. For a moment, the lion's mouth changed and it looked like he was... smiling.”

It quickly fell into place from there. Obviously the lion wasn’t smiling, animals don’t emote with human mannerisms, but there is something it could do to create a similar expression, if only for a moment.

It could sneeze.

He must have had his head near the lion’s mouth,
Phoenix remarked over the opposing counsels’ back-and-forth over the nature of this inciting incident. Maybe helping her with a trick?

However it happened, it would still mean Franziska’s right, it
was an accident. Ms. Berry is hardly a murderer in the eyes of the law.

But what about the eyes of our witness?

Dingling raised his voice again once Franziska’s arguments seemed to devolve into insults, though interestingly, he didn’t truly deny any of what was proposed. Instead, he pivoted back to the ringmaster’s murder. Everything said in court thus far was speculative, there was a lack of evidence pointing to Dingling as the true culprit.

It appeared Shields didn’t have the answer just yet either. Though Miles couldn’t see his expression, from his body language it was clear the defense attorney was thinking it over.

“Mr. Shields?” the judge prompted after a minute or two.

“It’s obvious he doesn’t have the evidence to prove anything,” Franziska said smugly. “My officers combed through the entirety of the circus, and there was no murder weapon to be found. And don’t you dare suggest Acro had a chance to dispose of it, he’s been at the police department with me since our surprise investigation yesterday.”

I don’t even know how he’d dispose of it. A big, heavy bust like that, Phoenix pondered. He’d have to, like, dunk it in a river or something.

Logic dictates he couldn’t. Not without some sort of accomplice. But one of Shields’ points early in the trial had been that Dingling was working alone.

Phoenix made a noise of frustration. I don’t get it. The murder weapon couldn’t have just vanished, we already ruled out magic tricks!

No, the bust must be still hidden somewhere, but where could he have squirreled it away where even the thorough eye of Franziska had not sought? They could only hope Shields had some ideas to present, before the judge took his silence as a sign to call his verdict.

A few more seconds passed before the judge solemnly shook his head. “It seems as if this case is coming to a close…"

He was swiftly interrupted. “Now, now, Your Honor,” Shields said, though sounding a bit more harried that he’d likely intended, “who says I don’t have more to say?"

“I do!” Franziska piped in.

“Mr. Shields, do you really have a case to present?” the judge said with evident surprise.

“Well, obviously if the bust isn’t at the circus then it must be… somewhere else.”

“Foolish fool!” she bellowed. “Then where, pray tell, is this mystery location? The witness cannot leave the lodging house without assistance, so someone would have seen him carry it out!”

“Not unless…” Shields began slowly, drawing out his words, “he had some way of concealing it…! A method only he could use.”

Miles’ eyes went wide. Of course! Looking at Dingling, there was one place he could feasibly hide a large object and be fairly confident it would never be searched.

“Acro…” Shields continued, removing his hat to dip his head in the witness’ direction, “sorry for the invasion of privacy, but I have to ask you to remove the blanket from your wheelchair.”

Phoenix gasped slightly as the realization hit him too. No way…

Dingling smiled pleasantly in the defense’s direction. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

“The murder weapon isn’t at the circus, is it? It’s here in this courtroom, hidden beneath your chair. Looks big enough from here to me, and I’m sure no one’s ever bothered to look. It’s the only place you could have kept it for it to remain unfound for so long, especially after the prosecution’s surprise search.” He leaned back confidently, replacing his hat. “I gotta say, that blanket’s put in a lot of work, so why not give it a rest now.”

The courtroom waited with baited breath for his response to the accusation, Dingling’s face impassive.

“…well done, Mr. Shields. Masterfully played.”



In the end, the search had achieved its intended goal, just not in a manner anyone expected. The cloak - confirmed to have been caught on the bust - had already been disposed of, burnt to ashes and taken out with the morning trash, but there was nothing he could have done about the murder weapon until the police were gone. Dingling even praised Franziska for her expertly laid trap, much to her dismay.

Guilt revealed, Dingling finally let the mask slip as he explained his motive. For six months he’d been harboring a deep resentment towards Regina Berry - not because he blamed her for his or his brother’s injuries, acknowledging them as accidents, but because she had never treated the incident with the severity it deserved. For how she’d innocently laugh off the tragedy because his brother ‘became a star’, in her apparent words, until he couldn’t take it any longer.

Except, it was the man who Dingling had devoted everything to that was gone, and by his own hands. The acrobat even admitted that he'd considered joining him on the other side, the mask he’d kept on for the entire trial finally breaking as tears fell behind the stand, Dingling expressing his deep remorse for everything his actions had caused.

And so Galactica received his rightful, but bittersweet, not guilty.



Well, that sucked, Phoenix remarked as they exited the courtroom.

Eloquent as always, Phoenix.

Well it did!
the symbiont insisted. I know Maya’ll be happy he really was innocent, but the whole thing’s just tragedy after tragedy. I wonder how the other performers are taking it, you said they were in the audience, right?

Miles made a quiet hum of affirmation. He’d recognized the clown from yesterday sitting the the gallery a ways away, alongside a few other colorfully costumed characters he could only hope were associated.

I know someone for certain who isn’t taking things well.

Just as he had yesterday, Miles headed toward the prosecutor’s wing as soon as the trial ended in hopes of a rendezvous with his sister. Today’s results were far more successful.

“That trial was a sham! I cannot believe I failed! Me?! Why did I order that surprise search?”

The area was otherwise empty aside from Franziska, pacing just outside the lobby as she angrily muttered obscenities to herself (which was probably why the area was empty).

I recall you having an… interesting response to your first loss, too, Phoenix said. What was it you said, again? I gave you ‘unnecessary feelings?’

Er, yes, well,
Miles floundered, a bit flustered that the firebird had even remembered something like that. You are want to push your emotions onto me - we are linked.

Hey!

However, maybe unnecessary was a bit... dramatic of me,
Miles amended. He just hadn’t yet come to appreciate the affect the firebird had on his life.

Only a bit,
he replied, smiling through his tone.

The moment didn’t last long, Franziska finally taking notice that she was no longer alone in the hallway. Her already sour expression deepened, though she didn’t charge away from him immediately.

“Why are you here?” she spat. “Come to gloat? Laugh at my failure?”

Miles shook his head. “You did well today.”

Franziska huffed. “Do not lie to me.”

“I’m not. There’s no dishonor in losing, Franziska. The record is not what matters, but rather, finding the truth.”

“Truth? Is that what you’ve fooled yourself into believing?” She turned her eyes to a painting on the wall, voice softening. “I saw the record of your trial against Marvin Grossberg. You had the victory within your grasp, yet you foolishly threw it away! Why? Is your so called 'truth' really worth the humiliation?”

Miles paused, surprised she was giving him this opening to speak. Phoenix gave a gentle nudge, silently offering his support as Miles took the opportunity to think over how he wanted to respond.

“It is,” he told her, putting as much sincerity in his words as he could. “If maintaining my ego means criminals are allowed to walk free while the innocent suffer for their crimes, then I would gladly lose every trial for the rest of my career.”

Franziska stared at him as if Phoenix was perched on his head, one arm coming up to fold across her chest.

“You’ve... changed, Miles Edgeworth.”

“I have,” he agreed with a slight nod, “but is that such a bad thing?"

“That’s… foolish. You’re foolish!” she weakly offered in reply, visibly thrown. In the past, Miles might have gloated over stumping her in such a manner.

“Just… think it over. Please,” he instead said.

“Do not tell me what to do,” she hissed, snapping out of her daze and snapping her whip in his direction. She left it there, leaving Miles to nurse the soreness on his chest, but there was a hesitancy to her words and actions that Miles was willing to count as a small win.

A low whistle sounded from somewhere behind his head, drawing Miles’ attention. “That looked like one hell of a conversation.” He turned to see Shields sauntering over, hands in his pockets as usual.

He should’ve seen the other ones, then, Phoenix remarked and Miles couldn’t help the slight grimace that pulled on his face. It did say something when that could be considered a victory.

Shields pulled a face of his own, wincing sympathetically. “And you look like you’re in need of that drink. C’mon, I know a place.”



The place in question was far nicer than Miles had been anticipating and relatively quiet despite it being right in the middle of the holidays.

They took their seats at the bar, sitting down near the end, away from the other mid afternoon patrons. The bartender greeted Shields with familiarity as they made their orders, rolling her eyes in an exasperated, but fond manner, at his light flirting.

“Former client,” Shields explained after she’d walked away to prepare the drinks. “She lets me get a couple on the house from time to time.”

“Is that the reason you insisted on getting drinks?” Miles asked flatly.

“Hey, cut your Uncle Ray some slack. Besides, it’s a nice place to wind down after a trial, especially a trial like this one.”

Shields proceeded to fill him in on some of the context of the case they’d missed out on. By staying on the sidelines, he and Phoenix had apparently been spared a majority of the weirdness surrounding that circus, which was already saying a lot. Much of it regarded the ventriloquist that Franziska had vetoed as a witness as his testimony wouldn't have added enough to aid her case. He spoke almost entirely through his puppet - and it’s evidently very crass persona - and did not like Galactica in the slightest.

“Admittedly, it would’ve been funny to see in court,” Shields commented after a sip of their recently delivered drinks, “but I’m glad she didn’t make my job any harder by bringing him in.”

There was also Regina Berry, the unfortunate catalyst of the conflict. The girl had an interesting understanding of the world, as Shields described it, sheltered within the whimsical tented walls of the circus where the lines of reality were meant to be blurred. She had been one of the performers brought to the trial by Moe, specifically to give her a dose of those unblurred lines (and given she allegedly allowed her tiger to pounce at people, waving it off as harmless play even after what happened six months ago, it was sorely needed).

“This is why I usually take appeals - these wild cases are bad for ol’ Uncle Ray’s heart.”

“Why did you take this case then?” Miles had been a little curious.

Shields shrugged. “I felt bad for him. He'd already been bypassed by quite a few attorneys."

“So he was running out of options,” Miles replied with a slight huff. “Sounds familiar.”

“Not quite,” Shields replied, catching on quick. “Yours was a case of pride and reputation - Lana’s too, actually. Our Billy-boy’s just dense. Didn't even realize he was under arrest."

B-billy-boy?! Phoenix questioned.

That’s what you take issue with? Which meant the firebird had forgotten (or potentially never noticed) the legal name of Billy Bob Johns listed on Galactica’s files.

And,” he continued, filling in the silence when Miles didn’t respond to him immediately, “it wasn’t pity that made me take up your defense.”

“No, as I recall it was a very headstrong young lady."

That got a chuckle out of Shields. “How is Miss Maya doing these days? Uncle Ray's missed his cute little assistant.”

Miles rolled his eyes. “She’s fine. I saw her briefly a few days ago, although only because she intended to help out Galactica and snuck onto the crime scene. It took some convincing to get her to stay home and out of trouble.”

And bribing with case details, Phoenix added, something Miles would update her on later that day.

“So what you’re saying is,” he said, gesturing at Miles with his glass, the ice clinking noisily, “I could have had a cute little assistant for this case.”

Miles groaned, taking a swig of his own. It was a fruit cocktail, low in alcohol content, though if the conversation continued in this manner, he might need something a little stronger.

Thankfully Shields decided to have mercy on him, shifting the tone. “You two are really close, huh?

“The circumstances of our meeting were… unorthodox, I will say, but she’s become a good friend to me,” Miles replied, hiding his smile behind his glass.

“Seems like she’s been a good influence, too. I know you weren’t exactly in the best place a year ago - in a number of ways - but you’d already seemed a little different than our previous run-ins. That case we had together solidified that for me.” His eyes turned down to his hands, where he fidgeted with his glass, a sad smile reaching his lips. “When we were fighting against Gant… it really felt like I was working with your old man again…”

Miles felt his heart stutter a bit at that. “Mr. Shields…”

“It was nice, knowing that his legacy still lived on within his son. That von Karma hadn’t stamped it out entirely. Guess that’s why it hit so hard when I heard that you’d…”

“…chosen death?” Miles finished when Shields trailed off. “That’s what the note I’d left behind said - ‘Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth chooses death’. I’ve been told the wording was excessive.”

Ya think? Phoenix replied, reveling in his continued vindication.

“However,” he continued, “I meant it as a death to the prosecutor I had been molded to become. It’s why I left, so I could step back and make peace with my past.”

He went on to tell Shields about his travels, how he left to study how the justice system was upheld in other countries, away from the touch of those who had used him to corrupt it. To see if he could live on as a prosecutor on his own terms, and just what exactly those terms could be.

“Only Maya and Detective Gumshoe were made aware, everyone else… I truly believed either wouldn’t notice or wouldn’t care. I see now that I was wrong, and I apologize for any grief I might have caused you.”

Silence hung between them. Miles kept his gaze pointed forward, not pressuring his companion for a response. He did not regret his actions, the distance was a much needed breath of fresh air, but truly had he underestimated their impact.

After a minute or so a hand rose to his back, Shields giving him a slow, lingering pat before he retreated back to his drink.

“I suppose we weren’t exactly buddy-buddy, were we? Things were getting there at the end, but before? Phew!” All at once the progressing weight of their conversation seemed to lift. “You certainly had some opinions to share and I didn’t have much nice to say in response. In hindsight, maybe it was harsh of me. You were just a kid when von Karma dug his claws into you, it wasn’t your fault.”

Miles shook his head. “Don’t feel too sorry, I was terrible under his tutelage.”

“I won't deny that,” Shields said with a sly grin. “But, you’re making up for it now. I don’t know how that trial would’ve gone without your help.”

“I’ve no clue what you’re talking about,” Miles replied, suddenly a lot more invested in his momentarily forgotten drink.

Shields gave him a look. “Listen, Gumshoe might not have said anything directly, but the man is not subtle. I know the surprise search was your doing. The scarf, too.”

“I plead the fifth,” he said into the glass.

His response got a chuckle. “You know you could’ve gotten in trouble for helping the defense like that.”

“Last I checked, I wasn’t the prosecutor. Besides, Galactica was innocent, that was more important. I only wish I could make Franziska see that…”

“Good luck with that,” Shields said sincerely.



They put the heavier topics behind them after that and just… talked. There was no direction to the conversation, Shields mostly leading with little oddities going on in his life, but it was still nice. Miles even found himself opening up about mundane things like the move-in they still weren’t quite done with. (It’s called ‘socializing’, Miles, Phoenix had the nerve to comment).

They remained for around a hour or so, their time brought to an end by Shields stating that he had some post-trial paperwork he was currently putting off and the fact that the once quiet bar was steadily growing more and more populated. Shields paid the tab (the bartender comped Miles’ drink, but made Shields pay for his for teasing her one too many times) and they walked out together.

They stalled just outside before their ways parted. “Thank you for suggesting this outing,” Miles told him. “It was enjoyable.”

Shields looked like he wanted to make a comment about Miles’ delivery, but held back. “Hey, what’re friends for? Just, next time you decide to take an epic, soul-searching quest, how’s about keeping your Uncle Ray in the loop too?”

“I’d like to hope it won’t come to that again, but I doubt I’ll be leaving any more cryptic notes if I did.” Or else he’d never hear the end of it from Phoenix.

“Well, either way,” he said, holding out his arms for a hug, which Miles politely declined, “don’t be a stranger. You’re always welcome at the office if you want to chat - your name’s on the door after all!”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Miles said genuinely with a slight bow of his head. “Farewell, Mr. Shields.”

Shields smiled back, dipping his hat. “See ya around, Miles.”

Chapter 44

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

New Year’s Eve had been a half day at the office, closing early so those with evening festivities could prepare. Miles had gotten an invite to one such event from Gumshoe, who planned to watch the big fireworks show at Sunshine Coliseum with some colleagues from the precinct, though Miles passed on the offer. Things may have been uneventful since the circus case wrapped up (especially with Franziska making herself scarce, presumedly off to lick her wounds before returning with a vengeance), but he was still feeling emotionally drained from the past few days.

So, he traded the revelry and crowds for a quiet night at home with Phoenix - or rather a mostly quiet night at home. The evening was punctuated by the occasional crash of fireworks outside, despite both the coliseum and midnight being quite a ways away. While the use of certain consumer pyrotechnics was allowed in their state, Miles doubted the ones capable of the sorts of noises they’d been hearing fell under those categories.

His complaints to Phoenix about fire safety violations and general noise pollution only got him an eye roll and a reminder it was like this every year. Vaguely, Miles knew this, he was usually just too deep in a mental funk around this time of year to care - a realization that came to him later that night during a shower, his mind running with the water. Even last year, with Phoenix around as a confidant, had been a fog for Miles, still recovering from the old wounds his former mentor had ripped wide open.

It felt like a good sign, in the weirdest of ways.

After toweling off his hair to sufficient dryness, Miles put on his night cap, pulled a robe on over his nightclothes and exited the bathroom. He’d spent a little longer in the shower than usual, as a quick glance to the clock told Miles it was about a quarter til midnight - still in time to greet the New Year. Phoenix, sentimental as ever, was pretty adamant on the two doing so together, to the point where Miles was a bit surprised not to find the firebird in the room waiting for him to emerge.

Although, Miles also didn’t find him in the den, where the TV had been turned to whatever countdown program Phoenix had probably found first. Poking around the house and calling out to him yielded similar results, which was… odd, to say the least. The symbiont obviously hadn't disappeared - their bond, while mostly background noise, still told him that Phoenix was around somewhere, even if deciphering the exact location was proving difficult.

He got his answer, finally, when he noticed the light to the back porch was on.

The backyard itself was unremarkable. Miles had put off getting outdoor furnishings since it had already been nearing winter when the house was purchased and both agreed the space wasn’t going to see much use until the weather warmed. Yet here Phoenix was, sat upon the top of the steps that led down to the yard.

“Hey,” he said without turning around as the prosecutor stepped out to join him. “Hope you don’t mind me letting myself out.”

Miles frowned at him. “It’s your home too, why are you apologizing?”

“I know, I just…” There was a long pause. “I know.”

“What are you even doing out here? You hate the cold.” Miles could feel the slight chill of the night air through his robe, which meant Phoenix had to be freezing. To prove Miles’ unspoken point, Phoenix even shivered a little, though he tried to hide it.

“You can see the fireworks,” he answered.

As if on cue, a bright light flew up from somewhere past the tree line, expanding out into an array of colors that briefly engulfed the night sky.

“The illegal fireworks,” Miles reminded him, watching the display fizzle out.

Phoenix finally looked over at him, doing a slow scan of Miles’ form. If he had eyebrows to cock, one of them would’ve been. “I would love to see you go out and press charges in your pjs.”

“Obviously I’d get dressed first,” Miles said as he took a seat next to him, mindful to keep the robe as a barrier between the ground and his pajama bottoms. Phoenix scooted a bit to make room for him, but didn’t say anything otherwise. His gaze had been cast back to the sky, but there was a far away look to his eye.

“You seem lost in thought,” Miles observed.

“I was just remembering watching the fireworks with Mia,” he said softly. “On our first New Year’s Eve together we were at the office late doing a big, end-of-the-year deep clean - it was one of the customs she’d kept with her from Kurain.”

“Maya did mention something along those lines when we spoke yesterday,” Miles recalled. The village apparently kept quite busy on New Year’s between tourism and their own traditions. She’d been rambling off her long to-do list and that was one of the few things Miles had actually managed to catch.

Phoenix nodded and continued his story. “As we were wrapping up, the fireworks starting going off. We couldn’t really see anything from the window because of the hotel, so Mia suggested the roof. The view was much better from up there, and we had the place to ourselves, so we stayed to watch the show. Did the same the next year, too. I think it would’ve become a tradition for us.”

The sad tone Phoenix ended with resonated all too familiar to Miles. “My father brought me to a few fireworks shows, though I more recall going than actually watching them. I don’t think I understood the appeal back then.” He paused for another pass of their neighbors’ light show. “They’re pretty enough, I suppose.”

Phoenix let out a breathy laugh. “You can just say you’re not a fan. You’ve been complaining about them all day.”

“Because I don't want to hear them at all hours of the day. It’s disruptive,” he sniffed. “They were going off at 5 in the afternoon, Phoenix. The sun was still out, for Pete's sake!”

He laughed more audibly this time, trailing into a slight shudder as a passing breeze rolled by. “Okay, maybe it is a little excessive,” he conceded. “But it’s the holidays, can you blame people for being overenthusiastic?”

“Yes.”

Phoenix sighed a barely audible “Should've expected that”, making a big show of rolling his eyes as he shuffled his position again, pressing his wings in close to his body.

Miles watched him try to adjust to the elements, ready to suggest returning indoors, but it fell from his lips as Phoenix’s eyes lit up - in more ways than one - as another display of fireworks shot up. While Phoenix was right in saying Miles wasn't the biggest fan, the firebird was clearly enjoying himself, which in turn made Miles hesitant to draw him away.

Still, he couldn’t just ignore his companion’s clear discomfort, so he sought a different solution.
Pivoting, Miles moved his arms from their place in his lap and held them open. The movement caught Phoenix’s attention, who turned to watch with a slight tilt of his head.

“Come here,” Miles softly requested. Phoenix’s expression only grew more confused, but he approached without question. Once he was close enough, Miles undid his robe just enough to bundle the firebird within, tightening it gently around the two of them.

“I’ll never understand how someone who gives off so much heat gets cold so easily,’ Miles muttered as he readjusted, now being warmed himself by Phoenix’s body heat.

Phoenix’s only response was a slight wheezing noise.

“Is this alright?” Miles asked at the odd reply, unable to see Phoenix’s expression with the firebird’s head beneath his own. The emotion creeping in through their link was similarly odd. “I could go retrieve a blanket.”

“N-no… This is fi…fine.” He answered, words coming out stilted. He must’ve been colder than Miles realized. “Thank you.”

Miles gave a low hum, leaning back as Phoenix settled more comfortably against him, weight supported by his arms behind him. “Well I can’t have you freezing to death on me, now can I?”

“It’s not that cold…” he argued weakly, now burrowed up to his head in Miles’ robe.

“No, it’s not,” Miles agreed. “You just have no tolerance for it.”

“I’m a bird. There’s reasons we migrate south for the winter,” he groused.

“I think you’ll find most of those reasons don’t apply to you.”

Phoenix grumbled again, but let Miles have the last word.

Overhead the fireworks were increasing in their frequency, likely coinciding with the approach of midnight. They watched quietly, save for the occasional gasps of awe that Phoenix probably didn’t realize he was making (It was, quite frankly, cute, and Miles had to suppress his chuckles lest the symbiont get self-conscious and stop).

A glance was cast back to the latest display of pyrotechnics. They… still didn’t do much for him but, in the moment, underneath the night sky with his closest confidant against him, warm and contented, Miles could see some of the appeal.

“10!”

Voices in the distance - probably the culprits behind the fireworks - eventually broke through the bubble they’d formed around themselves. A countdown, he realized as he listened to what was being said. So it was that time.

“Hey, Miles?” Phoenix prompted at the ‘5’.

“Yes?”

He felt feathers brush against his neck as Phoenix tilted his head up toward him. The countdown had reached ‘1’ now.

“Happy New Year,” he said softly over the distance cheers.

Miles smiled in return. “Happy New Year as well, Phoenix.”



With the announcement of the Pink Princess series finale, Maya found the perfect excuse to invite Pearl and herself over for a visit (which Phoenix was surprised she even bothered with the formality of, rather than just showing up unannounced. Miles was glad for the forewarning).

He made an offer to pick them up from the train station, but Maya was insistent that they’d be fine on their own, stating she had an errand she wanted to run beforehand anyway. This left Miles more time to spend making sure the house was in order - even if someone thought it unnecessary.

“Y’know…” said someone commented as he watched the prosecutor do his last minute scrutiny of the guest room, since they’d decided it’d be easier for the girls to spend the night. “You weren’t this fussy when you had her over before.”

“Because I didn’t have the time to prepare in those instances.”

“Who says you have the time now? Maya said they’d be here soon - which in her language could mean just about anything.” Phoenix said, shifting his position on the bed and rumpling the covers. Miles frowned at him.

“Besides,” he continued, heedless of the disapproving look, “it’s not like they’d notice if anything was off. Well, Pearls might, but she’s too polite to say anything.”

“All the more reason to make sure everything’s perfect.”

Phoenix pulled a face. “The house is spotless. It was spotless yesterday. And the day before that, and the day before-

Miles leaned over to place a finger on his beak, shushing him. “You have a great deal of opinions for someone who isn’t even helping.”

Phoenix pulled his head back and scowled. “I could bite you, you know.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Miles said, calling his bluff. “Now, make yourself useful.”

“With what?”

“You can start,” Miles leaned down again, causing Phoenix to promptly hop to the headboard, out of reach, and smoothed out the covers, “by not messing up the bedspread.”

“Oh please. The creases add…” he waved his wing around, searching for the right word “…character.”

“Character?” Miles said dubiously.

“Yup.” Phoenix clicked his beak noisily, continuing to unhelpfully supervise the tidying-up process - though he thankfully refrained from adding any more ‘character’ to the room.

The doorbell did eventually ring, which Phoenix immediately rushed off to go check. Miles took another moment to adjust some of the decor before following.

“It's open!” he heard Phoenix call after presumedly flipping the latch and he rounded the corner to the firebird getting pulled into a hug by Pearl as Maya closed the door behind them. As soon as Pearl let go, he was promptly scooped up by Maya. Miles hung back to watch, smiling as he leaned against one of the walls.

It didn’t last long, because as soon as Maya noticed him, it was his turn. She held her arms out wide as she approached, revealing that she had dressed for the occasion with a Pink Princess t-shirt underneath her unzipped jacket.

“You’re late,” Miles said, pulling back from their short embrace.

Maya stuck her tongue out at him. “The show’s not on for another hour.”

Pearl came up to her cousin’s side, bowing her head in greeting. “We’re sorry Mr. Edgey. Mr. Nick.”

“Don’t apologize, Pearly. We swung by Mr. Grossberg’s office and he would not stop rambling. I thought we were gonna be stuck there forever!”

“Why’d you go see Grossberg of all people?” Phoenix asked.

Maya grinned. “Because I had to graaaaab…” she held out the word as she fished around in her pocket, eventually pulling out two slips of paper that she presented to Miles, “these!”

He accepted them, squinting at the print before his eyes went wide. “Are these… passes for the Hero of Heroes Grand Prix?!”

“The what now?”

“They are!” she replied, not answering Phoenix’s question. “Will Powers sent them to Mr. Grossberg, to thank us for helping him out that one time. Only, Mr. Grossberg didn’t want his, so he gave me both.”

“They’re VIP passes as well,” Miles said in awe. “I can’t believe you have these!"

Maya chuckled to herself. “It’s good to have connections.”

“Will someone please explain what this Grand Prix is?” Phoenix barked out in exasperation. “It’s not the same one that flamboyant magician was in, is it?’

“It’s the annual competition for all the television heroes, where they decide who is the best amongst them,” Miles explained before Maya pieced together who Phoenix was poking fun at. “It’s also when the studios announce their upcoming projects and hold press conferences. It's quite the event.”

“And we get to go!” Maya cheered. “We’re each allowed a plus-one, too. Pearly’s obviously gonna be mine, so you have to find your own.”

“I’ve never been a plus-one before,” Pearl said, swooning a bit.

“Noted,” Miles said, lightly rolling his eyes at Maya, “though I don’t know who I would even bring.” The next closest person to him was probably Gumshoe, though he blanched at the idea of sharing his hobby with the detective. They weren’t that close. Shields was in a similar boat as they’d just really started to get reacquainted.

“Aren’t you bringing Mr. Nick?” Pearl asked genuinely.

“Yes, but he doesn’t need a ticket.”

“Why Prosecutor Edgeworth, are you planning to smuggle me in?” Phoenix said as he flew up to land on Miles’ shoulder, practically breathing into his ear as he harshly whispered, “The scandal."

“Hush, you.”

“What about your sister?” Maya suggested after a short pause. Miles gave her a look of surprise. “I mean, you’ve been looking for a chance for you guys to sit down and talk, right? Maybe this could be it?” She didn’t sound especially enthusiastic or confident about the idea, despite offering it.

“You know, she might be onto something,” Phoenix remarked. “So far your attempts have had… mixed results.”

“An understatement,” Miles grumbled. Their paths had crossed again last month - the first since their little ‘heart-to-heart’ in December. She’d come to sit in on a trial of his and had quite a few things to say about the guilty verdict it had resulted in, most boiling down to ‘hypocrite’.

Phoenix hummed, probably recalling the same thing. “So, maybe you do need to change up the setting."

Miles exhaled softly. “Even if she accepted the invitation from me - which is unlikely - I don’t hold much confidence in this sort of setting.” Franziska knew of his enjoyment of superhero media and had always expressed a bafflement over it. Miles worried pulling her out of her comfort zone would only put her further on edge. “There’s also the matter of you being there.” He turned his head to look at Maya.

“What? Me?

“She’s not overly fond of you, as you’ll recall.”

“Ah… right.”

“Well then, she’s just a big meanie!” Pearl exclaimed, puffing out her cheeks. “How could anyone not like Mystic Maya?!”

Maya placatingly pat her cousin’s head, causing her hair loops to bounce. “Cool the jets, Pearly.”

Pearl tilted her head back. “Jets?”

“Never mind.”

“I do appreciate your concern, truly, but let’s spare the Grand Prix my family drama, shall we?”

“Yeah, alright,” Maya replied, though she didn’t hide the relief in her tone very well. “So, anyway,” she then said, changing the topic, “how’s about tour of the place? We’ve still got a little time before the finale.”

They showed the girls the guest room first so they could drop off their bags, then turned their sights to the rest of the house. The tour was brief - Miles led them from room to room while Phoenix offered his usual brand of snide commentary from his shoulder. Their home was fairly unremarkable in Miles’ opinion, though different enough from their traditional background in Kurain for Pearl in particular to find fascination in the mundane.

When showtime finally arrived, the group split ways. Phoenix was disinterested in humoring their watching habits this time round, stating that they’d be at ‘peak insufferability’ for the finale. Pearl was curious enough that she might’ve stuck around, despite not following the plot, but she’d brought along a few books from a favorite author of hers that she wanted Phoenix to read with her. The two disappeared off into the guest room, leaving Miles and Maya to their show.

And it was quite the show. By no means perfect (there were a number of decisions made that were going to fuel a lot of upcoming discussion topics), but it felt planned, unlike the rushed finale Steel Samurai had gotten in the wake of Jack Hammer’s murder, with potential for expansion in future projects.

“I still can’t believe they got married and had a kid,” Maya exclaimed from the floor. Halfway through the show she’d slid down off the couch and had yet to move from where she’d landed.

Miles gave her a quizzical look. “They've had the romantic subplot throughout most of the series. You’ve complained about it before.” The writing on these shows excelled in every aspect except romance, in both their opinions. They differed in the fact that Maya cared enough to have further opinions on the topic, whereas Miles simply acknowledged it and moved on.

“Cause her relationship with the Steel Samurai just always felt… siblingly, you know?”

“I know that that is most certainly not a word."

Slumping her shoulders, Maya’s expression went flat. “You know you don’t have to counter everything I say.”

Miles cleared his throat. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

“You and Nick are perfect for each other,” she mumbled with a roll of her eyes. “And anyways, it wasn’t official before, it was just hints. Now that they’re together, it’s just kinda… weird. You know what I mean?”

“Not really,” he replied, though mostly because he wasn’t as invested. “However, you do project very heavily on the Pink Princess.”

“Can you blame me?!” she exclaimed. “You were there, you heard that Manilla guy or whatever his name was. He looked right at me and came up with the idea! I still think he owes me something for that."

“He’ll likely be at the Grand Prix. You could ask him then.”

“Ugh, no,” she groaned, letting her head fall back against the couch seat with a light ‘thump’. “If I never have to see that creep again, it’ll be too soon.”

“Perhaps I’ll get Franziska to accompany us after all. If our paths do cross, I’m sure the whip would encourage him to behave.”

“Nah, he’d probably be into it,” Maya replied, though it at least got a laugh out of her.



Talk had turned back to the finale, which was interrupted when Maya’s stomach decided to remind them that they had yet to eat dinner.

“Let me see what Pearly wants,” Maya said when asked if she’d like takeout or for Miles to prepare something. “Surprised she and Nick haven’t come out yet. They should know the show’s over by now.”

So Maya went off to check on them while Miles went to check on his food reserves (needlessly, as he’d just stocked up in preparation for the company). She reappeared in the kitchen entryway moments later, frantically motioning for Miles to follow her.

Brows furrowing, Miles let her lead him to the guest room. Maya paused just outside the doorway, shushing him with a finger to her lips while her other hand pointed inside.

Beyond the doorway, Phoenix and Pearl were settled at the head of the bed, fast asleep, a picture book before them left open and abandoned.

They were mostly upright with Pearl curled up under one of Phoenix’s wings, her head pillowed in his ruff, while Phoenix’s head was against the headboard. The position did not look particularly comfortable on his end, neck tilted back and wing propped up, but he likely hadn’t the heart to disturb Pearl once she’d dozed off. Miles idly wondered long he’d sat there, eyes roving the room or rereading those open pages, before giving up and willing his spirit-driven body to sleep.

“He’s such a mama bird,” Maya whispered, jolting him from his thoughts. Miles looked over to see Maya pulling out her phone to snap a picture. “They were like this all the time in the village - Pearly following him around like a duckling and Nick doting over her in return. It’s… sweet.”

“Just sweet?” Miles whispered in return, catching in her tone that there was more to that statement.

She turned her phone in her hands a few times. “It's just… I think Nick’s the first adult in her life that’s really let Pearly just be a kid. Everyone expects so much of her cause her powers are so strong, and then there’s Nick, helping her with her reading and watching kid’s shows with her. I’m really grateful.” She peeked up at Miles out of the corner of her eye. “Don’t tell him, though, or I can’t keep teasing him about it.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” he replied as he watched the two sleeping figures, Phoenix twitching slightly. “However, we should go before we disturb them.”

Maya nodded in agreement, getting another quick photo in before they crept out, pulling the door closed behind them. They headed back to the kitchen, opting to cook something simple that should ideally be ready by the time they awoke.

Maya sat at the island while Miles flitted about gathering supplies, a wide grin on her face as she looked at her phone. “Oh, these are definitely keepers!” she cooed. “Probably some of the best pics I’ve gotten of Nick.”

“That’s not surprising, given most of your photographs are of him trying to evade the camera,” Miles commented. “I don't know why you even bother.”

“Cause it’s about the memories. Besides, I’ve got a couple where I’ve gotten him to sit still, see!”

Scrolling through her photos, she quickly found whatever she was looking for, all but shoving the phone in Miles’ face. He backed up to a reasonable distance, revealing a simple image of Phoenix making use of his wings to help hang a large scroll high up on a chamber wall, the aforementioned scroll likely the reason why he hadn’t darted out of view. He was staring down the camera with the most disgruntled expression.

“He looks thrilled,” Miles said.

“I didn’t say it was a great picture of him. Although, he doesn’t think any of his pictures are good ones. Something about he doesn’t think he photographs well.”

“Does he really?” he asked.

“That’s what he says, anyways. I can’t tell if he’s actually self-conscious about it or just being awkward.”

“A bit of both, perhaps,” Miles suggested, gesturing with the spoon in his hand. For someone who bared his emotions through an empathic link, Phoenix could be surprisingly hard to read sometimes.

“Oh well, one day,” she said somewhat ominously, putting down her phone and hopping over to Miles’ side. “Need any help?”

He looked down at the simmering pot before him. He was just making a simple pasta dish, something that didn’t require much assistance especially at the current stage. Instead he gave her the task of getting the dining table on the other side of the island set, pointing out where everything she needed was stored.

Miles knew it wouldn’t take her too long to set everything up, so he wasn’t particularly surprised when she returned to hover over his preparations, which is how Pearl and Phoenix found them when to two finally emerged. Miles shooed all three off to the table so he could finish up.

Maya and Pearl had taken up seats across from one another at the round table when Miles came with the food, Phoenix between them. While the symbiont obviously wouldn't be eating with them, Maya must not have wanted him to feel left out because in place of a plate was the book Phoenix was currently reading. Miles wondered if she'd made note of it sitting on the sofa bed when touring his room earlier. He smiled at the gesture as he sat down and served out dinner.

Dinner conversation was more talk of the Pink Princess, summarizing the finale (and adding context when needed) for Pearl and Phoenix, though the latter was beak-deep in his book trying to ignore Maya.

He drew away for a brief moment to point out a sauce stain on Pearl’s cheek which, after the young girl missed the first few attempts to clear with her own napkin, he wiped away with the wrist part of his wing. Seconds later he realized his blunder, sauce now in his feathers, and excused himself to go wash it off.

Total mama bird,” Maya said once he was out of earshot, nudging Miles with her elbow.

The moment went uncommented on once Phoenix returned and dinner finished without further incident. Afterwards they spent a little while longer socializing before the girls called it a night. Despite the nap, Pearl was dozing off and they had to be up early for the train. Miles said his brief goodnights, though Phoenix was asked to linger to finish the book he’d been reading to Pearl, so he left them to set about tidying up.

A while later, as Miles was putting away dry dishes, he heard the familiar approach of wingbeats and the rattle of a barstool trying to remain steadied.

“How was story time?” he asked, not turning around.

“It went much better once Pearl fussed at Maya for adding commentary.” He let out a deep exhale. “It’s great seeing them, but they can be a handful sometimes.”

“You’re one to talk,” Miles said, rolling his eyes.

“And what's that supposed to mean, huh?” Phoenix was very suddenly at his side on the counter, nudging at Miles’ shoulder.

“That it runs in the family.” Miles poked at the Magatama, the Fey heirloom, that he still wore - that he hadn’t taken off since they determined his and its spiritual energy could harmlessly mesh.

“Hey, I’m only an honorary Fey,” Phoenix retorted.

“The difference being…?"

“Doesn’t come with the drama.” Miles winced a bit in sympathy, prompting Phoenix to continue. “Maya said she's been standing her ground with the elders more and more. I know there’s not a lot she can do until she's officially the Master, but I think it’s helping. The girls seem to be doing better at least.”

“That’s good,” Miles said, knowing the way Phoenix worried about them. For all Maya’s teasing about Phoenix fussing over Pearl, Miles wondered if she noticed how much she was the subject of it too.

Another nudge. “You’re smirking.”

“Am I?” Miles answered, causing Phoenix to lean into him. “I was just recalling an earlier conversation.”

“About what?”

“Confidential."

“Confidential? What, are you and Maya keeping secrets?” he gasped, leaning more heavily.

“I can’t put away dishes with you on me like that,” Miles complained.

Phoenix didn’t move. “Was that what you two were whispering about earlier?”

Blinking in surprise, Miles looked down at him. “You heard that?”

“I was vaguely aware of your voices cause I was only half asleep, but I didn’t hear what you were saying.” He gave an exaggerated sigh. “To think, my best friends, gossiping behind my back."

“Oh please, you expect me believe that you weren’t doing the same while I was away?” Miles accused. The following silence was telling and Miles took the momentary distraction to gently push the symbiont back into an upright position.

Finally taking the hint, Phoenix flew off the counter to let Miles finish what he was doing. Planning on turning in once he was done, he bid a goodnight to the firebird as he left.

Once the kitchen was sufficiently clean, Miles ran through the rest of his nightly routine, eventually slipping into bed to put a cap on what was, all in all, a successful evening. Pink Princess wrapped up with an overall satisfactory ending, the girls seemed to enjoy their stay, and they had the Grand Prix to look forward to next month.

With a double check that his alarm was set for tomorrow morning, Miles shut off his bedside lamp and settled in for the night.



Perhaps it was because he had big plans in less than a week, or maybe the case really was that taxing, but Miles couldn’t help letting out a long breath once the judge finally brought down his guilty verdict.

The trial had dragged on for two days - the defendant, Timothy Viktors, was accused of and confessed to killing his wife in their kitchen. The murder weapon was a knife found on the scene with the accused's fingerprints, who was also found beside the victim when the police were called (a concerned neighbor had heard yelling through their shared apartment wall), incriminating splatters of her blood covering his hands and clothes.

It should have been conclusive, but they lacked a motive - Viktors refused to offer anything more than his admission of guilt and character witnesses claimed that they had been a fairly average couple and the murder was entirely unexpected.

So the trial dragged on into another day, until Miles and Phoenix were able to uncover some medical records that were finally able to explain both the motive and the defendant’s caginess. The secret he’d kept from not just the court, but from everyone he knew, was that things were not all roses at home - something he’d not been willing to reveal even while being tried as a dangerous murderer. It took pushing the defendant to his wits’ end before he finally told the truth. Yes, he had killed his wife, because she’d been moments away from doing the same to him. And not for the first time, either.

Mr. Shield’s had been on the other side of the bench, catching up to Miles in the lobby a little while after court had adjourned. He looked similarly worn out by the ordeal, though kept his casual saunter as he approached.

“Good show out there, Prosecutor. Even if you were a tad bit harsh on Tim.”

Miles scoffed. “I sympathize that he was a victim himself, but whether out of fear or pride, he was only making matters worse by trying to conceal what she’d done.”

You could’ve been nicer about it… Phoenix remarked in an exasperated tone.

“Well, can’t argue with the results,” Shields said. “You spared him a first-degree charge.”

“I might not have, if you weren't so adamant about those injuries.” Viktors had bruising in several places around his body, not uncommon if one’s victim had fought back against their attacker first. This had been part of the prosecution’s opening arguments, but Shields’ pushing had gotten Miles to dig a little deeper, where they found that Viktors had been treated for similar injuries a number of times in the past.

“It was one of the few things he actually reacted to. Had to be something there, even if I couldn't find it.”

“I would’ve been surprised if you did. Your client got treated off the record at a number of discreet clinics. It took quite a few resources to track down the information.” Including a mystic artifact to let them know when they were on the right track.

Shields made a low noise, pulling down his hat. “I’m not happy to be right, but at least it’s over now.”

“Indeed.”

Shields moved the hat back in place. “Well, I’ve got some stuff I need to file back at the office. Actually…” He looked up at Miles with a grin that did not instill confidence in the prosecutor over what was about to be said. “Why don’t you tag along?”

“To… your office?” Miles replied weakly. The same office that had once been his father’s, a lifetime ago? That Miles hadn’t stepped foot into for over fifteen years?

Shields nodded. “I’m not expecting any clients today.”

It’s not like you have anything urgent to do, Phoenix pointed out.

Miles kept his face carefully blank so Shields wouldn’t think he was being scowled at. Phoenix was, unfortunately, correct, the work he had left for the day could wait, so the only reason he had to decline was his own apprehension (A perfectly valid reason, he reminded himself with a sniff). But, he was curious…

“Lead the way.”

The Edgeworth Law Offices weren’t the closest thing in the world, so Miles ended up following by car, driving along a route his father may have taken countless times. He’d lost sight of Shields at some point, not that it truly mattered since he was following a GPS anyway, finding him waiting in the building’s lot beside his car.

Phoenix quickly made himself scarce before he was seen through the windshield as Miles idled for a moment, taking in the building before him. It wasn’t quite the one he remembered from his childhood - the exterior had gone through some updates to keep with a modern look, and he was sure a number of the neighboring businesses had been replaced, but the sight of it still filled his heart with that familiar ache most of his childhood memories did.

Shields was patient as he waited for him to exit the car, guiding Miles in and up to the second floor once he’d done so. Stepping through the threshold gave him another pause because, while the exterior was almost entirely new, the interior was another story entirely.

“It’s just as I remember it…”

The front part, like most law offices, was a waiting area for meeting with clients (or for young children to do school projects). It was sparsely decorated, but homey, which Shields clearly hadn’t seen a need to change. The most he'd added were a few personal touches here and there and some modern updates.

“Why fix what ain’t broke, as they say,” he replied, moving into the back room. He placed his hat upon a coatrack near the door, alongside a beige trench coat that also once belonged to the office’s former owner. Miles had seen Shields wear it only once so far, on the final day of his own trial, where it had been referred to as a ‘lucky coat’. He took a moment to brush his hand against the sleeve.

You doing okay? Phoenix asked, checking in.

I’m fine, Miles replied truthfully. There’s just a lot of memories here.

I bet. I'd love to see for myself, but I don't think Shields is ready for me.

Miles could imagine how that would likely go. Not without a great deal of context, he replied.

Next time, then.

That caught him off guard. Truly?

Yeah,
Phoenix said. I’d like to meet him, properly. I’ve been around him enough times now that-

“Miles?” the man questioned from behind the desk, interrupting them. He wondered what things must have looked liked from his perspective - Miles, frozen in place with his hand still resting on the coat.

“Pardon. I was deep in thought,” he explained, finally moving away from the doorway to approach the desk. It was neater than Miles was expecting, covered only by what looked like the documents from today's trial, some miscellaneous stationary, and a small framed photo of his father and a much younger Shields posed in front of a fountain. The picture was familiar, it’d been in the office for a while, even back then, though Miles did not remember exactly what event it correlated to.

“It almost feels like you’re judging me,” Shields commented as Miles continued to look around, though he was smiling as he said it.

“Hm? No, not at all. Simply... observing.”

“Well, I didn’t bring you over just to sightsee. So, tell me what you’ve been up to.”

“Work,” Miles replied tonelessly.

Shields frowned at him. “Oh, come on, that can’t be all you’ve been doing?”

No, it’s been basically that and geeking out over samurai, Phoenix answered.

Miles felt his eyes rolling at the both of them. “I suppose I do have… plans… coming up,” he said, staying intentionally vague.

“Oh, plans, huh?” he crooned. “This a hot date Uncle Ray should know about?”

“I wouldn’t call going anywhere with Maya a ‘hot date’,” Miles said with a grimace, figuring he would reveal at least that much.

The teasing grin did not leave Shields’ face, but his eyes softened slightly. “It’s still a wonder that you two are so close.”

“It was an unexpected friendship, as I’ve mentioned, but we have a surprising amount in common.”

Like samurai, Phoenix reiterated. Miles, as subtly as he could, flicked at the spot on his arm the symbiont was occupying.

Shields hadn’t notice either way as he was looking down at his hands, perched at the bridge of his nose. His response came a moment later, spoken much softer than the conversation’s prior tone. “Like DL-6?”

Miles hummed his confirmation.

“I’ve had my suspicions ever since her sister started popping up on the court dockets - Fey’s not exactly the most common name, you know?”

“It surprises me that it never came up while you were investigating together,” Miles remarked.

“I think she was too worried about you to mention anything,” he said. “So, was that her…?”

“Her mother? Yes,” Miles finished.

Shields let out a low whistle. “Small world.”

“You've no idea,” he replied, picturing the twisted web of connections between himself and the Fey family. He’d say it was fate if he believed in that sort of thing.

With not much else to discuss, Miles wrapped up his visit shortly afterwards, leaving Shields to his files so he could return to the ones waiting for him at his own office. They may not be urgent, but Miles still wanted them done before the Grand Prix.

The defense attorney bid him goodbye with an open invitation to drop in whenever. He nodded in acknowledgement as he let himself out, knowing that, with Phoenix’s request hovering in the back of his mind, he’d be holding Shields to that offer. But that was a bridge to be crossed when the time came. For now, Miles paused once more in the doorway, taking in one last, lingering look at his past and anticipating what his future would bring.

Notes:

As always when I get fan art for the fic, linking it at the end. Submitted to me by dragonidpyrus12- https://www.tumblr.com/dei-ryuu/706117495541661696/hi-there-im-not-sure-how-to-start-this-but-i

Chapter Text

The Grand Prix was set to be held at the Gatewater Hotel - the luxury one in the more ritzy part of town thankfully, linked to a certain other location of the same name by owner alone. It'd been the host of the Grand Prix for the past three years, ever since the booming interest in the superhero genre had forced the event to expand its scale. What once would have been held at a small theatre now occupied the hotel’s entire second floor event space.

Upon checking in they were greeted by Will Powers, who was not only their benefactor, but attending alongside them as their host. At first he seemed surprised to see Miles in place of Grossberg, but to his relief the actor held no grudge for his role in prosecuting him, thanking Miles for his help in proving his innocence by pushing Vasquez towards a confession. Mildly flustered, Miles accepted the gratitude with a handshake and ignored the conspiratorial giggling Maya was doing behind his back. He could only imagine what she was discussing with Phoenix, who'd ditched him in favor of her company this evening.

Powers led them to the banquet hall as they discussed their predictions for the night. While hardly the first time Miles had interacted with the actor out of costume, it was still jarring just how different he was to his television counterpart, soft-spoken and unassuming despite his intimidating frame. Though, in his defense, Maya’s personality could be overbearing at times, the young woman basically guiding the conversation as they were guided to their seats.

They spoke on other topics as well, like what everyone had been up to in the past year, with both Maya and Miles glossing over the heavier events they’d been through. Powers, meanwhile had moved on to a children’s exercise program after The Pink Princess finished filming, quickly endearing himself to Pearl who was a fan of said program (Apparently the ‘bunny man’ as she called him, portrayed by Powers in a rabbit mask, was her favorite).

Food was brought out to herald the start of the ceremony, quieting all personal conversations. The nominees were introduced with a showcase from their respective programs, as well as a short display from the actors as they came on stage, demonstrating the strengths of each hero and why they should win. Once everyone was assembled, the announcer chewed the scenery for a bit, building up the drama for the awaited reveal. Unsurprisingly it was the favorite, Nickel Samurai, who took the crown.

Maya cheered around the chicken leg she’d been munching on (and from the look that briefly crossed her face, been called out for by Phoenix), thrilled with the result. Miles was similarly pleased - the Samurai franchise as a whole had been dominating the Grand Prix in the past years and he’d hoped for the continuation of that streak.

“Too bad for the Jammin' Ninja, though,” Powers commented once the energy had subsided a bit. “Last year he lost to the Pink Princess, so I thought this might be his year…"

Maya hummed thoughtfully. “He seemed a bit off today. He didn't even have his bright red guitar.”

“Hey, you're right! Strange he'd go without it, especially for the big show.” Powers said.

Miles let them deliberate. He’d never held much interest in ninjas and thus was not familiar enough with the show or its lead to comment. He was just content in the fact that another member of the Samurai franchise had claimed the coveted title.

“Anyway,” Maya said, diverting away from their wild theorizing, “we’ve got to head to the lobby. The post-ceremony stage show's supposed to start real soon!”

“It’s not for another twenty minutes,” Miles replied, checking his watch. “The Nickel Samurai is probably still getting ready.”

“But we don’t want to be the last one’s there!”

He looked around at the rest of the banquet hall, where no one was showing any signs of relocating, raising a doubtful eyebrow.

“I heard he’s also going to be doing a press conference after that,” Powers added. “Something about a confession.”

“A confession?” Miles questioned. “What could that possibly be about?”

Powers turned bashful, his shoulders slumping. “S-sorry… I’m not in the loop about those sort of things anymore. All I know is he’s supposed to stay in costume for it.”

The costume part was unorthodox, but Miles waved it off. He hadn’t really been expecting an answer in the first place, as their VIP passes covered all press conferences. They’d get an answer sooner or later. Preferably sooner, with the way Maya was impatiently tugging at his arm.

“Come on, Miles!” she practically whined. Rolling his eyes, he allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, Pearl and Powers falling in step behind them.

They entered the lavish lobby, where people were gathered near the compact stage that was set up for the performance, most of them busy. Miles judged them to be directors or stage hands, doing the last of their prep work before the show’s start. There admittedly were a few people seated in the audience chairs, though most of the other attendees were still enjoying the banquet hall. However, before he could point these facts out, he was interrupted by the crackle of the PA system turning on.

“See?! Told you it’s about to start!” Maya insisted.

“They’re quite ahead of schedule if that’s the case.” Barely five minutes had even passed.

The unseen speaker cleared their throat. “Your attention please, your attention please. The Nickel Samurai's Post-Ceremony Stage Show will not be held tonight due to unforeseen circumstances.”

Chatter broke out across the sparsely populated room, from stage hands crying out in frustration to Maya’s exclamation of dismay.

We are asking for everyone's cooperation at this time, so please stay where you are,” they continued. “This is a special request from the police.”

Miles’ thoughts narrowed in on that last statement before the PA went silent, frowning. He could think of a few reasons why the police would be involved with the cancelation of a stage show, none of them good.

Powers shuffled in closer to him. “D-Do you want me to go check out what's going on?”

He shook his head. “No, I should be the one to go.”

“No one’s going anywhere!” A gruff voice shouted out from behind, startling them. “Didn't you hear the announcement just now?! It just finished telling you not to move!”

Miles felt himself freeze in his tracks, but not because of the order, as he slowly turned around.

The interloper was dressed in some sort of… space themed costume, brandishing a prop ray gun as if it were a real weapon. Their face was completely obscured by a stylized astronaut’s helmet, but the voice… He knew that voice.

And as the woman quickly launched into a tirade on the the disrespectful nature of the day’s youths, not even pausing to take a breath, there could be no mistaking her identity. Miles could only watch on in horror as, mid-speech, the helmet was removed, revealing the visage of a one Wendy Oldbag.

She blinked for a moment, her eyes probably needing to adjust from the odd choice of headgear, before recognition sank in.

“Is that my Edgey-poo?!” she cooed with a flutter of her eyelashes, her demeanor completely flipped on its head. “Oh, I knew you just couldn't stay away from me for too long!”

“Ngohh…” Miles shuddered, taking a few slow steps back.

“Um, Ms. Oldbag…?” Powers began, drawing her attention to him.

“Wait… you! You’re Powers, aren’t you?”

“Ah, yup. That’s me…” he replied bashfully.

“You didn't get nominated last year either, did you? Oh, that's right. You're doing that children's exercise program, trying to play nice.” She went off into another long, involved tangent, Miles seriously considering using the distraction as a chance to escape.

“But, what are you doing here?” Maya asked, cutting her off before she could go on much longer.

Oldbag gave Maya a curious look, though she didn't acknowledge if she remembered her from back then. “Look at my uniform and tell me you can't tell I'm a member of security!”

“I… can’t?” Maya answered, which was apparently wrong as she ended up with the ray gun brandished in her direction, the item making cartoonish sound effects as she pulled the trigger. She did, however, eventually explain that she lost her job at Global Studios shortly after the incident with Hammer, as part of a massive wave of cutbacks across the entire studio.

“I thought about being a bodyguard after that, right Edgey-poo?” she said, giving him her attention again. “I came to offer you my services. Only, you told me ‘That sort of arrangement would be entirely too troublesome for me.’ Remember?”

He didn’t, truthfully, as he tried to forget every encounter he had with the woman. It was only gratitude towards her gift of a very rare Steel Samurai figure that kept her slightly in his good graces.

“So you ended up here, then,” he remarked instead, reeling the topic back in.

“And in the midst of another of those incidents again, no less!” she huffed.

“I-Incidents?” Powers questioned, concerned. “Like murder kind of incidents?”

“Maybe. I don’t have all the details. You see, I'm a bit of a devilish woman. So wherever I go, a rain of blood will come pouring down. Bet you didn't know that!”

“Fascinating,” Miles replied with a grimace.

Thankfully, something seemed to catch her attention as she craned her neck to squint at something behind them. “Oh, my Edgey-poo, I must leave you now. Duty calls. Hey you Whippersnapper-!” Her shouts trailed away as she stomped off towards her next unfortunate victim. Miles let out a heavy sigh of relief.

Pearl gently tapped at his arm. “Mr. Edgey? Was that your special someone?” she asked innocently. Maya burst out in laughter behind her.

He sucked in a breath, knowing that the words he’d like to use to describe that woman were not appropriate. “More like the bane of my existence,” is what he settled on.

“Bay-een…?”

Another sigh. “No, Pearl. No she is not,” he responded, to the young girl’s (distressing) disappointment.

Maya finally stopped laughing, coming over to lean against Miles. “Ignoring the ol’ windbag, what do you think happened? Is it really a murder?”

“I don’t know,” he said, “but I do intend to find out.”

“Great! I’ll come too.”

“No,” Miles said, shutting her down. “You’re going to stay here with Pearl and Mr. Powers.”

“What?! Why?”

“Because I have investigative authority, you do not.” He turned to Powers. “That is alright, isn’t it? If they remain here with you?”

“Oh, yeah, no problem. Maybe I could even show little Pearl here some of the exercises from the show while we're waiting."

“Would you really?” she said in wonder.

The matter settled (regardless of how Maya felt about it), it was time to investigate. Oldbag wasn't useful for much else, but she was at least able to tell Miles where the police had taken up station. They were by the rooms the actors were staying in, on the other side of the banquet hall from the lobby.

As he passed back through the banquet area, Miles paused to scan the room. While still unclear about the nature of the incident, there was a possibility that any one of the people present could have a hand in it. There was a tense atmosphere about the room, assumedly caused by the announcement, and he continued forward before he drew too much attention to himself.

It was a little ways down a hall from there, but Miles suspected he was headed in the right direction as the sounds of an unseen disagreement carried over from around the corner.

“I told you! I get people the info they want! Which means that I've got a right to know!"

“Nope! Don't care who you are, pal, we're still investigating so you can't go in!”

The second voice, even without the familiar catchphrase, obviously belonged to Gumshoe. The first had the distinctive southern drawl of someone else he wasn’t too inclined to run into.

“Hey! Edgeworth!” It was Hart who noticed him first, waving him over as he rounded the corner. From their positioning, she had obviously been trying to get into a door surrounded by bear-related paraphernalia that the man was blocking.

“S-sir?!” Gumshoe started, snapping to attention. “Did they send you to investigate this case?”

"Not exactly. I presume this is the crime scene?”

“It sure as sugar is,” Hart interrupted before Gumshoe could respond. “Hey, you’ve got some authority. How about doin’ a gal a favor and telling this cop to let me in?”

Miles frowned at her. “Why would I do that? You’re a member of the public.”

“Oh come on! And after all the help I’ve been to you, too.” Her head drooped in disappointment.

“It’s like I told you, pal,” Gumshoe said. “This is a murder scene, only the police are allowed in.”

Hart suddenly perked back up. “Ha! I knew it! My gut instinct told me so!” Cheering to herself about the publicity of a celebrity murder, Hart scampered off before the detective could get another word in.

“Oop! Me and my big mouth…”

Miles could only sigh. In any event, that answered one of his questions, Gumshoe’s blundering aside. “So, what happened?”

“Witness found the body of Juan Corrida - the actor who plays the Jammin’ Ninja - in his room, sir. We’ve already arrested Matt Engarde under suspicion of his murder. He's the-“

“The Nickel Samurai. Yes, I know,” Miles finished, already getting more flashbacks to the Global Studios case.

“Oh yeah, I guess you would since you like that kinda stuff. I’m not a real fan of action shows or anything, but even I know who those guys are!” he chuckled.

Miles sputtered, eyes shifting away. “Y-you are mistaken, Detective, as I do not watch those shows either.”

“Really?” he asked, genuinely confused. “But you’ve got that fancy statue in your office. Isn’t it a collector’s item?”

“Irrelevant. It was a gift, and is thus not conclusive evidence. I only have that phoenix statue in there now at my paralegal's request,” Miles lied. He just hadn’t found a better place for his souvenir from their visit to Greece and it looked nice in the windowsill.

“If you say so… You’re the boss,” the detective replied, scratching at his head.

“Verily. Now, we’re off topic. About the victim.”

"Oh, right! Anyway… he was found with a knife stuck in his chest and there were signs of a struggle. As for Engarde, we did a search when we went to talk to him and found a bloody button from the Ninja’s costume stuck to those fancy pants of his.

“His hakama,” Miles said, mostly to himself. He could see how something could easily get caught within the pleats.

“Obviously it’s still pretty early in the investigation, but it looks like it’ll probably be an easy win if you’re prosecuting.”

Ready to argue that winning wasn't the point, Miles was distracted by faint stirrings from his bond with Phoenix, dampened by distance. It was gone before he really had a chance to pin down the nature of the emotion, but, whatever it was, it had come on strong, suddenly, and left Miles with a feeling of unease he couldn’t shake.

Stepping away from the confused detective without word, Miles whipped out his phone and pulled Maya’s number from his recent contacts, unease only growing with each ring that went unanswered. He was already on the move before the call even dropped, focusing in on his connection to Phoenix and wishing it pointed him in the exact direction of the firebird. All he had was a gentle hum growing even fainter than it had in the moment, as if the distance between them was increasing. By the end of the hall, he'd lost it entirely.

Miles practically sprinted back to the lobby where his fears were confirmed. Pearl and Powers were right where he’d left them, Maya no where in sight.

“Hey Mr. Edgeworth! So, what’s going on?”

“In a moment,” Miles said, trying to keep his tone neutral. “Where’s Maya?”

“A bellboy brought her to the front desk right after you left. Apparently she had a call.”

Miles paused. Was that… all it was? The contents of the call could probably explain whatever the firebird had reacted to and the front desk was a bit aways from the event area. But, was it far enough for Phoenix’s proximity based bond to sever itself? And why hadn’t Maya answered her phone, even just to say she was busy?

“Oh, before I forget…” Powers said, cutting into his thoughts as he fumbled around in his pocket. “This is for you.”

He’d pulled out some sort of device - a transceiver from the looks of it - which Miles accepted with trepidation.

“What’s this about?”

“I don’t know. The bellboy also dropped it off and said to give it to you.”

Miles turned it over in hand a few times. It was an old, bulky model - the sort of thing cellphones had phased out the usage of. The oddity of it only fueled his unease.

“Mystic Maya’s been a gone a while…” Pearl commented, chewing on her thumb as her wide eyes glanced around for any sign or her cousin. “I should go take a quick look around for her.”

“No!” Miles said, a bit too loud from the startled way she looked back at him. “No, just stay with us.”

“But, Mystic Maya…” she pouted.

“We can look for her together, but I don't want you running off on your own,” he explained. “Especially with an active police investigation going on.”

Pearl continued to pout, but she nodded in understanding.

“What is the investigation for, Mr. Edgeworth?” Powers prompted again.

Miles hesitated for a moment, then, figuring he’d find out soon enough anyway, “Juan Corrida was found murdered in his hotel room. Matt Engarde is the prime suspect.”

Powers gave a groan. “Not again… I feel sick.”

“Again?” Pearl asked.

“Mr. Powers was involved in a similar incident,” Miles began, finding his explanation suddenly cut off by the beeping of the transceiver still in his hand. His two companions gave him looks of alarm at the sound.

Gauging the transceiver again briefly, Miles pressed the call button and held it to his face. “Hello? Who is this?”

“Is this Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth?” A low, cool voice crackled over the line, the speaker just loud enough for only the three of them to hear.

“Speaking. Who are you?” he tried again.

“You don't need to know who I am,” they replied. “I think you have other things to be concerning yourself with... Such as…"

There was a pause on the other end, followed by a low, almost inaudible rumbling sound. Then…

“Help! Miiiles!”


He felt his blood run cold. That was Maya's voice! Beside him, Pearl squealed in alarm, pressing close against his side.

“What have you done with her?" Miles growled.

“Nothing as of yet. So long as you do what I require, then I will return to you your valuable ‘item’ unharmed. ...What is this called again in your fancy lawyer terms?”

“Kidnapping…” Miles said numbly.

“Yes, that's it. This is a kidnapping.”

Pearl cried out again and Powers reached out to console her. Miles silently thanked him as he turned slightly away, voice lowering.

“What do you want?"

“Very good, Mr. Prosecutor. I'm glad you have such a good grasp of the situation.”

“I said, what do you want?” he spat.

“An exoneration,” the mysterious voice answered. “I want you to clear Matt Engarde of all charges against him.”

“What?!”

“As you likely already know, he is suspected of murdering Juan Corrida. However, he did not kill anyone. I can attest to that.”

“And how can you be so sure?” Miles said, tone laced with suspicion.

“Someone is framing him for the murder. A very smart someone who is setting him up to take the fall…"

Why should I believe you?”

“You are, of course, at liberty to decide whether you do or do not. However, there is one thing you can take as fact. Right now, your very precious ‘item' is with me, in my possession.”

“Nghhh…"

“The trial is in two days. You have until then, Mr. Edgeworth. Don’t let me down.”

Miles growled in frustration. “You bastard!” he hissed into the transceiver. “Just who do you think you are?!”

Right now, I’m the kidnapper. Oh, that's right, I can't pass up this chance to say, 'And don't even think about callin' the cops!’” they remarked and Miles seethed at the nerve of it. “Hmm, not great, but you get the idea.”

The call abruptly ended with another beep before Miles could get another word in edgewise. He cursed under his breath, glaring down at the now silent device. He only just managed to hold on to his composure due to Pearl, gently tugging at the bottom of his jacket as she looked pleadingly up at him.

“Is Mystic Maya okay?” she asked, her already wide eyes now glistening and watery.

Miles sighed, shoving the offending device away for now. “She will be if the demands are met, so long as the kidnapper is true to their word.”

“Mystic Maya…” she whimpered. “Oh, if only I had gone with her. It’s all my fault!”

Miles winced, realizing he probably could have phrased that better. His interactions with Pearl were woefully lacking, usually led by Maya or Phoenix. Powers was here, and looked ready to jump in to help comfort her again, but Miles shook his head. Crouching down to her level, he placed a hand on her shoulder in a way he remembered doing with a younger Franziska in her rare moments of vulnerability.

“Pearl,” he said in a low tone so that only she could hear, “Maya wasn’t alone when she was abducted, was she? Phoenix should be with her.”

“No, Mr. Nick too!” she cried.

…he was making things worse, wasn’t he? “What I mean,” he amended, still keeping his voice low and calm, “is that he’ll do everything in his power to keep Maya safe.” Provided he was safe himself. The kidnapper had made no mention of the symbiont, so, unless Phoenix had suddenly developed the sense to stay hidden in dangerous situations, Miles could only hope that he’d been deemed irrelevant to hostage negotiations.

That last part he kept to himself, for Pearl’s sake. Her face was still etched with worry, but the reminder had at least worked to stop her crying.

“Let’s focus on what can be done on our end, shall we?” he prompted, pushing himself back up to a standing position.

“Okay…” she sniffed loudly.

“Are you calling the police?” Powers asked as he watched Miles retrieve his phone from his pocket.

“My detective is currently on site as part of the investigation. He should be able to help.” Ideally, Miles would be establishing a rescue team right about now, but that would require a bit of time as well as caution. He’d yet to determine how closely the kidnapper was watching or just what they were capable of, so Gumshoe would suffice for the time being.

They established a meeting point just outside the event space as soon as the detective got someone to cover his position guarding the crime scene. Powers offered again to watch over Pearl, leaving Miles free to head out and brief Gumshoe on the situation he’d suddenly found himself in.



“WHAT?! A kidnapper?!” Gumshoe exclaimed, far too loud.

“Lower your voice, Detective!” Miles hissed at him, looking around to make sure they were still alone. “I’ve been promised their safe return if Matt Engarde is cleared of his charges.”

“Oh man, oh man…” The detective took a few steps away, then retraced that path a few times. “Then that means he’s definitely the killer, sir! No doubt about it.”

“It does appear that way.”

“This on top of all the evidence we keep finding…”

Miles’ eyes went a little wide. “Don’t tell me you’ve found more already?”

“Yup. The boys have been lapping it all up like they caught a huge fish,” he replied, Miles making a face at the comparison, “but… it's strange. There's so much evidence that it feels like something's wrong.”

“A suspicious amount of evidence? Perhaps a set up, then - that was the kidnapper’s reasoning.” But then who was this kidnapper to have this insight even before the police? And, assuming they were telling the truth, why go to these lengths instead of presenting themselves as a witness?

“You don’t really believe that though, do you sir?” Gumshoe asked, concerned.

Miles shook his head. “I don’t take kindly to threats, Detective. If Engarde has truly been falsely accused then I will gladly make sure it is brought to light for the sake of justice, but I will not bet my friends’ lives upon that chance. I shall join the investigation, meanwhile, you will be helping me organize a team to extract Phoenix and Maya from the kidnapper’s clutches.”

“Sounds like we’ve got a long night ahead of us then, sir.”

Miles nodded his agreement, making a silent prayer for the continued safety of his friends and promise that, wherever they were, he’d get to them soon.



Phoenix groaned as he slowly came to, head pounding as if he’d taken a blow from a blunt object. He felt groggy and, as he tried to shake the fuzziness out of his head, flat. Had he been sleeping as a tattoo? Not something he normally chose to do - the odd exception or two with Miles had been under very specific conditions. He also hadn’t even been with Miles, having last paired with…

Maya! he cried out as the memories came back to him, scrambling to free himself from the second dimension.

They’d left Pearls and Powers to follow the bellboy, arguing amongst themselves about who would be calling for Maya, when something suddenly threw her into a panicked fit. Phoenix was out in a shot, only to immediately be grabbed, thrashing wings pinned to his side and talons grasping uselessly at the air. He’d twisted his head in their direction, ready to either snap at the person or yell, but soon found his beak clamped firmly shut. The hand that held him was strong, steady, and, as he’d inhaled sharply in alarm, reeked of an overwhelming chemical smell. After that, things got hazy. Phoenix surmised that the assailant had probably dropped him once he’d gone limp, where he had used his last moments of consciousness to return to Maya.

Maya, meanwhile, was still unconscious, lying on her side on the ground. The room they were currently in was dark, making it hard to see, but from what he could tell she was unharmed. The assailant hopefully hadn’t done more than relocate her while they were out. As for where that new location was…

Phoenix squinted as his eyes attempted to adjust to the lack of lighting, making out the vague outlines of what looked like barrels and bottles - a wine cellar? Were they still in the hotel?

Maya made a noise beside him, swiftly drawing his attention back to her.

“Maya?” he prompted softly. She made no further sounds, nor any indication of hearing him at all, continuing to lie there motionless. His traitorous mind flashed an image before him, replacing Maya briefly with her sister, the blood of a fresh wound dripping down her face. He willed it away. This wasn’t going to be like then. He was going to protect her, no matter what!

She made another sound, this time accompanied by stirring. Phoenix whispered her name again hopefully, scooting closer. He gently nudged her shoulder with his head as she slowly came back to herself, a throaty groan escaping as she began to push herself upright.

“Ow, my head…” she mumbled, rubbing the offending spot. Her eyes remained closed at first before slowly opening to the darkness just as Phoenix’s had. “Wh-!“ she began, voice hitching with the beginning signs of panic.

“Shh, shh, Maya. Maya, I’m here. It’s okay, you’re okay,” he soothed, his wings slowly reaching out for her. She flinched at the first touch of feathers, but quickly settled at the familiar feeling.

“Nick?” she questioned, squinting down in his direction in the dark as her eyes focused on his bright plumage. “What’s happening? Where are we? Where are Pearly and Miles?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, before he was interrupted by a clicking sound. Spinning around to face it, he braced himself in front of Maya.

As things came more into focus, he identified that the sound came from a door across the room, sitting atop a small set of stairs. A door that was slowly beginning to open.

“Nick, hide!” Maya harshly whispered. Phoenix shook his head, spreading his wings defensively. He couldn’t just leave her!

The lights flicked on, causing them both to flinch at the sudden change. Phoenix narrowed his eyes to a squint, capturing the blurry image of a person standing atop the stairs and slowly closing the door behind them.

“I see you have awoken.” By now Phoenix’s eyes had settled enough to reveal the speaker to be a well-dressed older man, almost unremarkable if it weren’t for the line of stitches that perfectly bisected his face. He didn’t have much time to speculate on the purpose or origin though, as the man began to descend down the stairs to approach them. Phoenix raised his wings higher, letting out a low growl as every hackle on his body raised on its end.

The stranger stopped short, his entirely impassive expression hinting that it was by his own design and not Phoenix’s display.

“Wh-who are you?” Maya stammered.

“That is quite the interesting… trick you have,” he replied, ignoring the question. “Pulling that creature in and out of your sleeve.”

“You don’t seem surprised,” Maya commented. And, in hindsight, he hadn’t been. Assuming this was the same person who’d drugged them, he also hadn’t flinched when Phoenix leapt out.

“In my line of work, I cannot afford to be surprised by anything.”

“And what would that be?” she asked cautiously.

“I am an assassin.”

Maya let out a scream of alarm and Phoenix took a step back, further closing the already small distance between them, his heart racing. An assassin?!  He couldn’t be serious, could he?

“Don't worry. You are not my target. ...For now anyway.”

Phoenix’s heart broke as Maya let out another terrified scream. He wanted to reach out and console her, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off the stranger. Assassin or not, he wouldn’t let him lay a finger on Maya. He let another warning noise.

“Your pet’s efforts are valiant, but there’s only one person who can help you, and that is Mr. Miles Edgeworth.”

“Miles?” she questioned and even Phoenix perked up at this. “Miles is gonna save us?”

Phoenix tensed again as he reached behind him, but the man only pulled out a strange, phone-like device. “Think of this as a business transaction. I am going to contact him now. I hope you'll cooperate and play your assigned role well.”

His attention turned away from them momentarily as he began pressing buttons on the device. Phoenix’s eyes never left him, so he jumped when he felt Maya suddenly moving his tail feathers. She bundled them up in her arms, holding the soft plumage close to her chest.

“Nick…” Maya whispered. “What’s going to happen to us?”

Lacking an answer, Phoenix shook his head, continuing to watch as the man’s call finally connected. The receiver on his device was loud enough for them to clearly hear Miles’ voice on the other end.

He growled again when the kidnapper moved closer, angling the weird phone in their direction for Maya to call out. Phoenix wanted to shout as well, to let Miles know that he was also safe, but he stilled his tongue. If the kidnapper didn’t think him intelligent, they might have an advantage.

With his demands made, the call was aborted. “Now, be a good girl and wait here. As long as your prosecutor friend upholds his end of the bargain, you shall be free to go."

“A-and… if he doesn’t?”

There was no response. Slowly, the man turned to fully face them, unnerving them with his lack of expression. Despite his own fear, Phoenix reared himself up, doing his best to fully shield Maya behind him. He flapped his wings a few times in what he hoped was a threatening manner, neck coiled like a snake prepared to strike.

With a movement Phoenix barely registered, the kidnapper, rather, assassin he quickly reminded himself, had pulled out a knife that he now had brandished in Phoenix’s face. He felt his body freeze in place as he stared down his own reflection in the blade.

“Nick!”

“I also suggest you learn to control your bird,” he said to Maya. “It is not within my creed to harm an animal, but I will not hesitate if given reason.”

“No! You- you can’t hurt him!”

“Oh?” The assassin tilted his head, humoring her, though he did not lower the knife. “And why not?”

“Because… because… you’ll hurt me too!” she bluffed. “We’re connected, so whatever you do to him will happen to me!”

“Really? Shall we test this theory?” the man said, brushing the feathers just under Phoenix’s chin with the point of the knife. Behind him, he heard a wail from Maya. “I wouldn’t be touching you as I promised Mr. Edgeworth.” Yet, just as suddenly as it appeared, the knife withdrew and the assassin took a few steps back. Phoenix tried not to collapse in relief. “No matter. As I mentioned, I’m not one for needlessly harming animals.”

Maya’s hands moved to his back once the threat had seemingly passed, attempting to pull him closer to her despite his still outstretched wings.

“W-wait!” she called out to the man as he began his ascent back the stairway to of their prison. “Who are you?” she tried again.

With one hand on the doorknob, he paused, turning to face them once more.

“I suppose I can offer you that much,” he said. “I am known as… De Killer.”

Chapter Text

Once De Killer had left, lock clicking shut behind him as he plunged them in darkness once more, Phoenix allowed himself to collapse with a sigh of deep relief.

“Nick, are you insane?!” Maya exclaimed, her voice wavering. “He could’ve killed you!”

“I would’ve been fine,” he said with all the assuredness of someone who didn’t just have a knife to their throat.

“You don’t know that. He said he was an assassin, Nick. An assassin! Do you know what they do to people?!”

“I have an inkling,” he groused. Given the context clues, they may very well have an example of his capabilities already.

“Then why?” she asked. “You could’ve hidden.”

“And leave you alone with him?! I can’t do that,” he replied as he pivoted his body to face her, eyes seeking out her silhouette in the dark.

“And I can’t lose any more family!” she spat right back at him, her voice finally breaking. "I can’t, Nick.

“Maya…” he whispered, feeling his will to argue breaking along with it as Maya curled in on herself. He moved closer, curving around her hunched form. “C’mon, I’m not going anywhere.”

“You don’t know that…” Maya sniffed into her sleeve.

He pulled the rest of his body around so they were probably face to face. “Hey, I’m a phoenix, right? It’s gonna take a lot more than that to get rid of me.”

Her bangs brushed against his brow as Maya picked her head up. “Promise?” she weakly asked.

Phoenix butted their foreheads together. “Promise. Now…” he muttered as he moved away, “what do we do in the meantime…”

There was of course the obvious option - sit around and wait for Miles to fulfill his role. If Engarde really was innocent - and with a man calling himself De Killer involved, the likelihood was high - Phoenix knew Miles would be able to prove it. However, there was no telling how long it would take, and every second Maya remained in the assassin’s clutches was a second too long. Phoenix was ready to defend her with his life, but there was probably only so much he could do to keep the man at bay if he decided to go back on his word…

Behind him, Maya sighed. “You never call me for a social visit, do you?”

The out of pocket comment cut off Phoenix’s thoughts. “What?”

“And what are we doing in the dark?”

Phoenix squinted at her through darkness that she already knew the cause of, his eyes having had time to adjust just enough to see the reason for the sudden confusion.

“Mia!” he yelped, throwing out his wings in surprise. “You're here!”

“Yes. Wherever here is…”

His wings folded back in. “I don’t know. I’m sorry, I-“

She gently shushed him. “Save your apologies and tell me what happened.”

So Phoenix caught her up to speed, Mia listening quietly, only muttering an ‘I see’ once he was done.

He shuffled at her silence, head drooping with guilt. “Mia, I-“

“If you’re trying to apologize again, you can stop now,” she said, cutting him off again. When he made no attempt to keep talking, she sighed. “Phoenix, this is not your fault. I’m just glad you’re both okay.”

“But I could’ve -“

“Could’ve what?” she said, determined not to let him finish. “Gotten yourself killed? If this De Killer really is an assassin like you say, then you’re lucky he didn’t decide you were expendable!”

He let out a small huff of air. “Maya already said pretty much the same thing.”

“Good, at then least one of you has some sense,” she muttered, reaching out a hand to rest atop Phoenix’s head. “I don’t want to wear Maya out, so I’ll go now. You said Pearl is with Edgeworth, right?”

“She should be, if he didn’t send her home.”

“Then let’s hope she inherited that Fey stubbornness. If you learn anything new, don’t hesitate to call me again. In the meantime, I need you two to look out for each other. That means you need to keep yourself safe, too.” She emphasized her point by poking him in the chest, right above where the Magatama lay.

He gave a mock-salute. “Aye, aye, Chief.”

Mia leaned in for what could have been a hug if she hadn’t dispelled the channeling before they connected, Maya swaying in her place as she came back to herself.

“You okay?” Phoenix asked, already in position to steady her.

“A little hungry - I think calling Sis burned off most of that dinner,” she replied as she pushed away from him. “Did she say anything?”

“Just to stay safe and keep her updated.”

“Dunno if there’s gonna be much to update her on…” Maya remarked as she stood, grasping her way around the dark room. “Unless we figure out where we are.”

“I think we’re in a wine cellar somewhere,” Phoenix said just as she’d made her way to the wall of bottles.

“Oh yeah, I think you’re right. Huh. Too bad I’m hungry, not thirsty.”

Wine cellar,” he repeated. “Even if you weren’t underage, I bet it’d make you feel worse.”

“Desperate times, Nick,” she replied, though she already moved on, motions more sure as she adjusted to the lack of light. She made her way up the steps to the door, where she then roughly jiggled at its handle. “Drat!”

“I don’t know what you expected.”

“It was worth a shot. But… the lock doesn’t feel too strong. I bet I could open it if I had a card or a stiff piece of cardboard,” she remarked, carefully descending the steps to where Phoenix was standing. “Just like how they do on TV!”

“I don’t like how confidently you said that…” Phoenix said.

“Didn’t you and Miles break down the door to the Channeling Chamber? You know we had to get that fixed.”

“Hey, I didn’t do anything! And it was Lotta’s idea!” he protested with a flick of his tail feathers, a motion that seemed to catch her interest.

“Huh? What’s that?” she asked, looking at something just past him. She reached over, snatching something small and flat off the floor by his tail.

“Has that been here the whole time?” Phoenix said, watching her twirl a white card in her hand, revealing both sides - one blank, the other decorated with what looked to be a pink seashell, though the dark made it hard to be certain.

“Dunno. Maybe it fell out of that guy's pocket when he pulled that knife on you,” she reminded in her best accusatory tone, pointing at him with it. “But this might be exactly what I need!”

She was back at the door in a flash, back to him as she fiddled around the lock, letting out a triumphant cry when it clicked open for her.

“I don’t know about this, Maya…” he mumbled. While escaping would solve a lot of their problems, their main one could be waiting just outside the door for all they knew.

“We can’t just sit here and keep Miles and Pearly waiting and worried over us,” she said, her voice lowering as she slowly pulled the door open. “Now come on. Let’s get the heck out of here!”

Swallowing back his concerns, Phoenix flapped his way over to her as they slipped out of their prison and into unknown territory.



If Miles wasn’t worried out of his mind, the bears might’ve been a bigger surprise.

The ones bracketing Corrida’s door had been a mere precursor to the sight that awaited in the hotel room proper. Ursine imagery of all shapes, sizes, and configurations decorated a vast majority of the room - from palm-sized plushes to the hulking behemoth in the corner that could have been mistaken for a taxidermy model if Miles didn’t recognize it from a luxury brand that was popular over in Germany.

In comparison, the area where the murder had occurred was unremarkable. With Corrida’s body already collected for autopsy, what remained was some broken glass and other items scattered on the floor near the vanity. If a body hadn’t been nearby, the sight could have been written off as an accident.

“Who was it that discovered the victim?” Miles asked Gumshoe, hovering at his side.

“It was a woman named Adrian Andrews. She’s Engarde’s manager.”

Engarde’s?” he questioned. “Then what business could she have had with Corrida?”

“Beats me, sir, but I think they’ve got her over in the room across the hall for questioning.”

Good. He’d have to make time to speak to her once he was done with the crime scene.

Miles made his way over to the point of interest, careful of the shards from a broken vase and cosmetics that were on the floor - no doubt the signs of struggle Gumshoe had reported. The nearby dresser had been wiped clear with the exception of a singular champagne flute filled with tomato juice. To further add to the oddity of this, the bottle containing the rest of the beverage was on the table in the middle of the room.

Nearby the mess on the floor was Corrida’s guitar case, open and devoid of its instrument like Maya had commented on earlier that night. Despite that, the inside appeared to be bone dry, the water from the flowers having fallen on the top and dripped off to the side despite the current positioning of the lid not allowing for that possibility. Had someone opened it post-incident?

He questioned one of the nearby investigators, who didn't have an answer for this. Instead they offered Miles one of the photos they’d taken of the crime scene when officers had arrived, which was at least useful.

Miles scrutinized the image, showing Corrida’s body slumped in the chair he currently stood next to with a knife piercing the right side of his chest, a bloodstain in place of his costume’s fourth button - the one that had been retrieved from Engarde’s person. The rest of the scene was the same, including the two oddities of the champagne flute and guitar case. He gave it another once-over, making sure nothing had been overlooked, then tucked the picture away in his breast pocket.

Gumshoe had strayed a bit from him, conversing with one of the science officers, so Miles beckoned him over.

“Hey, sir. The boys said they’re looking into the missing guitar right now to see if it has anything to do with the murder,” Gumshoe said as he approached. “So far, they’ve only found the victim’s prints on the case.”

Fingerprints, huh? He wondered… “What about the glass?”

“Glass?”

“The champagne flute,” he answered, gesturing in its direction. “Has it been dusted for prints yet?”

“Uhh…” He turned back to the science officer he’d been talking to as he trailed off, who shook their head ‘no'. “Guess not, sir.”

“Make sure it is. Meanwhile, we’ve still the witness to speak to.” Not to mention assembling the rescue team, which he’d need to head to the precinct for.

A loud knock on the door cause their heads to turn towards it.

“Oh, I bet that’s her now, sir,” Gumshoe exclaimed.

It was not. A moment later the door slammed open and, to his horror, in came Oldbag followed shortly by the very harried officer tasked with guarding the door.

“Now you whipper-snappers listen to me, I refuse to be disrespected like this! I’m part of security and not one of you bothered to tell me that my poor Juan was the one who got murdered?! I had to hear it from that awful backwater girl with the afro. Oh why must the ones I’m interested in drop one by one like flies?! It’s always been like this, you know? Ever since elementary school, when the class hamster died when it was my turn to clean its cage. ’Queen Reaper’, the other kids dubbed me, I swear it! ‘Whoever you name in your evil spell dies within three minutes,’ they would taunt.”

Taking in more air, Oldbag looked away from the poor officer she was berating, only to make direct eye contact with Miles instead. “Oh, Edgey-Poo! Don’t mind all that, it’s just kids teasing. You don't have anything to worry about. I’ll make sure nothing ever happens to you~” She batted her lashes at him.

Oh if only something would, he thought as he turned away.  “Get her out of here.”

“Now wait just a minute!” Oldbag screeched, pointing her prop gun at the officer as he made to grab at her. “Don't you want to hear what I have to say? I’m a very important witness!”

“Hold it!” he exclaimed just as the woman’s arm had been seized. "Do you mean to say you saw the murder?”

She smirked, pulling out of the officer’s grasp to move closer. “Now, that’s more like it. Honestly, you young people could stand to learn some manners. Didn’t your parents teach you how to treat a lady?”

“Ms. Oldbag,” Miles said, trying his best to keep his tone even. “Did you witness the murder or not?”

“Now, that’s the question, isn’t it? I think I could tell you… if, you reconsider my offer to become your bodyguard.”

Miles felt his eye twitching.

“Oh, fine! You win. You’ve worn me down. I just can’t resist those steely eyes of yours,” she swooned. “I don't know anything about the murder, but I saw the most important part. I saw Engarde coming out of Juan's room!”

“What? Really?!” Gumshoe commented.

“It was about ten minutes before Juan's body was discovered. I was pacing around in the hallway, keeping an eye out. There was something I was interested in finding out, you know? But that's when I saw him! That Engarde, he was trying to sneak his way out of Juan’s room!”

“Hold on,” Miles said before she worked herself into a tizzy. “What do you mean, ‘something you were interested in’?” As much as he didn’t want to talk to her, the last time their paths crossed she ended up providing a key piece of evidence for the case. With the already concerning number of parallels to that time, it was worth pursuing.

Her expression turned sly. “Oh, you naughty boy~ You want to know about that, do you? It’s all because of that rumor. Engarde created that vile scandal to ruin my poor Juan’s reputation!”

Miles groaned. Or perhaps not, if all she had to tout was paltry celebrity gossip - something he lacked both the time and patience to listen to regardless of the current dire situation. When his phone rang, he was grateful for the excuse to cut her off, stepping slightly away to answer the call.

“Edgeworth speaking.”

“Mr. Edgeworth!” It was Powers, sounding a bit more nervous than he usually did. “It’s little Pearl, she-“

There was a moment where his heart dropped, fearing the worst. Did she run away, determined to find her cousin herself? Or did the kidnapper swing back around to take her as well?

Then-

Mr. Edgeeeeyyyy!!”

“I’m so sorry,”
Powers said over the cries. “I’ve tried to calm her down, but she just keeps calling for you.”

He could almost breathe a sigh of relief. “Understood. I shall return when I can,” he replied, ending the call. He turned back to the room, pointedly ignoring the expectant look Oldbag was giving him. “Someone finish questioning her, and inform me if she has anything useful to say.”

“Huh? That’s it?” Oldbag asked as Miles moved past her and towards the door. “Doesn’t my eye witness account mean anything? Shouldn’t I at least get some gift certificates or something for this?”

He brushed off her protests, stepping back out into the hallway with Gumshoe in tow.

“Whew!” the detective said, letting out a huff of air. “That old lady sure is a handful.”

Miles just made a vague, discontented sound in reply. It felt like tonight was the night the universe had decided he still had a few more transgressions he hadn't suffered for yet. He’d ask what he did to deserve this, but he already knew the answer to that.

“So what was the call about anyway? It wasn’t the kidnapper again, was it?” Gumshoe gasped.

“Thankfully, no,” he said, choosing not to remind Gumshoe that the kidnapper would be contacting him through the transceiver. “Mr. Powers was just giving me an update regarding Pearl.”

“Aww, poor thing. Can’t imagine how hard this must be on her at that age. How’s she doing?”

“Hard to say. She's apparently been calling for me.”

“Well, what are we waiting for, sir?!” he exclaimed, suddenly in Miles' space. “Let’s go check on her!”

Gumshoe practically led him back to where they’d left Pearl and Powers. The room was even less populated than it had been before, as people unconnected to the crime were slowly being sent home.

Pearl noticed him almost the instant they reentered, nearly tackling him from across the room as she called out his name. The force, despite her size, was enough to cause Miles to stumble. Once he steadied them both, he laid an awkward hand atop her head in a manner he hoped was soothing.

She pulled back enough to look up at him, the fabric of his jacket balled up in her tiny fists. “Mr. Edgey… you were gone so long. I was scared that-“ she cut herself off with a sniff.

Miles mentally filled in how the sentence would have likely ended. “As the kidnapper needs me around to fulfill my end of the bargain, it would be illogical for them to do me any harm,” he assured her.

“Eel-lodgy-cull…?” She fumbled over the vocabulary word, looking anything but reassured. “Does that mean… you’re not going anywhere?”

“You needn’t worry about me,” he answered. “I’ll be continuing my investigation into what happened tonight and making sure our friends return safe and sound."

He attempted to take a step away and lead her back over to where Powers was waiting, but her grip held true and she stumbled after him.

“No! I’m going with you!” she stated.

“P-Pearl!” he stammered. “You’re a civilian. I can’t just bring you into an active crime scene!”

“But I wanna help! I wanna help Mystic Maya and Mr. Nick too!”

 “You can help by staying here with Mr. Powers. He’s more than willing to keep an eye on you.”

“But…” Pearl started as her eyes turned watery, before burying her face into his stomach.

He held his arms up awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed as he grew increasingly aware of the looks they were garnering from the people around. He wished Phoenix were here, he was so much better with these interpersonal matters, but that was part of the issue to begin with.

Miles sighed, thinking about what that firebird would be doing if their places were swapped. Pearl would probably be his top priority, fussing over her until he was sure she was alright.

Miles made an attempt to do the same, one hesitant hand coming down to lightly pet her hair as he called her name. It took a few tries, the first attempts met with head shakes, but eventually he got her to look back up at him. He hadn't noticed before just how red her eyes had become, underlined by dark bags from all the crying and fretting she’d probably been doing this evening. Not to mention how late it had gotten - far too late for someone her age to still be up and about.

He felt the tension in his shoulders sagging. “Perhaps… we should be getting you home instead."

This caused another spark of alarm in her. “I can’t go! Mystic Maya-“

“You won’t be much help to them if you’re too tired to stand.” Not to mention that Maya and Phoenix would probably kill him if he ignored Pearl’s wellbeing, even for their sake. He still had things he needed to do here - head to Engarde’s room to speak to his manager about what she’d seen and potentially search for clues, and get a start on organizing that rescue team - but she was his responsibility right now. Even if Powers didn’t mind, he couldn’t keep leaving her with him.

They regrouped with Powers to tell him as much, as well as thank him again for all his assistance throughout the night. He in turn told Miles not to worry about it, and insisted that he’d be here if they needed him since, as a member of Global Studios, he was not yet permitted to leave the site.

All that was left was to head out for the night. Pearl was still reluctant to leave, but Gumshoe stepped in to help, holding her hand while they waited for the valet to bring Miles' car around.

“Don’t you worry, little missy,” he said as he leaned over to help her into the backseat after it had arrived, “I'm gonna be with the investigation all night for you guys.”

“Are you really, Mr. Detective?” she asked.

“Of course!" he said with a large grin. "You can count on me. I can probably swing by the precinct to see about some candidates for that rescue team, too.” This last part he directed at Miles, who’d come over to his side after sending the valet on their way.

“If you would, Detective,” Miles replied, surprised by the initiative.

“Everything’s gonna be okay. We’ll get them back, safe and sound. Just you wait,” he said before dismissing himself to follow through on those promises.

Miles moved to his side of the car and got in, checking that nothing was out of place, and then repeating those checks a few times... just to be certain.

“Mr. Edgey…?” A small voice asked, and Miles readjusted his mirror just enough to see Pearl anxiously fidgeting with the seatbelt that was almost too big for her. “Everything will be okay, won't it?”

Miles turned his eyes away, pushing the mirror back into place. “Let’s head home."



Pearl had dozed off for a little while during the car ride back, though she was awake again by the time Miles had tucked her into the guest suite. Bringing her back to Kurain Village had been out of the question - even if she hadn't threatened to take the first train back into the city by herself should he have done (which he didn’t dare doubt given every other Fey he’d met), it was far too late to make the two hour long, round trip drive to drop her off.

“You remember where my room is if you need anything?”

Pearl nodded, holding the blanket up to her chin. “But, um..."

He paused in the doorway, hand just about to switch the lights off. “Yes?”

She moved to hide the lower half of her face, mumbling into the covers. “No, it's nothing…"

“It doesn’t have to be nothing,” Miles said, leaning against the wall. He let the statement hang, giving her an opening to speak. When she didn’t, he continued. “Pearl, this is a lot for anyone to have to cope with, especially at your age. I recognize that I’m not… the best at these sort of things, but I am here.”

She looked at him for a long moment, dropping the blankets only to draw her knees up to her chin instead. “I… I'm scared. My father… he left my mother and the village behind… and then my mother did that thing… all for me…” Pearl rubbed at her face, probably trying not to cry again. “Mystic Maya’s the only family I have left, I don’t want to lose her too. Or Mr. Nick.”

Miles took a seat at the end of the bed, crossing his fingers across his lap. “I... understand.”

“You do?”

“I've not much family left, either. I was about your age when I lost my father... my mother long before that. And you’ve seen how well my relationship with Franziska's been going recently.” He looked over to see Pearl crack a small, albeit awkward, smile at that. “The person closest to me these days is Phoenix.”

“So, Mr. Nick is like your brother? Like how Mystic Maya is like a sister to me?”

“Not quite…” Miles replied, frowning. The firebird was many things to him - a partner, confidant, legal assistant - but ‘brother’ didn’t feel right to add to that list. “But he’s still very important to me. I worry for both of them as well.”

“Then shouldn’t we be out there trying to save them?” Pearl replied, her voice suddenly rising.

“Right now, we need to rest so we can rejoin the investigation in the morning," Miles told her. “Gumshoe’s a good man. We can leave things in his hands for now.”

She seemed to think it over. “We’ll be back in the morning?”

“First thing," he assured her, eager himself to return to the case at hand.

He was able to say goodnight to Pearl after that, retiring to his own room. Yet, despite his own words, he did not settle in to sleep. With his bedside lamp on, Miles sat up with pen and paper in his lap, pondering. Yes, Gumshoe could handle the crime scene until he returned, but surely there was something more Miles could be doing? Something he could deduce, perhaps about the kidnapping itself, to aid in his friends’ return.

A few things immediately came to mind; for one, a bellboy had come to retrieve Maya, who both Pearl and Powers had seen. Hopefully they’d be able to identify him. And, while he hadn’t made note of the exact times, no more than thirty minutes could have passed between Phoenix’s distress signal and the kidnapper’s call on the transceiver. As long as the kidnapper hadn’t moved, there was only so far from the hotel they could have gotten.

As he sank more into his thoughts, another call came through his cell. Miles practically snatched it off its charger - did Gumshoe find a breakthrough in the investigation already?

A glance at the caller ID told him otherwise, displaying an unknown number, German in origin. Cautiously, he accepted it. There was really only one person it could be and little things, like Miles never giving her his latest number, would hardly be a roadblock.

“Hello.”

“Miles Edgeworth.”

“Franziska von Karma. Isn’t it past your bedtime?” he deadpanned, unable to resist the jibe in his fatigue.

“Attempt to rile me up all you like. It won’t change the fact that this is the time I will finally defeat you!”

“What are you on about?” He gave her an unseen look through the phone.

“You've let your guard down. While you and that scruffy detective were fooling around, I secured myself as prosecutor for the Engarde case.”

“You did what?!” he exclaimed, only remembering last minute to mind his volume.

A low, conniving laugh came through the speaker. “The case that destroyed your win record, it was similar to this one, was it not? What better opportunity for me to erase that shame and show you what perfection looks like.”

“That’s no excuse for you to muscle in on a case I’m working!” he hissed.

She tutted at him, planting an image of her wagging finger in his head. “I am not at fault for you not being on top of things. Now, I shall see you in court.”

“Wait, you-“ he started, but she’d already hung up on him.

He pulled the phone away from his ear, staring at it in silence. With everything going on, he'd failed to put into consideration that the trial was only a deadline for him. To everyone else, this was just another murder to be brought before the court. Of course they’d need to secure a prosecutor.

Now if only it hadn't been Franziska.

Knowing he wasn't going to get much else done now, Miles gathered up the items in his lap and set them aside on the dresser. He then switched off the light and fell back onto his pillow to stare at the ceiling in darkness.

Perhaps it didn’t even matter. Franziska’s involvement certainly complicated things, but it didn’t change the situation. The kidnapping still needed to be absolved before the case went to trial, and he’d no plans on bending to coercion. As far as Miles was concerned, Franziska could do as she pleased, he didn't care - his obligation ended the moment Phoenix and Maya were safe.

Miles sighed, watching the shadows settle into the corners of his room and wondering just when he’d gotten so bad at lying to himself.

Chapter Text

Pearl was up and raring to get going even before he was, waiting patiently for him in the den. She greeted him cheerily, though her voice betrayed a certain tired quality to it. Despite her eagerness, Miles suspected she hadn’t gotten much sleep.

He hadn't gotten much, either.

But there wasn't much time to dwell on those thoughts, not when they were both anxious to return to the investigation. Gumshoe had been dutifully sending him updates throughout the night, including some added details on Oldbag's testimony and the account from Engarde's manager (though Miles still wished to speak to her himself). He’d even gotten that list of trusted colleagues of his who weren't too wrapped up in other assignments, though he hadn’t told them about the rescue mission yet.

This made the precinct the first stop on their to-do list. The sooner people were set upon this task, the sooner they could be reunited with their abducted companions. Miles double-checked Gumshoe’s recommendations, narrowing the list down to five officers he felt were suited for the assignment - just enough not to raise eyebrows as they moved amongst the current investigation team, without stretching their resources too thin.

“And remember if anyone asks, you are there to help with the case," he had told each of them after their debriefing on the situation. “We don't know what sort of eyes and ears the kidnapper has on the hotel.”

With them all dismissed, Miles could breathe just the slightest bit easier. He returned to the main offices, where he'd briefly left Pearl in the care of the department chief. Upon their arrival, she’d taken an immediate interest in the badger plushes at his desk, the familiar blue now accompanied by a pink one, which he’d been more than happy to enlighten her on. Miles opted to let them chat (and not hear about that accursed mascot) while he tracked people down.

She perked up when Miles reappeared, hopping out of her chair to give the chief a polite bow before rejoining his side.

“Did they find anything yet?” she asked hopefully as she fell into step beside him.

“The team's barely even left the precinct, Pearl. It will take them some time.”

“Oh…” Pearl muttered, lapsing into an awkward silence that followed them all the way back to Miles’ car. Miles didn’t break it until they were both buckled in and ready to depart.

“Before we head over to the hotel ourselves, I’ll be making a detour.”

“Detour?” she questioned.

“To the detention center.”

Pearl let it sink in for a brief moment, then asked, “Are you going to speak with Mr. Engarde?”

Miles gave a nod. “I’d like a chance to hear his version of last night’s events. We may learn something from it.” And Miles really wanted to meet face-to-face with the man whose apparent innocence was worth threatening the lives of his friends.

“But what if…” Pearl began, her voice slightly muffled by the thumbnail she was anxiously chewing on, “what if we learn he really is the murderer?”

“For our sake… let’s hope that won’t matter."



Engarde was slow to enter the visiting room, rubbing at the eye that wasn’t obscured by his combed over bangs like he'd just been awoken.

“Woah, I didn't think visiting hours were open this early,” he said as he took his seat on the other side of the window. He gave them both the charming smile Miles had seen many a time in interviews (for, unlike his predecessor, Engarde had no qualms showing the face behind the mask).

Miles felt his own mouth twitch a bit. Engarde was often marketed as ‘refreshing like a spring breeze', but it felt more like a winter draft under the current circumstances.

“They aren’t,” Miles confirmed, “but we need to talk. Mr. Engarde, I am Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth and-"

"A prosecutor?” the actor interrupted. “Hey, do you know that German lady then? Could you, like, ask her to tone it down with the whip?”

Miles shook his head, both as a reaction and response. “I’m here to ask you about last night…”

Engarde interrupted again. "Hold on a sec, I need to check with my manager.”

With that, he angled his body away from them and held an arm up to his face. One of the bulky silver bands he wore as bracelets then flipped open to reveal a small phone. Miles was taken aback, both from the suddenness of the act and the blatant violation of protocol. He looked to the guard for clarification on why Engarde was allowed a communication device, but they maintained their stoic vigil.

“The Nickel Samurai sure is a strange person, isn't he?” Pearl commented.

“That would be putting it lightly," Miles said with a frown as he watched Engarde, trying to decide from the man's exaggerated movements if he actually was talking to his manager, or miming into a prop.

“Sorry about that,” he said, ‘hanging up’ his phone. “But just so you know, you’re probably gonna need to go through my staff if you want a statement from me. Gotta be careful about those tabloids, you know?”

“Tabloids?” Miles questioned, wondering where on Earth that conclusion came from. “I’m not here for some gossip column, I’m investigating a murder.”

“Ooh… gotcha, dude. Hold on a sec,” he replied, turning away again.

Miles in took a sharp breath and held it there, feeling the sting of his nails beginning to press into his palms.

Pearl cast her curious gaze onto him. “Is he alright, Mr. Edgey?”

“He won’t be if he keeps this up…” Miles grumbled, letting out that breath. This? This was who all this fuss was over?!

“Sorry about that,” Engarde repeated, “The studio president said, ‘Even Neo Mt. Fuji itself knows that I’m not the murderer!’”

“Right now, I don’t care if all of Neo Olde Tokyo says you’re innocent, I need you to tell me what you were doing when Juan Corrida was murdered.”

He began to reach for his bracelet once again. “Hold on a sec, let me ask-“

Miles slammed his hand against the counter between like he would his courtroom bench, startling both Pearl and Engarde. “I’m asking you, Mr. Engarde.”

Engarde stared back at him for a long moment, hand frozen in place above his wrist. “Okay, but you should know that my autobiography is coming out really soon and…”

With a noise of disgust, Miles pushed up out of his stool. “I don’t have time to waste on this nonsense. Come along, Pearl.”

“B-but, Mr. Edgey,” she said, not quite moving from her spot. “Don’t you need to talk to Mr. Engarde? To find out if he’s innocent like the person on the transceiver says he is?”

Miles wearily cast a glance back at Engarde. The actor was slouched forward with his arms crossed, looking away as though his mind was a million miles from here.

He scoffed. “I don’t think we’ll be finding that information here.”

Pearl still looked conflicted, but she slid herself out of the stool and tottered over to Miles, ready to follow him out.

“Hold on a sec!” Engarde shouted out before they got more than a few steps away. Miles nearly screamed at the repeated phrase, but did stop, glaring at the actor over his shoulder.

Engarde did not flinch at Miles’ glower, to his disappointment. “Like, dude, you just want to know what I was doing last night, right?”

“Yes…” he replied slowly, turning back around.

“Go ahead, ask away. I’ll help out as much as I can.”

Pearl lightly tugged at his jacket. ”We did it, Mr. Edgey!”

Miles furrowed his brow, confused by the sudden decision to cooperate. He wanted to question the change of heart, but that could risk Engarde changing his mind again. Best get the information while he could.

According to Engarde, he’d returned to his room post award ceremony, not bothering to change out of his costume due to the upcoming stage show. He’d napped briefly and awoke shortly before he’d needed to leave, which was right around when Gumshoe had shown up. One quick search later and suddenly Engarde had found himself in police custody.

“And… that’s it? You were sleeping the entire time?” A miserable alibi that Miles recalled was shared by his predecessor when he was in his place. At least Powers had had the excuse of being drugged at the time.

“Well, yeah. It was just a short stage show, not like I needed to prepare for it.”

“And what of the press conference after it?”

Engarde’s head tilted a bit. “What press conference?"

“The… the press conference. Your press conference,” Miles answered after stumbling a bit in surprise. “The one you were to deliver after your victory, in-costume as well.”

“First I’m hearing of it, dude. I always leave that sort of thing up to my manager.”

That didn’t sit well. Even if his manager was in charge of the organizational portion, he definitely should have known about it all things considered.

“Just to be clear, you did not have any sort of confession to deliver to the press as the Nickel Samurai?”

Engarde’s face did something odd, but it didn’t last long. “Dude, what would I even have to confess? I already told you I didn’t kill Juan Corrida. Somebody must have planted that button on my hakama.”

“That’s not… never mind. Was that all you remember from around the time of the incident?”

“Pretty much. Hold on a sec, lemme double-check with my manager first.”

That won’t be necessary,” Miles interrupted. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Engarde, long as it took.”

“No problem,” he answered, oblivious. “Man, I just hope this whole thing blows over quickly. Even if I get out tomorrow, this whole scandal is not going to look good.”

On those words they left him, Pearl being far more polite in her farewell than Miles was willing to be. It had taken longer than necessary and they hadn’t learned much new, but Engarde didn’t seem guilty - in the sense that committing the crime would have required him to pull his head out of the clouds first, but that alone was not enough to absolve him of suspicion.

Still, the trip was not an entire loss. More questions to be answered meant more on the plate of the investigative team. The longer they took tracking leads meant more time for the rescue team to track down the kidnapper. He’d have to check in with them both once he got back to the Gatewater.

Before that, however, there was a certain someone he’d been meaning to talk to.



Neither of the people he and Pearl encountered upon arriving to the hotel were the one Miles had been seeking.

The first was Oldbag, presumedly doing her job as she patrolled around the lobby. They were lucky enough to sneak past her unnoticed and continue towards the crime scene.

They weren’t as lucky with Hart.

“Aha!” she shouted, jumping out seemingly from behind one of the potted plants in the hallway. “The thief’s showed his face!”

“I beg your pardon?!”

“Mr. Edgey, you didn’t steal something, did you?” Pearl gasped.

“Of course not. Ms. Hart is clearly mistaken."

“Get him, Mr. Cop-fella!” Hart continued, ignoring them. “Arrest him! Put him on trial!”

The aforementioned ‘Mr. Cop-fella’, or the officer down the hall currently tasked with guarding the crime scene, looked over with an expression of annoyance. He did not honor her requests.

“Hart, what is this about?” Miles sighed.

“Look, don’t they say the criminal always goes back to the scene of the crime? Well, here ya are!”

“And what, pray tell, is my supposed crime?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Edgeworth. My camera! I done looked here and there and up and down the mountain, but it ain’t anywhere! So why don’t ya just hurry up and give it back, ya creep!”

“Are you sure you simply didn’t just misplace it alongside your common sense?” he suggested.

“That baby cost me $700, I ain’t just gonna ‘misplace’ it like that.”

“When did you last see your camera?” Pearl asked.

Taking the moment the pull her thoughts together seemed defuse the situation a bit. “Last night, after the murder. I was busy running around lookin’ into things, mostly in this hall, but I did follow around a few leads here and there. I musta lost sight of my darlin’, expensive camera around then.” She sighed, slouching forward. “And after all that, I couldn’t even get anything for my big scoop.”

“Big scoop?”

“Ah, sorry Mr. Prosecutor.” Crossing her arms, Hart gave him a smug look. “Can’t let you in on my trade secrets.”

Miles rolled his eyes and turned away. “Then I wish you luck.”

“Oh come on!” she cried, moving into his path. “Aren’t ya just the least bit curious?”

“Does it relate to the murder?”

She looked away. “Maybe not directly…”

“Then I don’t care.” Gently nudging Pearl away from her, he steered them both towards their intended destination, leaving Hart behind.

“Hey! At least help me find my camera! I had some important, uh, notes in the case!” she called after them.

“I’ll let you know if we hear something,” Miles said, waving her off. He gave a nod to the poor officer who had to deal with her histrionics, then turned towards the door opposite him.

Behind the door was another hotel room, near identical to the victim’s, minus the mess and bears. In the back he could see some of the Nickel Samurai’s weapons propped up against the walls. Its sole occupant was a young woman with blond hair reaching past her shoulders. Even if Miles didn’t know who he expected to find here, everything from her body language to the unimpressed expression she regarded his arrival with read ‘manager’.

“May I help you with something?” she asked, looking up at him over the frames of her glasses. There was a card in one hand that she slipped between the pages of the notebook she was holding in the other, snapping it shut.

“Adrian Andrews, I presume,” Miles said for clarity’s sake.

“You presume correctly. And you are?”

“Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth.”

“And Pearl Fey,” Pearl added.

Andrews gave a curious glance at Pearl, but kept her attention mainly on Miles. “Is this case so high-profile that it requires two prosecutors?”

So she’d already met with Franziska, then. “Prosecutor von Karma is handling the trial. I’ve merely chosen to assist the investigation as I happened to be here the night of the incident.”

Her expression turned skeptical. “I hate to waste time repeating myself. If you were with the police last night, then surely you already know what I was doing?”

Miles had a good idea. The testimony on record was that Andrews had dined with Engarde in this room (evidence of which could be seen on the table behind her that room service was not allowed to clean yet) before the ceremony. Afterwards she’d gone to help with preparations, then to call upon both Engarde and Corrida, which led to the body being discovered.

“I came to ask you to elaborate on a few of your motions. You told officers you were helping with the post ceremony arrangements. Those were for the stage show and the press conference, correct?”

She nodded. “Yes, that is right.”

“Did those arrangements involve informing your charge of his duties? We spoke to Mr. Engarde and he was completely ignorant of the press conference.”

“…he was, was he?” she replied in almost a mutter.

“Huh…?” Pearl questioned.

“Actually, I didn't know all the details either,” Andrews continued. “It was a request from the publicity department. All I did was help out and do what I was asked.”

Then what was this press conference meant to be? Miles had a sinking suspicion the answer just might be relevant, but it didn’t look like he’d be getting any more about it from her.

“Speaking of helping out, why was it you who was sent to check on Mr. Corrida? Was his manager not present?”

“Unlike Global Studios, Worldwide Studios does not assign individual managers to their stars,” she answered.

“I see.” So merely a difference in policy. It would explain why the investigation hadn’t had much contact with Corrida’s studio.

“This industry is very ruthless and unforgiving - much like yourself, Mr. Edgeworth, dragging a little girl to places like this. Honestly,” she scoffed.

Pearl puffed up beside him in protest. “You’re wrong! I’m here to help Mystic Maya!”

Miles placed a hand on her shoulder to calm her. “I recall that I asked for your testimony, not your opinion,” he said dryly to Andrews.

“And I believe I’ve given it to you at this point. Was that all you needed?”

She was obviously trying to dismiss him, but Miles wasn’t quite done with her yet. “Just one more thing. Have you any ideas to why Mr. Corrida was murdered?”

Andrews visibly stiffened. “Why would you ask me such a thing?”

Her reaction did not go unnoticed. “You seem to know this industry and its participants well. Likely better than any of our other witnesses.”

“Sorry, but there's nothing more I have to add to this conversation,” Andrews replied, refusing to meet his eye.

“I… understand,” he said slowly, giving her a polite bow. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Andrews.”

Her response was a stiff nod as she went to fidget with her notebook.

“She has Psyche-Locks, doesn’t she?” Pearl whispered to him as they turned to leave.

“Phoenix has the Magatama,” (Pearl winced at the reminder.) “but yes, I do suspect they would have appeared.”

Pearl put on an adorably serious expression as she nodded her head. “Then there’s something she doesn’t want us to know! Also, I noticed something weird in that room.”

“Oh?” Miles remarked, looking back at the door he’d just closed behind them. He hadn’t noticed anything too out of the ordinary, though his attention had mostly been on Andrews.

“On the table behind her. There were two dirty dishes. One had a fork and a knife, but the other only had a fork.”

“Ah, that…” Miles began, quickly recalling where he had recently heard a knife be mentioned. “That's likely where the knife that was found in the victim’s body came from. That would explain why Engarde’s fingerprints were all over it…”

“Does that mean that Mr. Engarde really was framed then?!” she asked.

“Let’s… talk to the investigators first, shall we?” he answered, not wanting to shoot her down immediately. While Miles acknowledged he did still have a guilt-bias towards defendants - something he was working on - there was still a cloud of suspicion hanging around Engarde that he wasn’t ready to dispel.



“There you are, sir!” Back at the crime scene Gumshoe had been waiting for them, rushing over once Miles and Pearl fully entered the room. “So, what’s happened?! Has the kidnapper contacted you again?!”

Miles made a shushing motion at him, though it appeared as though no one had overheard. “If the rescue team doesn’t find them first, they likely won't until we have neared the deadline."

“Oh…” he said, shoulders slumping. “And what about you, little miss? You holding in there?”

Pearl nodded. “I’ve been helping!”

“I’ll bet you have!” he chuckled. “Oh, speaking of the rescue team, last update I got was that they went to talk to Mr. Powers about your bellboy. They might still be hanging around the banquet hall.”

“Ah, thank you, Detective. We’ll head in that direction soon.” Pearl hadn’t gotten the best look at the bellboy’s face last night; besides the uniform, she only remembered him being tall. “In the meantime, I have some updates for the investigation.”

“So…” Gumshoe said, once Miles was done recounting what he’d learned from both Engarde and Andrews, “you think this press conference might have something to do with the murder, sir?”

“I’m not sure yet, but I believe it requires further consideration.”

“I’ll let the team know,” Gumshoe started, before he was interrupted by the approaching sound of beeps from outside the door.

“Um… wh-what’s that beeping noise?” Pearl asked.

“It’s Ms. von Karma,” Gumshoe answered, looking much paler the he had a moment ago. “Whenever I hear that sound, for some reason, she pops out of nowhere and whips me!”

“That would be the tracking device.”

He didn’t appear to have heard. “S-sorry, sir! I’ve got to make myself scarce!” he exclaimed and Miles watched as he fruitlessly scurried to the room’s only exit - directly towards the source of the noise. He flung it open and was immediately met with a whip for his efforts.

He cowered away, making room for Franziska to fully enter, her eyes narrowing in on her brother.

“I thought I told you this was my case, Miles Edgeworth.”

“Your appointment as prosecuting attorney for the trial does not mean I cannot continue to aid the investigation.”

She scoffed. “Do as you wish. It changes nothing. Now, come, Scruffy McTrenchcoat!” She reached for a slowly retreating Detective Gumshoe, grabbing him by the necktie as if it were leash. “The investigation briefing is about to begin.”

“Y-yes, sir. Sorry, sir,” he mumbled pitifully as he was dragged away, shooting an apologetic look at Miles.

“Are you going to the briefing as well?” Pearl asked once they were gone.

“I have a sinking suspicion my presence wouldn’t be welcome,” he replied, folding his arms. “I shall just have to get the details from Gumshoe later.” Besides, his business at the Gatewater wasn’t concluded just yet.

From there, they moved on to the banquet hall on the off chance anyone from the rescue team might have still been around. Miles didn’t see them right away, which likely meant they’d moved on in their investigation, but he did spot Powers more or less where they’d left him last night.

“Have they still not allowed you to return home?” Miles asked.

“No,” the man sighed. “But, I was just telling your people about that bellboy - the one with the stitches down his face - so at least I feel like I’m helping.”

Miles blinked. “St-stitches…?”

“Anyway…” Powers said, scratching at his arm, “what have you two been up to? I figured you’d be too busy to come see me.”

“We were talking to Mr. Engarde’s manager,” Pearl said.

“Ah, Ms. Andrews! Actually, I was interested in her for a little bit. Just a little…"

“Interested…?” Miles asked with a furrowed brow. “Did you seek her out to be your manager at one point?”

“Ah, n-no… I’m not a big enough star to have my own manager anymore…” he mumbled, voice getting quieter with the admission. “…and I don’t really…. know her, know her, you know?”

“No?” Pearl commented, her head tilting.

“There's sort of a small rumor going around about her right now - If you're interested, I can give you a little bit of the details!” he added, perking right  back up.

“Well… oh, why not?” Miles said. Normally he wouldn’t entertain such things, but maybe it could give a hint towards whatever Andrews was trying to hide.

“Here! I have the article right here!” he said, pulling out a magazine and showing an article to Miles.

He squinted at it. “Jammin’… Midnight Rendezvous…?”

‘...to the mysterious, yet beautiful manager to the stars, Ms. A. A.!’” Powers filled in, grinning in excitement. “Y-You see now, don't you?”

“So you believe this ‘Ms. A. A.’ is referencing Ms. Andrews?”

“Yes, exactly! This is big news!”

“If you say so…” It did pose a connection between her and the victim, one that she might want to keep secret for any number of reasons, but a tabloid was hardly proof.

“You can keep it if you’d like, I've already reread it a bunch of times since I’ve been here.”

Miles rolled up the magazine and tucked it away. “Thanks…”

“Anything I can do to help,” he replied, smiling. “And I’m sure they’ll find her, safe and sound. Don’t you worry!”



Miles did briefly manage to catch up with one of the members of the rescue team. They’d already confirmed with hotel management that no one fitting Powers’ description of the bellboy worked at the Gatewater and were currently chasing down leads regarding him. Satisfied with their work, Miles left them to return to Criminal Affairs. Currently, his biggest lead was Andrews and whatever she didn’t want him to know about the motive for murder. If he wanted any chance of figuring that out, he needed information about her and the victim that didn’t come from gossip columns.

“Oh, Mr. Edgeworth!” the chief of detectives greeted. “They already started the briefing.”

“That’s fine, I’m here for something else. Have we any additional information on the defendant’s manager, Adrian Andrews?”

“Oh, do we ever!” he exclaimed. “Here, I think there’s an extra copy of the files on Clarkson’s desk.”

Miles moved to the empty desk he was pointing to, its occupant probably at the briefing. As the chief said, there was a file sitting right on top that Miles picked up to read.

The file was a report on a woman's suicide from two years ago. Celeste Inpax was, at the time, the manager of Juan Corrida and also engaged to him -  though the marriage was ultimately called off. He found her body three days after the announcement. Investigation had proven her life had undeniably been taken by her own hands, but a suicide note had never been found, leading police to believe Corrida had hidden it - a theory still unproven.

The report continued to document an attempted suicide that had happened in the wake of Inpax’s death; that of her mentee (and here Miles’ eyes widened), Adrian Andrews, unable to go on without her by her own admission. Following the attempt, she had received therapy to address her co-dependency issues. He read through quotes from Andrews herself about her feelings toward her mentor and her death that greatly contradicted the image of the self-confident woman he’d met today. Was that demeanor truly just a coping method her therapist had helped her develop?

“What does it say, Mr. Edgey?”

He gave her the abridged version, muddling over this new puzzle piece. Celeste Inpax… how did she fit in to all of this?

“Oh, you’re here, sir!”

Miles and Pearl looked over as Gumshoe came into the room.

“Detective. How did the meeting go?”

He grimaced. “Let’s just say we'd better hope the rescue team finds your pals soon.”

“They’re that confident, are they?”

“We finally got the autopsy report back - apparently the knife wound came after the guy was already dead. The real cause of death was that scarf.”

“So he was strangled,” Miles surmised.

“Yeah, but we’re still treating the knife as evidence of intent. Hard to argue with those fingerprints and the button.”

Actually, he could argue the fingerprints, but Miles decided to hold onto that for now.

“We also have an airtight testimony,” Gumshoe continued. “It’s not looking great.”

Oldbag’s testimony is airtight?” Miles said in disbelief.

“What’s wrong, little brother? Do you doubt my ability to prepare a perfect witness testimony?”

“It’s the witness herself I’m more concerned over…” Miles muttered, watching Franziska saunter over and take her place beside Gumshoe, to his visible discomfort.

“As for you, Scruffy,” she said, jabbing him in the side. “You’d do well to remember who’s in charge. I could have your job over this insubordination.”

“I would remind you that Detective Gumshoe is assigned to me.”

“Well, this is my case, which means he’s assigned to me right now. Isn’t that right, Scruffy?"

“I-I… uh… um…”

Franziska smirked at him. “Doesn’t feel so good, does it, Miles Edgeworth? Being replaced?"

His brow furrowed in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed that Maya Fey isn’t with you,” she said, gesturing at Pearl. “Did you decide she was replaceable too, and leave her behind?”

…too?

“Hey! That’s not true!” Pearl exclaimed, taking a step forward. “Mr. Edgey would never!”

Miles placed his free hand on her shoulder, afraid she was about to launch herself at Franziska. “Calm down, Pearl.”

Franziska scoffed at them, then pointed at Gumshoe. “You! With me. We have work to do.”

“But…”

“Now!”

For the second time that day, Gumshoe reluctantly followed her out.

Pearl let out a frustrated noise as her hackles lowered. “She’s so mean!” the young girl exclaimed.

“I know…” Miles gave her a placating pat before moving his hand, “but remember, she doesn’t know the full story.”

Pearl huffed, crossing her arms. “So, what do we do now?”

“We go back to the hotel.” While he had his doubts on the conclusiveness of the evidence and testimony, he was still counting on Maya and Phoenix to be rescued first. He needed to see if the rescue team had come up with anything. And, while they were there, it was perhaps worth visiting Andrews one more time.

“Actually, might I interrupt a moment?”

The new voice belonged to a man Miles didn’t recognize. He had glasses and long, blond hair curled in a curious style over one shoulder, wearing a suit a shade somewhere between light blue and purple.

“I’m Matt Engarde’s defense attorney,” he said, extending a hand in greeting, “Kristoph Gavin.”

Miles returned the gesture. The name wasn’t familiar, which, admittedly, wasn’t saying much. Miles had met many defense attorneys over his career. He remembered very few of them - both out of youthful arrogance and poor memory.

“I’m-“

“Miles Edgeworth,” he finished for him. “Your reputation precedes you. It’s quite the honor.” He then looked down to Pearl. “And who might this delightful young lady be?”

Pearl giggled, hiding her face shyly. “I’m Pearl…”

“Charmed,” he said, smiling at her.

“So, you’ll be representing Mr. Engarde in court tomorrow?” Miles asked.

“Indeed. I’ve just come from submitting the request of attorney. Shall I be seeing you at the opposite bench?”

Miles shook his head. “Franziska von Karma will be heading the prosecution.”

Gavin looked surprised. “And… are you fine with that? With Engarde being such a big star, this is sure to be a major trial.”

“So long as the truth is exposed in court, I don’t need to be the one who does it.”

“I see…”

Miles gave him a curious look. “Why did you take this case? Do you believe your client is innocent?” Just what had willingly put him on the very same path that Miles was being coerced into?

“What sort of defense attorney would I be if I didn’t?” Gavin chuckled, adjusting his glasses. “The noble answer would be that Matt Engarde deserves the best defense, with the odds so unfairly stacked against him, and I believe I can offer that.”

“But is that your answer?”

Gavin smiled softly. "I suppose you’ll have to come to the trial to find out.”

Miles frowned, unable to get a read on the man. He seemed pleasant enough, but there was something… off… that Miles couldn’t quite place. Perhaps it was the distrust of defense attorneys that von Karma had drilled into him, or the fact that he shared his goal of Engarde’s innocence with the person holding Phoenix and Maya hostage. Pearl appeared to like him well enough despite this, from the way Miles caught her occasionally tittering at him.

“Well, I must be going, I’ve got my work cut out for me, and I believe I've taken up enough of your time. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Edgeworth, and your lovely young companion.” He gave a nod to Pearl, who giggled again.

“You too, Mr. Gavin,” she said with a polite bow.

“Ah, yes,” Miles replied, slower on the uptake. “I wish you well in tomorrow’s trial.”

“Thank you. Hopefully I’ll see you there.”

Miles watched him turn to leave, mind running. Matt Engarde’s attorney - in another world, perhaps he was the unlucky fool taking orders from the other side of a transceiver, exploiting his position to see a man walk free - a man that, even now, with new evidence to support the theory, Miles was unsure if he deserved it. And for that, Miles shoved down any discomfort Gavin was giving him. He couldn’t fault him for simply doing his job.

“Mr. Gavin…” Miles called, causing him to pause and look back, “are you familiar with the name ‘Celeste Inpax’?”

“No, I can’t say I am,” he replied, shaking his head.

“You may wish to be.”

Gavin gave him a long, inscrutable look, before smiling once more and continuing on his way.

"I like him, he seems nice,” Pearl said cheerily.

Miles let out a sigh. “Let’s just hope that was the right move. Come on, we should be going ourselves.”



Andrews was still on standby in Engarde’s room as expect, but this time she wasn’t alone. They came in, interrupting whatever conversation she and Franziska had been engaged in, the latter looking anything but pleased.

“Still skulking around in my shadow, I see,” she sneered.

“We are working the same case,” Miles reminded her, exasperated.

She made a ‘hmph’ noise and proceeded to face back towards Andrews. “Now then, Adrian Andrews!”

“Y-yes…?” Andrews stammered, wearing had what Miles might have called an uncharacteristically dazed expression. However, after what he’d learned, this might have been closer to her true persona.

“Think hard about what we just discussed. Understood?”

“Alright…"

“And what might that be?” Miles asked as Franziska brushed past him.

“You would like to know, wouldn't you?" she smirked from the doorway, slamming the door behind her as she left.

“Mean,” Pearl repeated.

Miles sighed. He wasn’t looking for her right this moment anyway. “Ms. Andrews?”

She looked up as if noticing him for the first time. “I-I told you. I have nothing more to discuss.”

“No? Seems you and my sister had a lot to talk about."

She didn’t respond.

“Did you know the investigation hasn’t uncovered a motive aside from the rivalry? So, if you have anything to contribute, it would be greatly appreciated.”

“Why do you keep asking me questions to which I have no answers?” she said, looking away.

Miles moved back into her line of sight. “Because I believe you weren’t just ‘helping out’ when you went to check on Mr. Corrida. Several people claim that you may have had an intimate relationship with him.”

Andrews clicked her tongue. “Baseless rumors. You would believe what some third-rate tabloids have to say? I thought you were smarter than that.”

“Normally, I wouldn’t, but I do believe you had a reason to get close to the victim. Like investigating your mentor, Celeste Inpax’s, suicide, mayhaps?”

Andrews flinched, clutching at her chest. “What do you know about Celeste?!”

“I’ve read the police report, and I suspect you may have as well in some capacity. That's how you knew the police suspected Mr. Corrida of hiding her suicide note.”

“Th-that’s just a theory, they never found anything!” she protested. “I despise interpersonal relationships, I would not force myself into one on a chance. Celeste was my mentor, yes, but I’m not the kind of person to dedicate myself to others.”

“No?” Miles questioned, expression doubtful.

“N-no!" she replied with less confidence.

“Ms. Andrews, the police report also mentioned your attempt at following your mentor to an early grave, and well as your struggles with co-dependency.”

Andrews curled in on herself. “So, you know then... the one thing I’d hoped to keep my secret and mine alone…”

“It’s hardly a secret when there’s police documentation on it.”

“Mr. Edgey!” Pearl whispered, giving him a nudge.

“You probably think I'm a worthless human being right now, don't you?” she asked, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

“What I think… is that you’ve been a lot,” Miles said, “but I also think that you still haven't been entirely truthful with us.”

“A-about what?”

“For one, why you think Mr. Corrida was killed. There’s also the matter of that press conference. Somehow, I think you know more about it than you’ve let on.”

Andrews didn’t speak for a moment, keeping her eyes to the ground and hugging her own arms as tightly as she could. “I didn’t know the details, that much I did not lie about, but… it wasn't the publicity department who set it up.” She tilted her head back up, eyes disappearing behind the glint of her glasses briefly. “It was Juan.”

“Mr. Corrida did?”

“He wanted to mess with Matt - he refused to tell me what it was about, just that he needed my help setting it up.”

“Could it be he was already expecting to lose the competition?” Miles wondered.

“Your guess is as good as mine, but if someone figured out his plan, then that could be the motive you seek.”

“But why would you help Mr. Corrida go behind Mr. Engarde's back?” Pearl asked. “You’re his manager.”

Andrews sighed, casting her line of sight somewhere across the room. “That man isn’t the ‘refreshing spring breeze’ he says he is.”

“Huh?”

“I think that’s enough, Pearl.” Andrews was forced to recount some very heavy things from her past - they probably weren’t going to get much further with her in this state. “We should be going.”

“Before you leave, I have a small favor to ask,” she said. “My... attempted suicide... I'd like for you to keep it a secret.” She looked down at her hands, wringing them together. “If people found out… about my weakness... I... I would sooner choose to die than live.”

“You would ‘choose death’, would you?” Miles remarked with a joyless chuckle.

“Mr. Edgeworth, please.”

"I cannot promise you anything. The police have already been looking into the reports on it.”

“I… I understand,” she said, deflating.

Miles made an inward groan, letting it out as a sigh. "I'll try not to bring it up if not strictly necessary.”

Andrews moved a hand to her chest. “Thank you.”

He regarded her one last time with a short nod, then made his exit, Pearl trailing after.



They spent the rest of the afternoon and well into the evening following the motions of the rescue team. A top to bottom sweep of the hotel had confirmed that they were definitely taken to a second location, but the team was still chasing their main (and only) lead of the false bellboy. They hadn’t spoken to everyone quite yet, but so far it appeared that only Powers and Pearl had actually noticed the man, despite a very identifying facial feature. So, the search continued.

After a while, though, Miles did begin to notice Pearl lagging behind, having slowed for her to catch up a number of times. She must have been getting tired, and was it any wonder why. On top of what little sleep she’d already gotten, she’d been back and forth, walking around with him nearly the entire day. Miles was used to this sort of thing, but poor Pearl must have been exhausted.

“We should find someplace for you to rest.”

“Oh, no! I'm okay. Really, I am!” she protested ineffectually, rubbing at her eyes.

“I insist,” Miles said, taking her hand to lead her someplace hopefully quiet.

Someplace quiet ended up being the crime scene. The investigators were all busy elsewhere, leaving only the sentry outside the door. Avoiding half of the room, Miles steered her over to one of the two queen-sized beds which she almost immediately sank into.

“So soft…” she mumbled, face planted into the covers. “Are all hotel beds like this?”

“The luxury ones should be,” Miles said as he sat down on the other one, realizing just how tired he himself was now that the weight was no longer on his feet.

“Wow…”

They stayed like that for a little while, regaining their strength as Miles did his mental recap of everything that had brought them here thus far.

His thoughts were then interrupted by a muffled beeping coming from his pocket.

Pearl shot straight up. “Ah! Mr. Edgey, the transceiver!” she exclaimed as he fished it out.

“What is it?” Miles answered brusquely.

“Now is that any way to answer, Mr. Prosecutor? Remember, your time is running out.”

“I still have over twelve hours before the trial,” he said, checking his watch.

Still, I suggest you don’t dawdle. Your precious item must be quite famished by now. I worry she may try and eat her pet.”

Phoenix… so the fool had shown himself. "You haven't hurt her, have you?”

“As I promised, I have not come within a few feet of her this whole time.”

Prove it. Let me speak to her.”

The kidnapper was quiet for a moment. “...very well.”

The sound of movement buzzed through the speaker, then Maya's voice rang out, cut off at the beginning. “…sis! Ask my sis!”

“Maya! Are you-“ Miles began to ask, only for a beep in his ear to signal the connection going dead. “Dammit!” He exclaimed, throwing the transceiver onto the bed.

“‘Ask my sis…’ That’s what Mystic Maya said, right?” Pearl asked.

“That's what it sounded like, yes…” he muttered, eyes widening in realization. He turned around to face Pearl, only to find Mia Fey now sitting in her place.

“Phoenix says they’re safe, for now,” she told Miles. “And both of them are unharmed… despite his efforts…”

“What do you mean?” he asked, worried.

“I’m afraid Phoenix still hasn’t learned his lesson about throwing himself at people over twice his size.”

Miles sighed. Of course… “What happened?”

“Maya went to answer a phone call and was drugged. Phoenix came out when he noticed something was wrong, but met with the same fate. They're currently being held in a wine cellar somewhere, by a man with stitches down his face calling himself ‘De Killer’.”

“De Killer?!” Miles exclaimed. “Surely not Shelly de Killer?” If he was involved, then the matter just got a whole deal worse.

Mia made a face. “I take it you're familiar."

“He’s an assassin that we've been after for years. Urgh, no wonder he was so confident Engarde didn’t kill Corrida! But, surely we would have found… No! I’ll worry about that later. What else do you know?”

“Well, after Maya channeled me the first time…”



They came out to another dark room, dimly lit by a number of small blinking lights coming off of various electric gadgets dispersed through the room.

“Is this some sort of... entertainment center?” Phoenix asked.

“I don’t know, but look at the size of this TV!” Maya said, gesturing at the widescreen focal point. “Imagine if I ever got to watch Nickel Samurai on something like this.”

Not the time, Maya…” Phoenix gritted out, looking around for their escape route. There was one other door, which he walked over to to inspect. It had a lever sort of handle, the kind the Phoenix could work with his lack of thumbs, but it was unfortunately locked. “Hey, you think you could work your card trick on this one?”

She came over to try, but was equally unsuccessful. “Sorry, Nick. But, look! There’s a little mini door down there. Maybe you could squeeze through and open it from the other side.”

Blinking, Phoenix looked down and, sure enough, there was a pet door - probably for a small dog or cat. He looked over his shoulders. The fit might be tight, but he could probably wiggle his way through if he tried.

“While you’re doing that, I'll keep looking around. Maybe there’s a secret passageway.”

Experimentally, Phoenix poked his head past the flap, looking around into, yet another, dark room. You’d think De Killer had night vision or something. Since they didn't have the time to wait for his eyes to adjust, Phoenix pressed on. As he’d suspected, his shoulders hit the frame as he tried to move forward, so he tried to pivot sideways to make the fit. He was almost there when something brushed against him in the dark, causing him to jump back in alarm.

“Nick! Are you okay?” Maya asked, dropping whatever strange object she’d been inspecting back onto the couch.

“S-something touched me,” he said, taking a step back from the door. A second later the flap pushed in and in hopped a little orange kitten, meowing sweetly at them.

“Aww, it's just a kitty, Nick. Although, I guess cats do eat birds…”

“It was dark, okay…" Phoenix grumbled as the kitten sniffed at him, probably unsure of what to think. He ignored it, ready to move back to the door when it suddenly opened fully.

De Killer came in, looking around as he shut off their escape route. “Oh, this simply will not do…” he said disappointedly. “I cannot have you wandering around at will.”

Maya let out a shriek of alarm and Phoenix swiftly moved back into position, staying between her and the strange man. De Killer was unimpressed by both actions, herding them back into the wine cellar without ceremony.

“Now,” he said, lingering at the top on the stairs as he made sure they were settled back into their prison, “I would suggest you remain cooperative. If you cannot, there are ways in which I can help you…"

“What do you mean… ways?”

“‘Dead men tell no tales’ is how the saying goes, correct?” De Killer warned, stepping back through the threshold and closing the door. It locked with an echoing click.

“Well... at least he left us the light on this time…”

“D-dead…?!” Maya stammered, and Phoenix turned round to see her sinking down to her knees.

“No, Maya, it's okay. I won’t let him hurt you, I promise.” He flapped his way over, butting against her shoulder. “But, I don’t think we should try that escape route again.”

“Y-yeah… You're probably right,” she sniffed. “Oh, but I did find this. Maybe it's a clue about where we are.” Reaching into her robes, she pulled out a small picture frame that had been tucked under her obi.

“Where did you get that?”

“It was on the table.” Maya turned the front towards him to show the picture of the woman it contained. “I grabbed it right before that De Killer came in.”

“‘With love, Celeste’,” Phoenix said, reading off the signature in the corner. "That must be her name.”



“It said, ‘Celeste’?” Miles suddenly exclaimed, interrupting Mia's retelling. "And you’re absolutely sure about that?”

“That’s what Phoenix told me,” she said with a startled look on her face. “Does that mean…?"

“I need to round up the rescue team immediately,” Miles said, a wild look in his eye.I think I know where they are.”

Chapter 48

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The raid had been a bust.

While finding Corrida’s home was an easy enough task, some problems immediately arose. The actor had lived atop a high rise, which, as they took the elevator up (no time to waste for his own comfort by traversing over twenty flights of stairs), did not bode well for the wine cellar Mia had described. Upon gaining access to his living quarters, no cats or cat-flaps were to be seen, either.

“I don't understand…” Miles muttered to himself after sending the rescue officers he’d brought along off, lagging behind as he paced the room. “The photo of Celeste Inpax and the fact De Killer would have known this place to be empty… it made so much sense that they’d be here.”

Mia watched his movements carefully from her lounged position against a nearby wall, wearing Miles’ jacket over Pearl’s robes. “Maybe it was a different Celeste,” she offered.

“No, it must have been Inpax. It’s too big of a coincidence otherwise.” There was something more here, a thread missing from the police report that wove her story in with everything that was happening now. “I need to talk to Andrews again. There must be something she knows.”

And Miles was off in a shot, nearly leaving Mia behind in his determination as he threw open the door to Corrida’s suite. “At this time of night?!” He heard her exclaim from behind him. “She’s probably asleep."

Miles stopped to throw an unimpressed scowl her way. “Your point?”

She tossed it right back. “From what you told me on the way here, I doubt she’s gonna cooperate if you wake her up in the middle of the night.”

“What else am I supposed to do? We need to know more about Inpax and Andrews is the only person we know who would have that information!”

“Right now? Go to bed before you do something rash,” Mia suggested, crossing her arms. “And before you pass out on your feet."

“I’m fine,” he grunted. So what if he’d been awake over 18 hours at this point, already running on minimal sleep from the previous night?

“You know, Phoenix was worried you’d be like this.”

“Of course he was” Miles muttered. Always fretting over everyone but himself. “I supposed he asked you to keep me in check?”

“Who’s to say?” she replied, examining the results of Pearl’s nervous nail-biting.

“Well, he can lodge his complaints in person. When I get them back.” With that, he started walking again.

“Edgeworth…”

“Fey,” he interrupted, slamming the elevator call button harder than necessary. “The deadline is tomorrow. I need to find them before this case goes to trial.”

“Then appeal for more time. If De Killer is so desperate for Engarde’s innocence, then you should have until the judge calls for a verdict.” She brushed past him as the elevator arrived, stepping into the cabin. “You could even postpone the trial - you’re good at pulling strings, aren’t you?”

“Easier said than done,” Miles grumbled as he stepped in after her and pressed for the lobby. Especially considering whose trial he’d be disrupting.

Mia gave him a considering look. “If not for your own sake, then for Pearl’s. She can’t channel me forever, and she’ll be exhausted when she’s done.”

Miles scowled at her. “Playing dirty now, are we?”

“Takes one to know one, Prosecutor.”

Miles groaned, closing his eyes and leaning against the back wall as he ignored the rumble reminding him of his current location.

“Look, I don't like it either,” Mia continued, “but until we know exactly where they are, your best bet is to keep playing along as if you’re going to prove Engarde’s innocence - assuming he is guilty.”

“I… don’t know for sure,” Miles admitted. With De Killer’s involvement revealed, he now knew that the evidence implicating Engarde was falsified. But, did that mean he was absolved of guilt? Unless he or his client was a huge Nickel Samurai fan, there was a reason the assassin was protecting Engarde, but not one he could prove. “We don’t have the evidence.”

“Sounds like a reason to postpone a trial to me.”

Miles opened his eyes, ready to argue logistics, but the elevator chose that moment to arrive, interrupting him with a slight lurch. He snapped his eyes shut again and braced against the wall as it settled, quickly stepping out once the doors opened. When he turned to face Mia again, he found she was gone, a barely awake Pearl being swallowed by his suit jacket in her place.

“I see you’ve forced my hand, Fey,” Miles mumbled as he bent down to get Pearl before she fell over. He situated the young girl upon his back, her arms loosely draped around his shoulders as exhaustion took hold. Now no longer fit to continue with the investigation, his only option was to return home and hope he could work something out come morning.



“You, Miles Edgeworth, have truly lost your mind.”

He’d managed to catch Franziska at the steps of the courthouse, sending Pearl off with Gumshoe before he made his approach. The trial was not slotted to begin for another hour, giving him plenty of time to plead his case on why it should be delayed for further investigation.

Her reaction was exactly as expected, but he had to try. For their sake.

Franziska at least hadn’t stormed away from him yet, positioning herself on a higher step so she could quite literally lord over him. “Do you truly expect me to allow you more time to try and sabotage me?” she scoffed. “I knew you were a coward, but this is just pathetic.”

“I’m not -!” he began, gritting his teeth. “If you would just let me explain.” Preferably not out in the open with them practically shouting at each other.

Franziska gave him a deep scowl, fists clenching at her sides. “You should have done that a year ago,” she replied softly.

Miles froze, a half step away from closing some of the distance between them, their heights now matching. She met his gaze, holding for it a moment before breaking contact, reinstating their height difference with a few backward steps.

“I’ve a trial to get to,” she said, beginning to turn to head inside.

It happened in an instant. Without warning, Franziska suddenly collapsed to her knees with a shout of pain, grabbing her right shoulder in a vice grip. Beneath her glove, the white sleeve rapidly began to stain red.

“FRANZISKA!” Miles shouted, barely even processing what had happened before he was at her side. A gun?! From where? They hadn’t even heard the blast! Frantic, Miles reached for the first thing he could think of to halt the blood flow and nearly tore the cravat from his neck, pressing it against her wound.

“Fool!” Franziska snapped, though it came out more as a hiss. “I don’t… need your help…” She shoved him away with her elbow, shaking as she replaced his hand with her own, holding the cloth in place.

“Are you daft? You’ve just been shot!” he exclaimed, near to hysterics.

“I am… fine,” she grunted, trying to stand, the exertion only causing her more pain. She choked back a cry as she stumbled, Miles there to steady her back into a kneeling position.

“We need to get you to a hospital,” he said, looking around. The scene had begun to draw out a few concerned bystanders from inside the courthouse. One of them likely had the sense to dial for an ambulance already, though he still barked the order to whoever was listening.

“No…” Franziska said, trying and failing to move from his hold. “The trial…”

“You’re in no state to stand in court. Or at all. It can wait.”

She scoffed. “Just… what you wanted.”

Miles felt his face flush in anger. “Do you really think I care about that now?!” he snapped. “That some trial is more important than you?!”

Franziska blinked, eyes widening a fraction. She started to look back at him, but her own pained groan interrupted as she curled in on herself instead. Miles could feel her trembling beneath his hands, and it took all his willpower not to do the same.

“You’ll be okay. We’ll get help,” he whispered reassuringly, a little for his own sake as well. Franziska merely slumped against him in response, allowing him to support some of her weight as the fight finally left her body. He gave her good shoulder a soothing rub, glaring out at the buildings across the street. The shot could have come from any one of them, between the rooftops and the multiple floors - they’d be hard pressed to try and locate the shooter, though Miles would make sure an effort was being made once Franziska was stabilized.

Miles gritted his teeth, fighting back angry tears he could feel trying to form. Why was this happening now, on top of everything else? Was it some cruel, divine prank that had painted a target on the backs of everyone close to him?

…was it his fault?

The wait for the ambulance probably felt longer than it really was, but soon enough the sound of sirens came to herald its arrival. Reluctantly he allowed himself to be moved away from Franziska as the EMTs took over, loading her onto a stretcher and then the vehicle itself. He got the name of the hospital she was to be relocated to (the name ‘Hotti’ sparked some memory that he couldn’t focus on right now), planning on following after.

He watched until the ambulance doors closed, blocking her from his view. After a quick text to Gumshoe - and by extension, Pearl - telling them in short what happened and where he was going. Miles ignored the return call he got moments later, a man on a mission as he headed for the parking deck to get his car.



Pulling up to the building, he remembered why the Hotti Clinic had sounded familiar to him. Apparently the nearest facility equipped to deal with a bullet wound was the same one that had handled Miney’s treatment.

Since Franziska miraculously still had him listed as an emergency contact, it’d been easy for Miles to get information on her condition. She was stable upon arrival and promptly moved to surgery to have the bullet, still in her shoulder, removed. They promised to give him an update once the procedure was done, but since nothing vital was hit, a complete recovery was expected.

She was going to be okay. The relief washed over him like a tidal wave. He moved to wipe at his brow only to pause when his palm came into his line of vision. Too worried over Franziska, he hadn’t even realized his hand had been stained with some of her blood from his brief contact with the wound, now dry and flaking. The receptionist pointed him in the direction of the nearest restroom where he could wash up.

Miles stared down his reflection in the mirror of the private bathroom as he cleaned, scrubbing his hands until they were red from friction rather than his sister’s blood. There’d been a little smudged on his phone that he carefully removed with a disinfectant wipe, and likely some on his car that he’d get to soon. His clothes appeared to have been thankfully spared (sans the cravat), though a stain or two could easily have camouflaged on the red of his suit.

He splashed some water in his face, hoping to wash the thought away.

After drying off and replacing his cravat with the spare he kept on him for emergencies, Miles steeled himself to head back out, only for the beeping of that accursed transceiver to start bouncing off the walls.

(Miles would have bounced the transceiver itself off the walls if he didn’t still need it).

“Yes?” he answered coldly, voice low to keep from carrying past the door.

Good morning,” the person that Miles now knew to be Shelly de Killer greeted. “It is the day of the trial.”

“I’m aware…” he said cautiously.

“Then you should also be aware that I gave you until that trial to free Mr. Engarde.”

“You need him cleared of all charges,” Miles reminded, taking Mia’s advice. “His guilt has not been officially declared yet.”

“Indeed, which is why your precious item remains unharmed. However, she was looking quite, shall we say, tired when I checked on her earlier this morning.”

Unable to glare at a disembodied voice, Miles settled for his own reflection.

“I need that trial to end favorably…” De Killer continued, “which is why I sent you that little present.”

“Present…?” Miles frowned. He already didn’t like how that sounded.

“You should find it… much easier to steer today’s contest in your favor now.”

Miles let out a short gasp as it hit him. “You…” he growled as De Killer hung up on him, cutting off that thought before he said something to the assassin he’d later regret. Letting the transceiver fall to the ground, his hands gripped at the bathroom sink, holding himself back from shouting any number of obscenities.

He should have seen it. Franziska’s shooting was not the result of terrible timing, but De Killer’s next gambit to ensure that exoneration. His knuckles turned white as the porcelain beneath them as he looked up at his face in the mirror, watching it sink as it became all too clear what the assassin turned kidnapper would have him do:

Take her place as lead prosecutor… and throw the trial.



Court had already been in session for a few minutes by the time he made it back, but given the circumstances, they could stand to wait a few more.

Gumshoe was waiting for him near the prosecutor’s wing, eager for more details. Miles gave him the quick version, telling him the kidnapper was responsible and why, before sending him ahead to make sure the judge was informed of the situation if he hadn’t already been told. Gumshoe shuffled off to fulfill the order, handed over the notes he’d been holding on to for the prosecution. With no time to prepare, Miles would have to pick up whatever Franziska had already done and pray he could make it work.

Pearl had already given herself over to Mia, dressed in some of her old clothes that were being kept in Phoenix’s room. She acknowledged him with a nod and wordlessly fell into step at his side as they made their way to the courtroom.

They came in just as the bailiff finished explaining what had occurred to a very rattled judge, concerned for her wellbeing.

“Ms. von Karma is in stable condition and currently undergoing surgery,” he cut in, walking behind the bench. “As she can not appear in court today, I, Miles Edgeworth, will be taking her place. Luckily, I have looked this case over and am familiar with the details. The prosecution…” he paused, taking in a deep breath, “seeks to prove the guilt of Mr. Matt Engarde.”

“The court acknowledges the prosecution,” the judge said, still visibly reeling over the news.

“Well, thank goodness she’s okay,” Gavin said from across the room, drawing attention to himself. “And while the circumstances could be better, I can't say I’m not thrilled at the opportunity to face off against you.”

Miles merely nodded, unable to return the sentiment.

The trial moved on to normal progressions. Gumshoe, as lead detective, was brought out as the first witness to lay down the basics of the case. Basing his testimony on the assumption that the scene had not been tampered with (as he should, even if Miles had had the opportunity to fully update him on De Killer), he told the version of events as determined in yesterday’s strategy meeting.

Miles took the opportunity to double check the evidence list. Most things he was already aware from his own involvement in the case, but there were a few details that were new to him, such as the confirmation that Corrida’s guitar had been left at the studio and Andrew’s fingerprints at the crime scene, found only on the glass of tomato juice. Miles remembered asking for that to be investigated, finding its placement odd. She must have, for some reason, moved it when she found the body.

He tuned back in as the cross-examination began, finding himself surprised at Gavin’s performance. There weren’t too many weak points in Gumshoe’s testimony - it was just a summary after all - but he picked about it in a way that made the detective almost second-guess his statements, even objective facts like ‘the victim was found in his hotel room’. He then closed the questioning without further comment, opening it back up for Miles to lead his witness into the next portion.

Miles watched him with careful consideration. He wasn’t sure what Gavin’s approach was quite yet, but with what was at stake, he couldn’t afford to underestimate his opponent.

Next on the docket was establishing the reason for arrest. The bloody button and the fingerprints on the knife - still backed by the investigation’s findings - were presented with full confidence by Gumshoe. Miles could only keep his face neutral and let proceedings run. In the end, the evidence truly was too convenient, he knew that for certain now. Engarde could still be guilty, but he’d be convicted not because his complicity in Engarde’s murder was proven, but because someone wanted him to be.

(He realized with a grim irony that the person he was a few years ago, the person Franziska was still clinging to, probably wouldn’t have cared.)

Gavin dove in, weaving through the testimony and picking at small details in a way that Miles couldn’t call out for badgering. Gumshoe helpfully answered his questions, even where it tripped him up, such as suggesting Engarde had prepared the knife for the murder, despite it clearly having been provided by the hotel’s room service.

Seeing a flaw in Gavin’s logic, Miles objected. Like it or not, he was now the prosecutor in this case, and if he was going make it through this, he needed to play his part and play it well. With a deep breath, he drew out a little of the demon he’s tried to leave behind and made his counter-argument.

The origin of the knife didn’t discount the theory of a premeditated murder; Even if Engarde had not brought the knife into the hotel, it was still taken from his room to the crime scene. If not to attack the victim, then for what other reason? Lacking an answer, Gavin moved into his next argument on the reasoning behind a post-mortem stabbing and the sense of the motive - why it was that the loser of the competition ended up the victim?

“A man’s fate is on the line, and you would allow such shoddy evidence to decide it?” Gavin appealed. “What of the integrity of the court?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Gavin…” The judge stroked his beard. “You’ve made some good points, but I feel there’s more than enough against the defendant to call a ruling.”

Seeing an opportunity, Miles made a ‘tsking’ sound. “Unfortunately, Your Honor, I can not allow you to pass judgment yet.”

The man looked surprised. “M-Mr. Edgeworth! Surely you’ve provided enough evidence for me to make a ruling.”

“The prosecution has yet another witness we would like the court to hear from.” And to keep the trial from ending prematurely.

“Very well…” he said, ordering the bailiff to bring out the next witness. He did so shortly and Miles nearly dropped the case files he was holding in alarm when that space suit entered his field of vision.

With all that had happened in the past 12 hours, he’d forgotten she was the witness.

“You alright there?” Mia asked, shooting a confused, if not somewhat bemused, glance between him and Oldbag as she moved past, blowing him a kiss in the process.

“Long story,” he said softly, cringing. “Though, perhaps, a blessing in disguise.” If anyone could derail a trial, it was the wicked witch of the witness stand herself. If Gavin could poke enough holes into her supposedly airtight testimony, the trial should go into a recess.

“Don’t you worry Edgey-boy,” she said. “I'm going to tell you anything and everything! Even things that don't have to do with that terrible crime.”

The judge cleared his throat to get her attention. “Ms... Witness... That ‘terrible crime’ is all this court needs to know.”

He jumped when her prop gun, which hadn’t been confiscated (though probably not from a lack of trying on the bailiff’s part), was suddenly turned on him.

“I'm talking to my dear Edgey-Wedgey right now!” she shushed. “Don't interrupt us, gramps!"

“Yes, ma’am,” he muttered, mollified.

“No no, by all means please interrupt her!” Miles said through gritted teeth.

“Hold on, Mr. Edgeworth,” Gavin said cooly. “It is our job to hear out whatever the witness has to say, however vapid it may be.”

Oldbag turned to him, nodding approvingly despite the backhanded statement. “Exactly!  Honestly, if only the youth these days could be more like him! Now then, what should I start with…?"

Her testimony was about the same as the one she’d given the night of the incident - including the vagueness on her reason for lurking around the victim’s room after the ceremony. Gavin obviously noticed it, though when Oldbag continued to be coy when pressed for further details, he moved on.

“Ms. Oldbag, you claim you were near the scene of the crime after the ceremony. Does this then mean that you watched the ceremony itself?”

“Of course I did! My dear Juan was in the running to win, so I left my post in the lobby to watch. Except it was that Engarde instead who stole the victory from him. That no-talent hack only gets by cause of his looks. Unlike real stars like my Juan. Why, if I was in charge, Juan would have won every single year. That’s why he killed him, I bet. He felt threatened that he was going to lose his title next year. He’s nothing but a no good, yellow-bellied chicken! I hope he rots in jail for the rest of his life for everything he’s done to Juan.”

Gavin, clearly caught off guard by the force that is Oldbag, cleared his throat after an extended moment of silence. “Then, your post was not outside the victim’s hotel room, if I’m to understand."

“Ha! They wanted me to help set up the show for that Lead-headed Samurai’s show, but I refused to help. I even removed some nails,” she said, tittering at her past actions. “Besides, they had it all covered without me, so I decided to stretch my wings a little.”

“Great security detail they have,” Mia commented.

“Mr. Gavin, was there any point to this line of questioning?” Miles asked him.

“This witness has just admitted that she bears ill will towards my client. How can we be sure her testimony has not be skewed towards this bias? Perhaps this ‘something’ she was looking for that she refuses to admit to the court was an excuse to throw mud upon Mr. Engarde’s good name.”

“I’m telling you I saw him!” Oldbag protested. “And besides, that last part’s a secret between me and Juan. Oh, and Edgey, of course.” She batted her lashes his way.

“Mr. Edgeworth, could it be you were holding out information from the court?” Gavin accused.

“Mr. Edgeworth, is this true?” the judge asked.

Miles tried not to roll his eyes. “What she is referring to is nothing more than celebrity gossip. As it has no factual basis, I didn’t feel it worth wasting the court’s time over.” He shook his head, shrugging. “Why she was there is not important, all that matters is that she saw the defendant leaving the scene of the crime.”

Gavin hummed thoughtfully. “But can we prove she saw the defendant? Perhaps she wanted to spread some gossip of her own.”

“I must say, I’m little curious about this gossip myself,” the judge commented.

Giving his best put-upon sigh, Miles produced the article Powers had given him. “If it pleases the court. According to this tabloid, Mr. Corrida may have recently become romantically entangled with a ‘Ms. A.A.’. Ms. Oldbag was only looking to confirm the validity of this claim and became a witness in the process.”

“I see…” His Honor said, perusing the presented magazine with what seemed to be less than professional interest.

“Still, we can’t discount her intentions,” Gavin pointed out, still clinging to his claims.

“My intentions were to clear my Juan’s good name!” Oldbag screeched. “It was all that Engarde, I’m telling you! He sent that woman, his manager, to get close to Juan and ruin him. It proves he had something against Juan!”

“His manager?” the judge asked.

“Adrian Andrews,” Miles confirmed.

“Adrian Andrews… Oh! Ms. A.A.!” he exclaimed as the dots connected.

“I was waiting out there for her, so I could catch her and teach her a good lesson,” she announced proudly. Miles could only shudder, thinking of what that must entail.

“All this based on something you read in a gossip paper,” Gavin said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“What? Are you saying that ‘gossip’ is all just a pack of lies? Hmph, what do you know? I suppose next you'll swear to me that the ‘news’ is 100% truth!”

“I know that’s something people of your age struggle with at times,” he replied.

She scoffed at him. “You know, you may be handsome, but you could stand to take some cues from Edgey over here. You’ll never win a lady’s heart if you keep that up. It just so happens that I got my information from a secret, inside source. Nobody else knows about it yet.”

That was a surprise to Miles. He’d assumed she’d gotten the idea from the same place that Powers had, especially being a fan of Corrida’s.

“So, no one else knows of this information?” Gavin asked for confirmation.

“That’s right, sonny!” Oldbag exclaimed, preening.

“Then, why do you?”

She fumbled for a bit. “Well that’s… that’s because I’m a pro! That’s why!”

“I see…” Gavin gave her a considering look, then turned his attention to the judge. “Your Honor, the witness is clearly not to be trusted, so why should we believe the rest of her testimony?”

“Well…” the judge said, considering, “I suppose the witness has failed to prove her point…”

“Are you calling me a liar?!” Oldbag wailed, pointing her ray gun at the judge again, who sunk a little further behind his bench.

“But it was Mr. Gavin who…”

“Oh, I can tell what you’re all thinking. ‘Wendy Oldbag must be getting senile. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. She’s unreliable.’ Well, I’m not gonna stand here and take this slander! I’ll have you know that my source is a journalist! I can prove it.” She twisted her body away slightly to begin seemingly rooting through the folds of her jumpsuit, eventually producing a small bag that she opened to reveal a camera.

“Witness!” the judge exclaimed. “Cameras are not allowed in the courtroom!”

“Oh don’t flatter yourself,” she said, waving her free hand. “I wouldn’t take any pictures of you anyway. Only of my Edgey-Poo, and maybe that hotheaded attorney over there, if he’s lucky.”

“I’ll endeavor not to be,” Gavin said sweetly.

Miles, however, was carefully pouring over this new information that was presented, calling to a mind a conversation from yesterday that he’d previous disregarded.

“Ms. Oldbag, who is this journalist?”

“Bah, I don’t know her name. Some puffy-haired whippersnapper.”

“Lotta Hart,” Miles said flatly. Of course.

“Oh yes, I remember that mischievous girl,” the judge commented.

At his side, Mia looked over. “That photographer who was in Kurain? You didn’t mention she was involved.”

“She was barely involved. She was there for a ‘scoop’,” Miles told her. On the rumors around Andrews from the sound of it.

“Mr. Edgeworth. Does the prosecution have something they would like to share?”

Mia made a face at being referred to as the prosecution, politely ignoring the slight smirk Miles gave her.

“Ms. Olbag’s ‘source’, as it were, is a photojournalist who was at the Gatewater the night of the murder, looking for a story.”

“See! I told you!” Oldbag gloated.

“She was also looking for her camera, which she reported was stolen that same night,” Miles continued.

Her tune quickly changed. “N-no… this is something else. A completely different camera!”

“Witness!” the judge chided.

“Alright fine. But don’t give me that look, I only borrowed it. I saw that woman's business card and that's when I noticed it said, ‘Slimebag Celebrity Photographer Extraordinaire’! Well, when I saw that, I had to know what sort of pictures she had taken! I'm a professional security guard! It's my business to know these things! And this proves that I saw what I said I saw!”

“Bailiff!” the judge called. “Have this camera's photos examined at once.”



As prosecutor, Miles was able to review the camera roll before the results were brought back to court. They were almost entirely candids of the celebrities moving to and from various areas of the hotel, with only one of them being relevant to the case.

Miles nearly slammed his head into the wall when he saw it.

“Perhaps the message got muddled amidst all the rambling,” Gavin said once the new evidence was submitted and court resumed, “but I believe you said that it was Mr. Engarde whom you saw leaving the crime scene.”

The photograph they’d been left with was undeniably of someone leaving Corrida’s room, there was no mistaking that doorframe surrounded by bouquets and bears. The detail that no one had bothered to mention was that the person in question was covered head-to-toe in the Nickel Samurai’s armor.

“What? You can see him plain as day in that photograph!” Oldbag replied. “Engarde is the Nickel Samurai, who else could it be?!”

“Anyone with access to Global Studio’s costume department,” was Gavin’s answer.

“While the defense is correct that the photo by itself does not prove this person’s identity, we do know that, at the time of the murder, Mr. Engarde was still in his Nickel Samurai costume,” Miles interjected, hating that he had to validate Oldbag for pulling this stunt on him a second time. “In this case, this would be a picture of the defendant.”

“Which isn’t good for us,” Mia said. Satisfied with the results, the judge was prepared to end things there and then, currently giving the defense a moment to formulate any final arguments. “If Gavin doesn’t come up with anything, you’re going to have to intervene. Could you call in that Hart woman to testify on her picture?”

“There’s already another witness I can call if need be,” Miles said. There was also an easy objection he could make, were he on the defense’s side. One that, as a fan of the show, he’d noticed as soon as he was done seething over the picture. The question was, would Gavin…?

“I stand by my assertion that anyone with access to the costume could wear it,” Gavin finally said. “Perhaps there were two Nickel Samurai there that evening. A big star like Matt Engarde surely has a stunt double or two to handle the more dangerous scenes.”

“Are you saying the defendant sent a stunt double to murder for him?” the judge gasped.

“Of course not. Merely that we shouldn’t be so quick to confirm the identity of the person photographed,” he said, adjusting his glasses. “As a matter of fact, now that I’ve been staring at this image for a while, there is something a little peculiar about it.”

“There is?”

“Those pants of their’s, don’t they seem a little too big? The Nickel Samurai is hardly up my alley as far as television goes, but I imagine an action star wouldn’t wear clothes they were at risk of tripping over.”

Not necessarily, as the Steel Samurai’s costume had entirely covered his feet, but Gavin was correct in this case; The Nickel Samurai’s hakama were nowhere near that long on him.

Following this train of thought, Gavin made his claim that the person who’d been photographed wasn’t Engarde, but instead the true mastermind on the crime. Someone who was at the hotel that day, who not only had free access to Engarde’s room (to obtain the knife with his prints and later plant the bloody button), but also his wardrobe. Someone who was short enough that the costume wouldn’t quite fit them.

“The defense requests that Adrian Andrews be brought before the court, in the case of the murder of Juan Corrida.”

The judge made a call to order. “Mr. Edgeworth! This court is issuing a subpoena for Ms. Adrian Andrews! A verdict cannot be passed without first hearing her testimony!”

Miles made no objections.

“Very well, we shall set Ms. Andrews' testimony for tomorrow…” the judge said, raising his gavel to adjourn court for the day and finally allow Miles to get back to his investigation.

Actually, Your Honor,” Gavin interrupted before the motion could be completed, “there should be no need for that. It’s to my understanding that the prosecution has already secured her as a witness for today’s trial.”

Miles’ eyes narrowed. While it was true that Andrews should currently be waiting in the prosecution lobby, how was Gavin privy to that information when Miles only knew because he had access to Franziska’s trial notes?

“We have…” he admitted, slowly.

“Oh, well, why didn’t you say something sooner, Mr. Edgeworth? The court shall take a 10 minute recess. Please prepare your witness in that time.”

Across the courtroom, Gavin gave him a close-eyed smile as the gavel hit its mark.

“What in the world is he thinking?” Mia commented, helping Miles gather up his things.

“I’ve been trying to figure that out myself,” Miles said as they headed for the prosecution lobby.  “I assume there isn’t a chance you know him?”

She shook her head. “No, and I’d like to think I knew most of the defense attorneys in our district. He must have shown up after my death.”

“A rookie, then? He either has something planned or he’s exceedingly cocky. Most attorneys would have been satisfied with extending the trial to the next day.”

Mia hummed. “That did feel more like something you would have done.”

Miles glared at her.

“Mr. Edgeworth!” Gumshoe said, interrupting as he jogged up to them. “Oh! And Ms. Fey, too. It’s… uh, been a while…?” At his awkwardness, Miles realized that, while the detective was aware of the Fey’s abilities, this was likely his first time acknowledging it.

“Nice to see you again, Detective. Especially with you recognizing me for a change.”

“Huh?”

“Detective,” Miles said before he confused himself too much, “you wouldn’t happen to be familiar with our opposing counsel, would you?”

“Who, Mr. Gavin? Sure, he’s pretty new on the scene. Haven’t worked with him too much, but he helped Maggey out of a tight scrape back in September, so he’s alright by me.”

“Maggey?”

“I-I mean Officer Byrde, sir!” Gumshoe quickly looked away, face flushed. “Well, formerly anyway. They, uh, fired her not long after the trial.”

“Huh,” Miles hummed, unable to place a face to the name.

They arrived to the lobby shortly, where Andrews was waiting as expected. She looked surprised to see him, putting away whatever she’d been fidgeting with as she stood to address him.

“Mr. Edgeworth? Where’s Ms. von Karma?”

The information must not have passed far outside the courtroom yet. “She was shot this morning and is currently in surgery to have the bullet removed.”

A hand went to her chest in alarm as she gasped. “Is she…?!”

“She’ll recover. Nothing vital was hit.”

“Thank goodness…,” she said in relief. “You must have taken over for her.”

“I have. I’ve also come to inform you that the defense has subpoenaed you.” He also wanted to ask her for more information on Celeste Inpax, but they didn’t have the time.

“I see,” she said, sounding unsurprised. It was a possibility Franziska had likely prepared her for. “Rest assured, Ms. von Karma has already gone over all the specifics with me.”

“I’d expect nothing less from her. Is that what you were discussing at the hotel yesterday?”

She looked away, giving him her answer. “How much longer is the recess?"

“About five minutes now,” Miles said, checking his watch.

“Then we should get moving.” She moved past him and his two companions to be the first at the door, looking back expectantly. “You needn’t worry, Mr. Edgeworth, my testimony will be ‘perfect’ as your colleague would say. I will help you make sure Matt is found guilty."

That was exactly what he was worried about.

Notes:

Footnote edit: I almost forgot, Allstarall on tumblr made fan art of Phoenix!

https://www.tumblr.com/allstarall/730657576775221248/

Chapter Text

Andrews was the picture of cool, calm, and collected at the stand, an unfortunate rarity in witnesses these days. The only hint that she was not completely in her element was the anxious fidgeting.

Miles had caught the tail end of it a few times, a small item quickly whipped out of sight as she threw on her mask. Now in full view, a white card was held in-between her fingers as she spoke, showing a brief flash of pink (though too far for Miles to make out any other details) as she twirled it back to front and back again.

The testimony Franziska had helped her craft included several bits of information she’d left out when speaking to him at the hotel, shedding new light on the incident. After addressing the rumors surrounding her and the victim, stating they were involved, she corroborated that Engarde was asleep when she checked on him. She left him be, going across the hall, only to then discover the destroyed room and Corrida. In hopes of nulling some of the understandable shock of finding a body, Andrews then poured herself the glass of tomato juice, explaining her fingerprints found on the champagne flute.

“Sadly, I didn't remember not to touch things at the scene of a crime...,” Andrews answered as Gavin needled her on that detail. “B-but, I swear I didn’t touch anything else. Everything was exactly as the police found it.”

“Is it now?” Gavin spoke as one might to a child. “Shall we go over the crime scene again? Just to be sure.”

“Is this truly necessary?” Miles asked as the defense attorney had the photo of Corrida’s room brought out for scrutiny. “Her fingerprints were only found on the glass.”

“I’m just making sure Ms. Andrews has all of her details sorted. After your last witness, I’d argue that it’s entirely warranted,” Gavin answered, giving Miles a look as if he were to blame for Oldbag’s… Oldbagness.

“He’s looking for an opening,” Mia said to the quiet growl Miles let out, “or hoping he’s rattled Andrews enough for her to make one for him.”

She looked rattled enough. Andrews had removed her glasses, allowing her not to meet anyone’s eyes, as she repeatedly cleaned one of the lenses with an intensity that threatened to crack it. Gavin was likely on to something, but Miles didn’t appreciate the stall tactics.

“I… might have made one mistake,” she admitted, showing mercy on her poor glasses as she returned them to her face. “When I set the glass down on the dresser... I accidentally... knocked the flower vase over… onto the guitar case.”

“And you’re just telling us this now?” Miles remarked, unsurprised as he already knew Andrews was still withholding information. The question was, to what extent?

“The crime scene was already in disarray, I thought that people would simply assume the vase was just another part of the mess,” she replied, clearly embarrassed.

The judge nodded. “Please be sure to amend that in your testimony. Mr. Gavin, does this satisfy what the defense was looking for?”

“What it does is make me wonder if anyone else hears how absurd this all is,” the attorney said, all but laughing as he shook his head. “Let’s summarize; Ms. Andrews entered the hotel room, only to find Corrida, dead. Feeling faint, she poured herself a glass of tomato juice to… take the edge off, as it were. Then, after seemingly not taking a single sip, she moved… closer to the body? And immediately put the drink down next to it? I ask the court if these actions make sense to anyone?”

Andrews answered before the gallery could start muttering too much. “I only approached him because I wanted to check for his pulse. Pouring the juice gave me a moment to clear my head and I thought… maybe there was a chance he had just fainted.”

“Those chances seem rather slim given the blade that would have been protruding from his chest,” Gavin pointed out.

She blanched, stammering, but unable to form anything coherent.

“He’s got her on the ropes,” Miles said to Gavin’s credit.

“Yes… but is it enough?” Mia said, staring ahead. “The evidence is still unfortunately in our favor.”

“It is… but perhaps there is something to be done about that.” After all, the evidence was forged, just as De Killer said, and Miles strongly suspected he was looking at the person responsible. If this came to light it would undermine the entire case against Engarde - enough to warrant another day of investigation.

Tutting, Miles drew attention to himself. “Now, Ms. Andrews, I think it’s time you confessed to the court the real reason you approached the crime scene.”

“R-real reason…?” she questioned, looking even more nervous.

“Why to check on the guitar, of course.”

Mia snapped her head over to him, clearly surprised at the angle. He mouthed ‘trust me’ to her.

“Guitar, Mr. Edgeworth?” His Honor asked.

“The Jammin’ Ninja’s signature bright red guitar,” Miles reminded him. “While it wasn’t present at the crime scene, its empty case still was. Now, according to Ms. Andrews testimony, the case was closed when she knocked the vase onto it, but it was found open when police arrived to secure the scene.”

“So, what you’re getting at is that someone disturbed the crime scene before the police got there,” the judge reasoned.

“Not just someone,” Miles said, “but our witness here. Isn’t that right, Ms. Andrews?”

“Y-yes! When I saw what happened to Juan, I was worried the guitar might have been damaged or stolen,” she said, jumping in on the opportunity Miles had given her. “In my haste, I’d completely forgotten that Juan mistakenly left it behind at the studio.”

“I wonder… was it really a mistake…” Mia murmured.

Gavin raised an objection before Miles could linger on her comment. “The prosecution has already pointed out that the only thing in the crime scene Ms. Andrews’ prints were found on was the champagne flute. Do you have an explanation for that?"

“What if I were to tell you that I was wearing gloves at the time?” Andrews challenged.

Gavin’s expression was doubtful. “Gloves,” he stated.

“It was the night of the award ceremony. So of course I dressed up for the occasion.” Picking up the card from before from where it’d been left on the stand, she tapped it against her chin. “Yes, now I remember... I'm almost sure I was wearing a pair of thin gloves.”

“Which you chose to do between putting the glass down and opening the case?” His expression hadn’t changed. “What happened to ‘in your haste’?”

She stammered again, nearly dropping her card.

“Ms. Andrews, lying does not befit a woman such as yourself,” Gavin continued when she remained silent. “Nor does murder."

Andrews inhaled sharply. “You’re wrong! I didn’t kill Juan!”

“No? It wasn’t you our photographer immortalized in black-and-white, on your way to plant a crimson-soaked button upon my client after stabbing the victim with a knife soaked in his fingerprints?”

“Where would I have even gotten a costume from? Matt was still wearing his,” she argued.

“You expect me to believe that you of all people couldn’t have gotten a spare? That he didn’t have an extra on hand for emergencies?”

Andrews scoffed. “You overestimate Matt.”

“Hmm… maybe I do… but then he’s not in charge of planning, is he? Or were you not the one who set him up to give a press conference he had no knowledge of?”

“Can you prove he didn’t know about it?” Andrews asked.

“Can you prove he did?” was his counter.

“This isn’t going anywhere…” Miles grumbled, clenching his fists against the desk. He didn’t know if he could take much more of this trial. Already it had dragged on to mid afternoon, they’d be here until evening at this rate!

“Hold on,” Mia said, pausing Miles before he could object to the opposing counsel’s badgering and demand him to get to the point. “Let’s see what Andrews does first.”

Gavin had kept talking in the meantime, having given up on her and now pleading his case directly to the judge as he reaffirmed his previous stances. Without knowledge of the assassin, he seemed to truly believe that Andrews was the murderer.

She, meanwhile, had taken up a more pensive stance. Gavin’s attention being directed away had given her room to breathe and, more importantly, think. So when the judge called upon her again, to ask of her opinion of Gavin’s accusations, she was composed in her reply.

“I… confess.”

“What?!” Miles exclaimed, mind running. Could he have been wrong, was she the one to hire De Killer? It would almost make sense -  Engarde’s manager would also have an invested interest in his innocence - if the evidence didn’t suggest that Andrews was the saboteur who framed him in the first place.

Thankfully, she continued before his thoughts spiraled too deep. “I confess that I helped Juan organize the press conference. He said he was going to reveal something that would have ruined Matt.”

“Ruin him…?” the judge inquired.

Andrews nodded. “Juan had a secret so powerful… it would have destroyed Matt’s acting career.”

“And what was this secret of Mr. Engarde’s,” the judge asked, possibly eager for more celebrity gossip.

“I don’t know, Juan wouldn’t tell me. But Matt… he must have found out somehow. He’d do anything to protect his reputation, so when I saw the knife… I knew it had to have been him. But, as his manager, I also felt I had a duty to protect him.”

“Protect him? Why would you protect someone you were conspiring to sabotage?” Gavin argued, almost laughing at the idea. “If anything, this proves you had the ill intent to frame him!”

“I’ve already told you, I-“

He spoke over her. “But it’s not just that, is it? Otherwise, you would have let the night play out as planned. No, you had your reasons to want Mr. Corrida dead, didn’t you? A certain… late mentor of yours, perhaps?”

Whatever composure Andrews had regained was gone in an instant. “N-no…” she whispered, curling in on herself.

“Mr. Gavin, please elaborate.”

“Ms. Andrews was mentored by a woman named Celeste Inpax, a very important figure in her life. Tragically, she ended her own life nearly two years ago, when her fiancé, Juan Corrida, called off their wedding.”

“Please… stop…”

“The witness claims her relationship with the victim has no bearing on this case, but I believe it has everything to do with it.”

“Those are some serious allegations!” the judge exclaimed. “Witness, what do you have to say?”

“I… I…” she began, taking a step back from the stand. Fearfully her eyes began to dart around the room, flitting from person to person as if she were looking for someone.

“Ms. Andrews?” the judge prompted again.

“I…” She swallowed visibly. “I refuse… to testify. I plead the fifth!”

“Yes, I suppose that is something you can do as well,” the judge said, surprised.

“Is she that desperate,” Mia said, frowning, “that she believes not talking will help her?”

Something in how she phrased it sparked a memory in Miles. “Franziska…” he realized. She must have anticipated suspicions falling upon Andrews and instructed her accordingly.

“Your silence only speaks to your guilt,” Gavin told her, trying to goad Andrews to talk more, probably to dig her hole deeper. She held firm, denying him her explanation and Miles felt the lightbulb flick on in his head. Franziska may have just unknowingly given them the opportunity they needed.

“Objection!” Miles shouted with fervor, getting a frustrated look from Gavin. “The defense’s theory is merely conjecture. He has yet to provide concrete proof of Ms. Andrews guilt.”

“Yet the court cannot ignore that the witness had both the motive and opportunity to commit this crime.”

The judge considered for a moment. “Both sides make good points, but, ultimately, I have to agree with Mr. Edgeworth. The defense’s claim has not been substantiated with definitive proof and with Ms. Andrews refusing to testify…” He shook his head. “The only course of action I see is to adjourn proceedings for today. Both parties shall look further into this matter and be
ready to reconvene tomorrow morning.”

Miles had to hold back his urge to sigh in relief.

“I suppose it can’t be helped,” Gavin said with a sigh of his own, though his was more in the tone of inconvenience. “I’d hoped to wrap this up today, but I’ll make sure my schedule is clear.”

“Mr. Edgeworth, please arrange for Ms. Andrews to be put under custody for further questioning. Court is adjourned.”

People began filing out, soon leaving only him, Mia, Andrews, and a couple of officers awaiting their next instruction. Before he turned the witness over to them, Miles began to approach the bench, where she was fidgeting with that card once more.

“What?” she asked once he was close, not looking.

“You’ve been waving that card around for quite some time. Might I see it?” He’d first assumed it to be a business card - either her own or Engarde’s - but his suspicions changed as the trial progressed.

“Sure,” she said, handing it over. “It’s just something I picked up recently - I don’t remember where.”

Miles flipped the innocuous item over to reveal an image of a pink sea shell. Just as he suspected, this was no business card. Rather, it was an item that had been found at a number of unsolved murders over the years, connecting them all to the same man - Shelly de Killer.

“I knew it…” he muttered. 

“What? Is it important?” she asked.

“More than you can imagine,” Miles said, turning it over a few times himself.



Both Andrews and the card were in the custody of the police, with the latter under instruction to be delivered straight to the Chief of Police. The card wouldn’t do much for him in court, its meaning confidential to all but a few members of law enforcement, but at least now he had proof of the assassin’s involvement. With any luck the investigation could help find a lead now that they knew what they were really looking for.

Especially since his other lead was going to be tied up in questioning for the next hour if he was optimistic (and if he was realistic, the next several), so getting the information about Inpax he wanted from her would unfortunately be denied even longer.

(He’d complain to Mia that they should’ve gone last night, but he wasn’t petty enough to have Pearl call her back just for that.)

Despite the roadblock on recovering Phoenix and Maya, there was some good news to be had. Franziska was out of surgery and in recovery, as per a voicemail left by the hospital during court proceedings. With that in mind, Miles had Pearl accompany Gumshoe to the hotel to get a head start on their investigation, knowing the young girl would be restless if she wasn’t part of the search. Miles, meanwhile, was headed to the hospital. After watching her nearly bleed out in his arms that very morning, a message alone wasn’t going to cut it. He needed to see Franziska was okay with his own eyes.

Upon arrival Miles was met with the director… or… was he? Miles vaguely remembered the strange man calling himself Director Hotti from the Fey Manor case, though his exact identity wasn’t really important. All he needed from him was the room number Franziska was staying in.

“You don't need to worry. Hmm, yes…” he said as he stared off into space. “She's in good hands... Because, you see... I'm personally taking good care of her…” He trailed off, giggling to himself.

“But where is she?” Miles asked again, mildly disturbed.

He didn’t answer, rambling some more about being whipped for sneaking up on her until he was cut off by a cracking sound and his own startled yelp.

Miles turned to find Franziska, unimpressed, standing just outside his peripheral. She was still dressed for court, though her now spotless outfit suggested she’d called someone in to bring a change of clothes. If it weren’t for the sling around her right arm to keep weight off the injured shoulder, one would hardly believe she’d been shot just that morning.

“Go back to your room,” she commanded, raising the whip she donned in her left hand to strike him again. It was a stroke of luck that had her injury on the non-dominant side, though unfortunate for anyone within a six-foot radius.

“You're so mean,” Hotti whined. “So mean... my fr- Aaaah!” Whatever he was going to say was cut off by another strike. “Okay, okay… hmm… time for my IV drops…” he muttered, shuffling off around the corner.

Franziska made a noise of disgust, tucking her whip away.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” Miles told her, though relieved that she seemed well enough to be up and terrorizing people.

“Oh, so you are a doctor now as well? Were you off studying medicine all those months when you were supposedly dead?”

Miles frowned at her. “Can we talk somewhere? Privately?”

She considered him, then rolled her eyes. “Fine. You will follow me, Miles Edgeworth.”

She brought him back to the room she was supposed to be recovering in, perching herself primly on the center of the bed. Miles found an empty chair tucked away in the corner and moved it to sit against the wall across from her.

They sat in uncomfortable silence before Miles attempted to broach it. “You kept me as your emergency contact.”

“Who would I changed it to? With Papa-“ Quickly, she cut herself off, staring down the wall.

“I’m… glad you did.” (She scoffed something that sounded suspiciously like ‘foolish’). “I’m also glad to see you’re well.

“Fool. I would have been even if you hadn’t forced me to come here,” she sneered, shifting in place. “What is the status of Matt Engarde’s trial?”

“The judge was unable to declare a verdict. We are to reconvene tomorrow after further investigation.”

“So you did take over in my absence,” she said quietly. “Was that your goal in begging me to postpone - to stall until you had an opportunity to wrest the case away from me?"

What?” Miles exclaimed in bewilderment.

“Do not ‘what’ me. I called you a coward before, but are you truly that worried that I’ll surpass you? That I’d finally be stepping out from your shadow?”

“Franziska, that is not why-“

“Well, little brother, you were right to be concerned!” she snapped, clearly trying to pretend that he hadn’t been speaking. “Unlike you, I wouldn’t have needed an extra day to obtain my verdict. The trial would have already been over if I had-“

“Would you please just listen to me, for once in your life!” Miles shouted, which had the desired effect of quieting her long enough for him to get a word in. “You can berate me, whip me, or whatever it is you need to do later, but I need you to understand what is truly at stake in this trial.”

Franziska scowled, fist clenching at the bedsheets, but she kept her mouth pursed tightly and nodded for him to continue.

Miles took in a slow breath. “First off, are you familiar with the name ‘Shelly de Killer’?”

“No,” she replied, suspicion in her tone.

“I didn’t think you’d be, his existence is classified information and you’ve not operated much in this country. In short, he is an assassin. One of the best. The police have been trying to track him down for years.”

“An assassin… Then you believe he is the one who murdered Juan Corrida. This ‘De Killer’,” Franziska said.

“Not just believe, there is evidence. De Killer always leaves a card with a pink shell on it near the body of his victims. We just retrieved said card after it had been… mistakenly removed from the crime scene.”

“Mistakenly?” Franziska said with a doubtful tone. “What kind of fool would take something like that without knowing what it was?”

“The same fool who altered the crime scene with false evidence; Adrian Andrews.”

Realization flashed in Franziska’s eyes. No doubt she was remembering past discussions with Andrews where there was a strong likelihood that card had been in full view of her, its meaning unknown at the time. Finding her argument lost, Franziska’s glare turned to the wall.

“I do not see why this would cause you to interfere with my prosecution,” she said. “Matt Engarde did not kill the victim by his own hands, fine. This does not mean his blood is not on them. Someone must have hired this assassin after all.”

Miles gripped at his arm. “That leads me to the other thing I need to tell you. It’s about Maya… She hasn’t been with me recently because she was taken… by De Killer.”

“What?!” Franziska whipped her head towards him, color drained from her face. “Then surely she must be-!”

“She’s unharmed, for now,” Miles’ clutch tightened. “The condition for her return is Engarde’s full acquittal.”

Franziska frowned deeply as the information processed. “Then he must be the client.”

“Unless Andrews has some elaborate grand plan… that seems to be the case. Though there’s no definitive proof,” Miles sighed, letting his hands fall back to his lap. “Now do you understand why I wanted the trial postponed? If you had secured your guilty verdict as planned, Maya’s fate would have been sealed.”

“You foolish fool!” she snarled as she leapt to her feet, then winced as the sudden movement aggravated her wound. “Why did you not tell me this sooner?!”

“I tried,” Miles insisted.

“You should have tried harder,” she said in a low huff.

“I…” Miles began, before his eyes drifted down to the sling, lingering there. “I suppose so. Perhaps then you might not be in this situation.”

She followed his gaze, growling as it hit her. “That bastard!” Her whip cracked in the open air. “Is Matt Engarde truly worth all this effort?”

“De Killer seems to put high stock in the trust between himself and his clients. The police believe he leaves the cards as a method to prevent any charges from befalling those who hire him.” A theory almost certainly proven true in this case.

She began to pace the room, grumbling in German beneath her breath as she processed everything she’d been told.

She then paused mid-step to look at him, considering. “The first trial you had involving Global Studios. You could have won it, but you decided to throw your case at the last minute,” Franziska reasoned. “Why didn’t you do that this time?”

“Because Powers was truly innocent, as proven by evidence and investigation. Engarde is not, and I cannot in good conscious see him go free, even though doing so would end this.” He leaned forward, running a hand through his bangs. “I have already deployed a rescue team, and by now the special investigation team for De Killer should be looking for him. If neither are successful before court resumes… I’m not sure what I’ll do. I only managed this extension because you convinced Andrews that she shouldn’t testify.”

Franziska huffed. “You’ve no proof I did any such thing.”

“No, I suppose I don’t.” It didn’t need proving anyway. “Regardless, I am grateful, irresponsible as it may have been.”

He expected her to snap back at him, or make some noise of displeasure, but Franziska was silent. Miles lifted his head to find her looking off to the side, contemplative.

“She is important to you, isn’t she?” she said after a while. “Maya Fey. Why else would she have been taken.”

Miles was confused at the angle she’d gone for. “I do consider Maya a close friend after all we’ve been through, but it’s not as though the kidnapping was premeditated.”

“But she was not your only companion that night, was she? Yet still she was the one he targeted.”

“Why does it matter who he took? He still kidnapped someone! It could have been you, had you been there that night,” he remarked, feeling petty (and immediately regretting it as he felt his stomach sink, reminding him that there was almost a reality where he had extended that invitation to her).

She barked out a short laugh. “Unlikely.”

He frowned, hearing something in Franziska’s tone she probably hoped he wouldn’t notice. “Are you… upset De Killer didn’t abduct you?”

“Fool! Of course I’m not.”

“But you are upset about something.” Granted, that tended to be Franziska’s default state, but Miles knew there was more to it this time.

“I have every right to be! Do you know how I learned about what happened with Papa? It was through a news article, a week later! No one ever bothered to contact me until he died. Then, when I return to the states to find you’ve disappeared, that you’ve ‘chosen death’, only for you to reappear the moment something happens with Maya Fey.” She scowled, fist clenching around her whip. “It must have been easier with her. To pretend it all never happened.”

Miles sighed again. “It’s… complicated,” he said, wincing at how that sounded. “And I know how you looked up to your father -"

“This isn’t about Papa,” she interrupted, looking and sounding far more vulnerable than she had in a long while. “This was never about Papa.”

Whatever he was going to say, Miles tossed it from his mind as he searched her face and really took in everything she’d been saying. As she stared back, face flushed red with frustration, memories of prior conversations began to creep forth.

‘Did you decide she was replaceable too, and leave her behind?’ Franziska had said the day before upon seeing him with Pearl.

‘It’s why I was jealous of Nick for a while.’
From Maya, remarking on how she could sympathize with Franziska’s feelings.

His eyes widened slightly. “You really think I’ve replaced you with Maya.” It was a statement, not a question.

Franziska visibly tensed, the action making her look smaller than she already was, if only for a moment. Suddenly, this wasn’t a prodigy prosecutor, but a teenager, abandoned by her family while her entire life was being redefined. One who was reaching out for the only person who might have been able to understand what she was going through, only to come out empty-handed.

This wasn’t about legacies or pride, this was about a sister who just wanted her brother back.

Miles pushed himself to his feet and slowly stepped in front of her. When Franziska did not lash out or move away, he gently pulled her closer, mindful of her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair. “I’m sorry if I made it feel like I was leaving you behind. I left to distance myself from the von Karma doctrine, both because I was ashamed of the person I had become under it and because I didn’t know how to face you in the aftermath. Franziska, you were the one good thing that came from growing up in that household. I never meant for you to think otherwise. I do care for Maya as a friend, but she is just that. A friend. You are my sister. She was never going to replace that bond.”

She didn’t return the embrace, but Miles felt her sinking further into it as he spoke, uttering something that was lost to his shoulder.

“You know…” Miles said after a moment, “I almost invited you to the Grand Prix as my plus one, so there could have been a scenario where De Killer took you instead.”

Franziska snorted. “I’d like to see him try.” Shifting in his embrace, she straightened up before lightly shoving him away.

Miles pretended not to notice the surreptitious way she rubbed at her eyes.

“Well? What are you still doing here you fool?” she said, clearing her throat. “You need to focus on gathering evidence and convincing Shelly de Killer that you’re still cooperating with his demands. I will handle this rescue team of yours.” Franziska cracked her whip again for emphasis. “Once we have successfully extracted Maya Fey, I order you to strike down Matt Engarde with the full force of the law!”

Miles could only stare at first. “Franziska…” he said in awe. “Thank you…”

“Fool,” she repeated, not quite meeting his eyes. “Now go!”



A call to the precinct confirmed that little progress had been made into Andrews’ questioning, so it was back to the hotel to rendezvous with Gumshoe and Pearl. Franziska taking charge of the rescue efforts lifted some of the weight off his shoulders, but his remaining work was far from easy. He still needed a case to present to the court tomorrow and, banking on their success, a way to tie Engarde to De Killer to make him answer for all this suffering.

“Oh, you made it, sir!” Gumshoe was there to greet him upon arrival, jogging over with Pearl riding on his shoulders. “You know you just missed that photographer.”

“Oh, how unfortunate,” Miles droned.

“Yeah, she seemed real upset that we couldn’t give her camera back yet - cause it’s evidence and all, you know?”

“Tragic.”

“Yeah… Anyway, we confirmed that besides taking that photo, she doesn’t really know anything about that night. She didn’t stay in the hallway consistently enough to see anything else. Then she headed out after saying there wasn’t much work for a photographer without a camera.”

Miles hadn’t expected much else to come from Hart - questioning her hadn’t even been in his itinerary, though he was appreciative of Gumshoe’s initiative. “Have you found any leads yet?”

“Not yet. They’re having a briefing of some sort over in Engarde’s room that we couldn’t sit in on,” He made an upwards gesture with his eyes at Pearl, “but one of the boys said he’d give me an update later if anything major came up. Then we were gonna recheck the victim’s room right before you called, but uh…”

“There was a weird noise. Like a ghost moaning,” Pearl said, shuddering. “I hate evil ghosts.”

“There’s no such thi-“ Miles instinctually began, before he thought better of it. “I’m… sure there’s no ghost in there. Much less an evil one.”

“I don’t know, Mr. Edgeworth. It was a pretty spooky noise,” Gumshoe said, nodding.

Miles lamented the premature demise of that aforementioned initiative. Today’s trial had only bought them so much time, they didn’t have any to spare for foolishness. With that thought, he turned to head to the crime scene, forcing Gumshoe to keep pace. There could be, must be, something they’d overlooked, and some weird sound wasn’t going to keep him from finding it.

All was quiet upon their first few steps into the crime scene, then they heard it. A low, unearthly sort of groaning coming from somewhere further in. Both Gumshoe and Pearl let out surprised yelps, straying near the door as Miles pushed forward, determined to find an explanation so they could move on with their lives.

His eyes scanned the various bears - a broken voice box in one perhaps, damaged in the struggle - before the noise drew his line of sight downwards. Towards the back of the room, at the foot of one of the beds, was the hunched figure of a person, the upper half of their body supported by the mattress.

Miles sighed in recognition. “It’s just Oldbag…”

Wait.

O-Oldbag?!” he exclaimed in horror. Suddenly he wished there really was an evil ghost.

His shout managed to grab her attention, because she sprung up and spun around to face them, face red with fury.

“Who dares disturb me when I’m trying to pay respects to my poor Juan?! Oh, it’s Edgey-boy!” Her anger dropped instantly. “Come to comfort me after that mess of a trial?”

“Not especially.”

“Oh Edgey~ You don’t have to act so tough around me all the time. I know how you really feel.”

Ignoring that. “What are you doing in here? Shouldn’t you be out guarding something?”

“Not much need for the security lady with the police swarming everywhere. I swear I can’t walk two steps without tripping over one of them. Don’t get why they’re all over the hotel when poor Juan met his demise right here. And I wanted to go talk some sense into that fraud of a photographer, but it looks like she’s made herself scarce. First smart thing she’s done, I’d say, after loitering around here all night with that imbecilic look on her face. Some of us had important jobs to be doing.”

Miles looked at her, quite clearly not doing her job, and stayed his tongue.

“Anyway, the police weren’t in here, so I decided to come in to be with the memories of Juan.”

“Do you mean… the bears?” Pearl asked, Gumshoe having lowered her back down to the ground.

“Come to think of it,” the detective remarked, “I’ve been wondering about the bears myself. Why are there so many of them?”

“It’s a sign of how beloved Juan was - much more than that no-good Engarde in my books, which are the only ones that count! These are all presents from his fans. You know, you can’t think about Juan without thinking about bears! It’s all in his biography. When my dear Juan was training, he fought barehanded with a bear…”

Miles startled as the transceiver chose that moment to start beeping. Caught up in her ramble, Oldbag did not notice his distraction, allowing Miles to slip away to the far corner of the room to answer.

“Edgeworth speaking.”

“I have heard the news,” De Killer began. “It would seem my present did you no good…”

“I’ve kept the axe from falling,” Miles bristled, “so long as you have kept your own promise.”

“I have, yet I asked for a favorable end to this trial.”

He’d been expecting something like that. “The evidence is still against him - it would not have been enough to grant Engarde his freedom.”

De Killer was silent for a long moment. “Very well. I need that acquittal above all else,” he finally said, and Miles hoped the transceiver couldn’t pick up the breath he’d released.

“Hold it! I still need proof you’re upholding your end of the bargain.”

“Alright…,” the assassin began, but whatever he’d tried to say was obstructed as the transceiver began to emit a loud, staticky hiss.

Miles wrenched the device away from his ear with a wince. “What is this? Hello?!” he demanded.

De Killer attempted to speak more, his voice continuing to be distorted until he seemingly made the decision to end the call entirely. Mile could only stare as it went silent. What was that?

“What’s wrong, sir?” Gumshoe asked. He and Pearl had managed to escape from Oldbag, who’d gone back to ‘paying her respects’ now that she no longer had an audience. “Was it the kidnapper?"

“This blasted thing turned to static all of a sudden before we could finish talking,” Miles growled, putting it away when it became clear it was going to remain silent.

Gumshoe put a hand to his chin. “Static, huh? Like some sort of electromagnetic interference?”

“Electro- what?” Pearl asked.

“It’s when signals get crossed. Like how sometimes when you drive under power lines and the radio gets all messed up and fuzzy.”

“Um…”

As Gumshoe tried to explain the concept in terms Pearl could understand, Miles pondered the suggestion. The transceiver had been fine in other parts of the hotel, so if something was interfering with the signal, it would have to be unique to this room.

He looked to the bears once more. They were certainly unique enough, but the technology standard in any of them shouldn’t be able to emit radio signals strong enough to effect the transceiver.

“So…” Gumshoe said as he wrapped up his explanation, “we’ve gotta be dealing with something sending out some pretty strong waves. Like a listening device or something.”

Miles’ head snapped up. Could that be it? “Detective! I need you to go to the precinct and bring a bug sweeper here as soon as possible!”

“I’ll do you one better, sir. I just so happen to have one in my car!”

“Why-“ Miles began, but Gumshoe was off before he could finish.

Miles frowned in his wake. While the efficiency was needed in these circumstances, he was going to have to chat with the detective later about hoarding police equipment.

Or he was, until Gumshoe returned about ten minutes later.

“Detective, what is that?” he asked as he eyed the rather dubious looking device in Gumshoe’s hand.

“A bug sweeper! I know it looks a little rough, I made it all the way back in elementary school.”

You made it?!”

“It’ll do the job. I promise!”

He gave it another doubtful glance over, but gave Gumshoe his blessing to carry on. They were already here and if it did work as he insisted, it would save them the round trip to the precinct.

Giddy, Gumshoe set to work. It went off for a couple of the electronics in the room, a laptop, alarm clock, the radio (Gumshoe explained the only downside to his homemade sweeper was the lack of sensitivity controls), before honing in on something that shouldn’t have had a reading of any sort. The oversized luxury bear plush standing guard by the window was giving off some of the strongest waves right around its head.

“Mr. Edgeworth! I think this is it, sir!”

“Let me see,” Miles said, coming closer to inspect it himself. Since the bear was closer to Gumshoe’s height, he gently pulled it forward to better see the head, putting it nearly face-to-face with him. “It looks… There’s something off about one of its eyes. Detective, do you…?"

“I gotcha, sir,” he replied, retrieving a small multi-tool knife from his trench coat, which he handed over.

“Noooo, how violent!” Pearl wailed as Miles flicked open the knife and carefully dug around the right eye. The fabric easily gave way, allowing him to excavate not a listening device, but something just as concerning.

“A miniature camera?” Miles questioned as he pulled it out, a few other devices connected to it by wires coming along.

“Looks like there’s a transmitter and a timer, too,” Gumshoe said as Miles placed them into his awaiting hands, allowing him to set the bear back into place. “The timer’s set to start at 8 PM and run for about an hour.”

“From 8 to 9…” Miles clicked the knife shut. “That’s the time frame the murder occurred within!”

“Oh man, then this thing could’ve captured the whole thing!” the detective realized. “But then, the transmitter could’ve broadcasted it out just about anywhere. How are we gonna track it?"

Miles hummed thoughtfully. He had a point. The signals from that transmitter were just as untraceable as the ones coming from the transceiver.

“Oh, I’ve got it! I’ll run this mini camera by as many electronic stores as I can. Somebody’s gotta know who bought it!”

“Or-!” Miles interjected before he could run off again. While the detective’s plan was fruitless, things like that were a dime a dozen and could just as easily been purchased online, he wasn’t entirely on the wrong track. “We could check the bear instead.”

“The… bear?”

“I’m familiar with these,” Miles said, eagerly snatching the bear up in his arms with some difficulty. While not particularly heavy, the size of the thing made it cumbersome to get a good hold on. “They’re made overseas, incredibly rare and not to mention expensive.” He grunted a bit at the effort needed to haul it towards the door. “They’re entirely handmade and very rarely imported into the country. If we can track its journey, we’ll find the buyer.”

Gumshoe watched him blankly, scratching at his neck. “Uh, sir…? Do you want help with that?”

Miles paused, his actions in his haste not quite registering until now. Flushing, he all but shoved the bear at Gumshoe as they swapped the items in their hands.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Miles jumped at Oldbag’s voice, having entirely forgotten she was still in the other section of the suite. His eyes darted around (mostly searching for an escape route) before landing on the bug sweeper Gumshoe had deposited on the back of the couch.

“Here,” he said, grabbing it and handing it off to her. “I want you to search the entire hotel with this.” He didn’t expect her to find anything useful, with the way it signaled for almost anything electronic, but it’d keep her occupied and out of his hair.

“But, what am I looking for?” she asked, walking to the door as Miles lead her out.

“If you feel angry, direct your anger at that uncouth photographer,” he said in lieu of an actual answer, closing the door once she’d stepped out of it.

“But, Mr. Edgey, Ms. Hart isn’t even here anymore,” Pearl said, pouting.

“All the more reason. Besides, she’s already upset with her.”

“So what’s our plan, sir?” Gumshoe asked, shuffling the bear in his arms.

“Track down the origin of that bear. I want to know who bought it.” The answer seemed obvious, though the reason for the setup evaded him, but this case was in desperate need of some evidence that hadn’t been tampered with.

“On it!” With that, the detective was off with his orders.

As he departed, Miles glanced at his watch, making a clicking sound with his tongue. Already evening. “She should be out of by now,” he said, mostly to himself.

“Who should?” Pearl asked.

“The lead I’ve been trying to chase all day,” Miles said. Franziska told him to leave the rescue to her and focus on the investigation, but there was someone who just might have the clues they needed for both. “It’s time to pay Adrian Andrews a visit.”

Notes:

Concept art for Phoenix can be found on my tumblr here: http://dei-ryuu.tumblr.com/post/171844482725/concept-art-for-a-fic-idea-im-working-on-loosely

This idea came from the time I was reading a book titled 'Dragon and Thief'. My brain latched onto the symbiont plot point, but otherwise it doesn't share anything with the book.

Series this work belongs to: