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Chapter Text

Wright&Co Office. Hell's Kitchen, Manhattan. 

March 4th, 9:35 pm. 2 years after Atlanta

Like every other night, the logo appeared on the screen. As the show started, the flashlights lit up the set when the count to three ended. The host, always charismatic, smiled at the camera, laughing fakely. While he did, the public clapped and cheered. 

After a few seconds, he gestured to show how glad he was by the public’s reception. "Thank you, everyone. Thank you!" He said. 

As always, the clapping began to fade until there was only silence. 

Joe King’s show was well-known all around the country. He was a famous comedian and reporter who skyrocketed in fame in the nineties. Still, his interview program was followed by both young and older people. 

He had talked with bigger celebrities but also brought internet icons and controversial guests. When it was announced Regina Berry would be in that Friday's show, social media went crazy. He had invited authors a couple of times due to their huge popularity– But, nobody like Regina Berry. True crime wasn’t a theme that fit in his show. So, everyone was impatient about how Joe would manage the interview. 

"Well, tonight we have an extraordinary program. With a special guest..." 

The audience was around two million spectators on the other side of their TVs. One of them was a private detective who was playing it on his phone. He soon realized King had forgotten to dye his grey hairs and looked older. Maybe older men were back into being found attractive, he thought. He wasn’t a usual viewer, but that day’s episode intrigued him. 

"She is only sixteen, but has sold more than a million copies of her book ‘The Day I Was Gone’ in less than a year." People clapped as Joe showed the book. Some of them held copies, hoping for an author's signature. 

"Even if the people at home haven't bought the book yet, some of you might recognize her from the tragic events that happened in Atlanta, Georgia, two years ago," The host said with a sad grimace, though he rapidly recovered his joyous smile. "She has been through a lot. That's why I think she deserves a big applause. Please, let's receive her on the set... Regina Berry!" 

The detective turned his cell phone's volume up. 

Wearing a pink dress Regina Berry looked the same as when she was fourteen. Or at least for the detective, she hadn't changed a bit. Behind the makeup, her big blue eyes were still childish. 

She sat on the brown couch after the warm reception from the public. Probably everyone in her hometown was watching the show as well. All of them were proud of "the first girl" and what she had achieved.

The media had called her by that nickname for a while. A long time before she published the book, her story was already in every true crime podcast and internet forum. A documentary based on the book was expected to come out by Autumn that same year. She had become famous for being a victim. And everyone seemed to be okay with it. 

"Well. How are you feeling, Regina?"

"I have to admit that I am very nervous, Joe..." Regina said, shyly. "I've never been on TV," 

By how she fidgeted on the seat with nervousness, the public let go of a small laugh. 

"This is your first interview after your book came out a few months ago," King said. "Which is a New York bestseller, no less." 

Clappings and cheerings again.

"First of all, how are you finding the experience? I heard that this is your first time in Los Angeles."

"My father and I love the city," Regina said with bright eyes. "I've always dreamed of coming here."

"And what have you liked the most?"

"Mmm... Probably Santa Monica," Regina placed her hands under her thighs, perhaps to hide her nerves. "And San Francisco! The seals at Pier 39 are so adorable!"

A small chuckle rippled through the audience.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," the host said. Then, he picked up the book again and showed it to Regina. The interview had yet to start. "In this book, you tell your story. Everything that happened to you before, during, and after your kidnapping."

"That's right," Regina said, seeming confident.

"What encouraged you to write down your story?"

The audience waited for the answer. The detective turned up the volume, looking at his phone as he expected the girl to say something concrete.

"Not just me, but also Viola and Iris have their story. As well as hundreds of girls," Regina explained. "And I thought that it would be a nice way for other victims to know that they're not alone... That we are all brave survivors."

Her touching words prompted another round of applause. The detective couldn't help but wonder if all of this was scripted. He had a copy of the book and had gone through it several times. Better than anyone in that TV set who had read it, he knew what happened in Georgia years ago. Behind that story, there was much more. Regina's book showed a sugar-coated reality, made for sensationalism.

"Well, that's beautiful, Regina. Thank you very much," said the host, applauding as well. "I have a couple of specific questions about the book. Do you mind?"

"No, Joe. Go ahead."

Regina adopted another posture, a much more confident one. Although her hands remained crossed, resting on her lap.

"You talk a lot about the man who saved you," he paused. "What can you tell us about him?"

The detective's pulse dropped for a second. Or at least that's what he felt like. Without even naming him, the detective already knew who they were referring to. His heart started to kick in his chest, and he took a deep breath. Waiting. 

"Well... He inspired me a lot too. He's a person who fights for justice, and I'll be eternally grateful to him for rescuing us," Regina looked at her hands for a moment. "As I tell in the book, he came to my house every day for almost three months until I decided to speak. He's a great person."

"And, how has he taken the publication of the book?"

"He called to congratulate me," A slight smile curved Regina's lips. "But I've hardly been in touch with him. He left Atlanta after the last trial."

"Well, wherever he is, we appreciate him helping you,"

"Without him, I wouldn't be here," Regina admitted, nodding.

The camera pointed at several audience members who seemed excited by Regina's words. So much so that tears welled in their eyes and their faces turned red. The detective's lips curved in a brief smile. 

Joe King took a sigh before continuing. He too seemed emotional. "Finally, I want to ask you about your friend Penny, to whom you dedicate the book…

"Nick!"

The sudden interruption made Phoenix turn off the phone and quickly turn it face down. Maya had entered his office without knocking.

"What are you doing?" she asked, seeing him so surprised.

In his reflexive act, which was in no way suspicious, Phoenix had kept a smirk on his face. "Nothing. Are you leaving now?"

"Yes, I promised Frany I'd go pick her up at the airport," Maya announced. "Remember our dinner tomorrow. Have you asked for a permit at work?"

Dinner . Phoenix had completely forgotten. And also ignored the fact Franziska would be there. His involuntary grimace showed reluctance. "Are you sure you don't want to have a romantic dinner alone with your girlfriend?"

"Nick, Franziska is my long-term girlfriend. You better start accepting it," Maya said, crossing her arms.

Although Maya was right, that didn't give Phoenix any reason to want to go. "Isn't it going to be a little awkward?"

Maya frowned, resting her half of her body on the door frame. "Awkward like when you begged her to tell you her brother's whereabouts?"

Phoenix got caught off guard by the memory of that accident . "I didn't mean it like..."

"Nick, you called her while drunk." Maya cut him off, berating it rapidly. 

Maya would never forgive him for that. And rightly so. Phoenix was too used to his friend easily forgetting his mistakes. But over the years, he had messed up too much for Maya to overlook those things.

To his lack of response, Maya relaxed her posture and walked towards the desk. She wasn't very good at being mad for a long period. "Look, I understand that you were… in love with Miles and that it hurt you being unable to fix it. Both of you fucked it up, isn't it time to get over it already?"

It felt like a déjà vu. They already had that conversation a million times. And Phoenix was never willing to listen, which made Maya even angrier. 

Phoenix didn't want to talk about it. Remembering Atlanta meant throwing his emotions all around the place. And his mental state wasn’t always ready for it. 

"She might come to live here with me," Maya confessed. 

"What?" Phoenix was surprised to find out about that news. After all, Franziska traveled a lot due to her work. And he didn't picture her establishing so soon in New York. At that moment, he was starting to understand the purpose of the dinner.

"We've already looked up a place. So you'll have to get used to her presence," Maya relaxed her shoulders and sighed, approaching Phoenix's desk. "Give her a chance... Or at least try to be nicer. Please."

"Okay," Phoenix resigned himself. "Okay."

Maya smirked with satisfaction. “Alright, then. See you tomorrow at seven-thirty!”

Making her happy was so easy, and Phoenix made it so hard for no reason. He didn't know if it was his age, lack of sleep, or past experience. But he was reluctant about the tiniest things. 

Phoenix waved at Maya while she disappeared behind the door fame. After the office’s door was closed, Phoenix was alone. 

He thought about turning the cell on again, but as he checked the time, he realized it was time to leave or he’d be late. 

Phoenix looked out the window one last time before gathering his things. He liked seeing how the sunset sunlight reflected off the maroon bricks of the building across the street.

Hell's Kitchen was a good neighborhood, or at least it was cheap enough to afford to keep the office there. It had been only a few months since he had been able to afford the rental of the place. A small space, with barely a reception area and his office. But it was enough. Or at least better than his switchboard at the Metropolitan Museum.

The decision to live in New York City was a tough one. After his suspension, Phoenix debated between going back to Syracuse or betting on the Big Apple. If he had gone back to his hometown, he would’ve had to live with his parents for a while. But his pride was bigger than that. He was determined to make himself a living on his own. 

That’s how he found himself taking small security vigilance jobs. Night and weekend shifts mostly. It was a monotonous job, and not at all exciting. He spent the nights walking through the galleries with his flashlight, admiring the art pieces and exclusive exhibitions. But it gave him an approach to the art world. 

When working for the Natural History Museum, at least he could imagine that he was the protagonist of that movie that Trucy liked so much. If things suddenly came to life, at least Phoenix would have something interesting to tell his daughter when he got home.

After a year, he then changed to working at the mall, thinking it would be more interesting. Besides, he wanted to try what it was like to have an average work schedule. However, living through what was a threat of a terrorist attack, he decided that he had already saved enough to open his small office. And finally became a private detective. 

Being one had its perks– He was his boss, had no specific work schedule, and still had time in a day to spend with his daughter. As an ex-cop, he had contacts, which made his work even easier. Phoenix didn’t miss the murders, kidnappings, or rapings much. 

He followed alleged (and actual) cheaters, spied on the client’s co-workers, and found lost dogs. All of it without even crossing the Hudson River. The space between 34th and 59th Avenues gave him everything he needed to live peacefully. 

He had had a few cases, mostly paid generously. Although paying double rent -the office and his apartment- and the costs of a middle-class living made money run low very soon. When he ran out of it, he took morning shifts at the mall again. The afternoons were his time to be a private detective. 

But Phoenix looked at the bright side. The private detective's office had been open just for three months. He still had to make a name out of it. As long as his old clients gave him free advertising (and people still read the newspaper where he posted a notice every week), he would end up being known. He'd chosen to believe so. 

On that day, he had arranged to meet with Larry, who was in town to exhibit paintings by some master's students at a private gallery. His daughter Trucy was sleeping over at a friend's house, so he had complete freedom to go out drinking that night.

Grabbing his keys, he began to think about Franziska. Maya and her had been dating for more than two years. At first, distance made it tougher but they bonded over it. 

Franziska worked as a legal assistant in the General Assembly of the UN. The work allowed her to travel from Portland to New York often, so Maya saw her almost every month. 

It wasn't that Phoenix did not like her. Franziska made Maya happy. And it was enough for Phoenix to look at her from a different point of view. The problem was the memories that Franziska remembered him of. 

Miles quickly popped into his mind. Not a day went by without him remembering his eyes, his furrowed brows, and the scent of his hair. Even his flushed face in the most intimate moments.

All of this made Phoenix feel like an idiot. An idiot who had screwed up, and couldn't forget.

He sighed, thinking about how needy he was for a beer at that moment. 

Just as he was about to leave, he encountered a woman in the hallway, who looked at him with curious eyes. "Are you Mr. Wright? The private detective?"

"Yes, yes. That's me," he instinctively replied. "I'm sorry, I was about to leave. Come back tomor-"

"Please, you need to help me," the woman said desperately. "It's my daughter... You have to find her."

Phoenix observed her for a moment. The woman clung to her bag while trying to hold back tears. The noticeable dark circles created a shadow under her eyes, partially hidden under a layer of worn-out makeup.

The woman conveyed to him grief and despair. He had no other option than to invite her in. "Please, come in." 

He led the woman to his office and invited her to sit after turning on the light.

Phoenix took his notebook out of the drawer and looked back at the woman staring at her shoes. She couldn't have been more than fifty years old.

She barely had wrinkles, but her white hairs reflected the years of life gone by. Her clothing was casual and very colorful. Behind her black glasses, her big black eyes remained hidden.

"Would you tell me your full name?"

"Iryna," she said, raising her gaze instantly. "Iryna Misham,"

"Alright, Mrs. Misham," Phoenix wrote down the name in the notebook. "What happened to your daughter?"

The woman took a photo out of her bag. In it appeared a young girl, no more than twenty years old. Periwinkled hair, dark eyes. The features were identical to those of her mother.

"Her name’s Vera, she just turned eighteen," she explained. "I went to the police, but they won't listen to me. They say that since she's of legal age, this cannot be reported as a disappearance."

"Let's go step by step, Mrs. Misham," Phoenix tried to calm her down. "You say you can't report the disappearance. What happened exactly?"

"Last Tuesday she didn't come back home from school. Sometimes she stays to study there, so I let it pass. But when it got late, and I got worried," Iryna explained. "I tried to call her but her phone was turned off. I went to her room and everything was intact, only money was missing from her savings box. She left it on the bed."

"Did she leave any kind of message?"

"No, not at all," Iryna shook her head. "Mr. Wright, I understand that my story sounds like the typical teenage runaway tale. Trust me, I've been told that at three police stations... But believe me when I say that my daughter and I have a good relationship. She wouldn't just leave like that."

Phoenix listened intently as Mrs. Misham recounted the details of her daughter's disappearance. The sense of desperation in her voice was palpable, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for her plight. As she spoke, he jotted down notes in his notebook, trying to piece together the puzzle of Vera's disappearance. 

“Is there a possibility that your daughter has left by free will? Have you had any arguments lately?” Phoenix needed all the details. 

"No, no. Mr. Wright, you don’t understand… My Vera has been taken," said the woman, shaking her head. "The cult took her."

He stopped writing. Phoenix felt a sudden rush through his body. Excitement for a case. It had been a long since the last time he'd felt such a thing. That twist was all he needed.

"Explain yourself." 

"Vera started dating her boyfriend, Glen, last summer," Iryna started to tell. "He's older and works as an engineer in a company. Or at least that's what he said... At Christmas, Vera asked me if I would let her go to college on the West Coast. I told her I preferred her to stay in New York. I'm a literature teacher at an elementary school. My husband works as an illustrator. And even though we have savings, we can't afford to pay for a dorm."

Phoenix wrote the woman's story. It was a little early to make any conclusions, but Phoenix already predicted where the matter was going.

"She started to insist. Until one day she told me that Glen's company was going to move and she wanted to go live with him. I opposed it, of course. She hasn't even finished high school and was already planning for the future," the woman took a deep breath. "Then things started to get weird. She would go out at odd hours and talk on the phone in whispers,"

"So, you believe she was involved with a cult?" Phoenix asked, his brow furrowed in concern.

Iryna nodded vigorously, her eyes wide with fear. "Yes, I'm sure of it. One day she started talking about some group she was involved with. Something called 'The Darkling’. We are not religious, Mr. Wright. So these kinds of things scare me.”

“I understand,” Phoenix said. “What did you do when she mentioned this group?”

“I tried to talk to her about it, but she wouldn't listen. She said it was full of great people and they were her friends. Her reason to go away. But… She has friends here, Mr. Wright. Her whole family is here in New York,” A tear ran down Iryna’s cheek. “And now she's gone, and I'm terrified of what might happen to her."

Phoenix leaned back in his chair, his mind racing with possibilities. If Vera had indeed been lured into a cult, it could be dangerous for her. He knew he had to act quickly to find her before it was too late.

"Alright, Mrs. Misham," Phoenix said, his voice steady and reassuring. "I'll do everything I can to find your daughter. But I'll need your help. Can you tell me everything you know about this cult and anyone else who might be involved? I will also need a list of her closest circle’s names."

Iryna nodded eagerly, her hands shaking with anxiety. "Of course, Mr. Wright. I'll tell you everything I know. Just please, find my daughter. Even if this is just my imagination, I wanna know if she’s fine."

Phoenix gave her a reassuring smile, determined to do whatever it took to bring Vera home safely. As he listened to Iryna's account of her daughter's involvement with the cult, he couldn't shake the feeling that they were racing against the clock to rescue her from a fate worse than they could imagine.

"Do you know where they plan to go?" Phoenix asked.  Maybe he would know where to start. And what to expect. 

She nodded. "To Portland, Oregon."

- 

Phoenix pondered the case as he stirred his drink. A teenager, a cult, and a desperate mother wanting to know where her daughter is. It was complex.

He understood why so many police stations had refused to file a report. Every day young girls from all over the country run away with their boyfriends and a few weeks later they regret it and decide to return home. A certain percentage never returns and ends up starting a new life in another state.

Knowing only the mother's point of view made him doubt a bit. Perhaps she was much more protective than she described, and her daughter as an act of rebellion, had decided to run away with her boyfriend.

Up to that point, everything was fine. But the issue of the cult troubled him. It's not every day that someone comes to your office to report a cult that supposedly recruits young girls and then convinces them to vanish. 

It would make much more sense if it were a drug issue, but the woman seemed very convinced of what she was saying. A cult had taken her daughter.

“Nick, dude. Are you listening to me?"

Phoenix snapped out of his thoughts and looked up to find Larry standing in front of him with his arms crossed.

"Yeah, yeah," he lied.

Without further discussion, Larry acted like nothing and continued with his story. "So, what I was saying. Cindy doesn't want to get back together with me now... And Nick, I think she's the woman of my life!"

Larry Butz, his friend since high school, worked as an Art Professor at Harvard University. Larry was immature in many ways and never stopped talking about women. But despite this, Phoenix and he had a history that bonded them strongly.

Not that they didn’t have conversations about other topics. Art was an interest they shared since they’d met. Their friendship began in art class, where their teacher put them together to make a project. 

At first, Phoenix wasn’t very confident about working with Larry. He seemed lazy, and not very smart. But Larry was actually very hard-working when he found the task interesting and worth doing. So, their personalities ended up matching. And even got an A in their ode to the Surrealism art project. Twenty years later, they were having drinks in a bistro on a Friday night. 

"If she doesn't want to be with you, I doubt she's the woman of your life, Larry," Phoenix said after sipping out from his pint. "You should find someone who does want to be with you, don't you think?"

Larry immediately gave Phoenix a strong pat on the shoulder, almost causing his drink to spill.

"Damn, man. You always give the best advice," Larry said before finishing his beer. 

Larry was a mess in dating. Not that Phoenix was better, but he gave him advice. He often repeated the same phrases: "Find someone who wants you too," "Don't pressure girls," and "Be gentler”. 

And Larry followed his advice to the letter. But somehow, he always fucking it all up again. And Phoenix was always there to comfort him.

"So, what about you? How's work going?" Larry asked. 

“Good, I guess. I arrested a thief the other day. An older woman. She was trying to steal cosmetics.” 

“I mean the other job,” Larry said. “Your work at the mall depresses me, dude.” 

“Yeah… It's kinda boring,” He was doubtful about the case but needed someone to talk to about it. "Ehm… I think I've got a new case in my hands."

"Another Manhattan lady lost her purse in a limousine?"

Phoenix laughed. That had happened two times already. They were simple cases, resolved with just a couple of calls to the car company. The worst part was that he practically lived off of that. Rich women were prepared to offer ten thousand dollars if he found their dog or a Louis Vuitton purse.

"No, no. A disappearance. Well, more like a runaway. I still don't know for sure," Phoenix said, and Larry looked at him attentively, giving him space to speak. “A girl is gone, and her mother suspects is a kidnapping. But, I don’t know. It’s kinda difficult to tell.”

Larry stopped him and ordered another round. Once their drinks were served to them, he leaned on his hand, showing interest in what his friend had to say.

Phoenix explained everything Mrs. Misham had told him. And little by little, Larry's expression changed. The most relevant was when he furrowed his brows upon hearing about Portland.

"Damn, man. That's some heavy stuff," he said, taking a long sip of his beer. "But, a cult? The cops would have found out by now. Most likely it's just a girl seeking a little freedom."

"The mother seemed very convinced... And the police stations wouldn't listen to her," Phoenix said, feeling pitiful. "I mean, I have nothing to lose by investigating,"

"Is she going to pay you?" As always, Larry made the golden question. 

"Larry, I'm not doing it for the money..."

"Sure, you're doing it for your savior complex," Larry teased. "Look, Nick. I'm telling you as a friend, huh? But you're not a fed anymore... Think about what would happen if there's something sketchy behind all this."

Phoenix hadn't stopped to think if it was worth risking or not, with its respective consequences. That wasn't a consideration he was used to. For him, everything was worth trying.

"And on top of that: Portland. Isn't that where that inspector lives?"

He knew perfectly well that Larry was going to bring up the topic. But he preferred him to bring it up rather than Maya, who would immediately accuse him of using it as an excuse to search for Miles.

"He’s from there," Phoenix replied curtly. "But that's not the point…”

The case had a few layers. Ones thicker than the others. If he was determined to dig into it and see where it ended, some risk was needed.

Phoenix sighed. Something inside him said that the case was bigger than he imagined and that he should take the chance. He was already picturing the end. 

“Private Detective rescues a girl kidnapped by a cult” 

Phoenix smiled at the idea of Andrews calling him and asking to come back. Not that he wanted to, but he wanted his image restored. And Maya… He wanted Maya's suspension to be over. 

He had messed it up in the past. But, if he did well this time, maybe things could be better. 

Reconciliation. Redemption. That's what he wanted. “I think this case could restore my reputation."

Those words were a gathering of his thoughts. The meaning of becoming a private detective in the first place was to be able to help people again. What he lacked was trust. 

That feeling of being seen and instantly trusted by people. 

He wanted that back too. 

"Then I have nothing else to say to you, friend," Larry tapped his shoulder with a broad smile. "Do what you think you have to do. If you need fake credentials, you know where to find me."

“Thank you, Larry,” Phoenix said. “You're the best.” 

“Aw, Nick. You're gonna make me emotional!” 

They clinked their glasses and smiled at each other. Larry only lasted a short time to bring up a new topic of conversation about work.

It could have been a long night if it weren't for Phoenix's daughter calling him, asking if he could pick her up. 

For that reason, Phoenix had to excuse himself. Larry told Phoenix not to worry, and that they could see each other on another occasion. After that, they hugged. And Phoenix left the bar in a rush. 

-

Being the parent of a teenager is something you're not prepared for. You never see anything coming, and everything you thought you knew about your daughter slowly fades away as puberty peaks. You still want to treat her like your baby, but she wants to be treated as an adult. But she has new interests, new friendships, and new life challenges she has to overcome. 

There are the usual misunderstandings and fights that you don't know where they even come from. Communication feels like navigating a minefield. Every word needs to be carefully chosen to avoid triggering an emotional explosion. You know that your daughter wants to start making her own choices, yet she needs guidance and support in everything she does. 

She gets angry at you for a silly thing, and an hour later she comes to apologize. Because it wasn't your fault, but neither was hers. Your daughter goes through things you left behind a while ago, so you must make a constant exercise of comprehension and empathy. You try not to be judgemental, nor give a solution right away. But to listen and make her know that you understand. 

Sometimes you make mistakes and need to learn how to acknowledge them as a parent, or else you won't be able to give problems a solution. 

But also the school events, where you support and cheer your daughter with all your passion. You find yourself staying up until late making a costume for Halloween or the drama club play. You drive her to her friend's houses and take her to rehearsals and birthday parties.

You help her to study difficult subjects. Celebrate good marks, and cheer her up when she fails. And in the process, she gives you a hug or cries on your shoulder. 

Pizza nights, cinema afternoons, and spending Saturday mornings visiting her favorite shops. 

Despite the hurdles, the bond you share is unbreakable. You’re her rock, her confidant, and her biggest supporter. The moments of connection, whether it’s a shared laugh over a silly joke or a heartfelt conversation about her dreams and fears, are treasures you hold close. You realize that while you’re guiding her through these turbulent years, she’s also teaching you—about resilience, unconditional love, and the beauty of seeing the world through her eyes.

With all of it, Phoenix had to make an extra effort. And all of it was worth it. Because being Trucy's dad was the best thing that had ever happened to him. 

Trucy was waiting for him on the street, wearing a gray jacket over her green pajamas and with the bag slugging over her shoulder. She didn't hesitate a minute to get into her father's car as soon as he stopped in front of her.

Phoenix looked at her through the rearview mirror as she sighed and crossed her arms.

"What happened?" Phoenix asked. "Are you feeling sick or something?"

"I don't wanna be there," Trucy replied. 

"Why?" Phoenix worried about that.

"I fought with Nicole," Trucy sounded upset. 

“Why?” He asked again. 

But instead of answering, she sighed. "Leave it, Dad. I don't want to talk about it,"

Phoenix wasn’t used to listening about Trucy involving herself in a fight. Not knowing if he should insist or just leave it there, he thought about it for a minute. He didn’t want Trucy to be upset with him for asking further, but she would probably get angrier if he didn’t. 

"I think you should find other friends, sweetheart," Phoenix said. "Those girls don't seem very nice."

"Dad, I'm not ten…" Trucy brushed it off again. She tilted his head, letting it rest on the window. "Let's just go home. I'm hungry,"

Phoenix smiled. Maybe he couldn't fix his daughter’s problems, but he could make her feel better. “Pizza and a movie?”

Trucy shrugged. “Okay.”

As soon as they sat on the couch after ordering pizza, Trucy seemed more cheerful. 

Little by little, Trucy's mood lessened, and she started to tell Phoenix about what had happened. 

It seemed like her high school “friends”, Nicole and Michelle, found it funny that Trucy was still interested in things related to magic and board games. They found it “childish”, and made fun of her for not being into boys or gossip. 

Phoenix found it quite silly. They were fifteen and already described as “immature” things meant to be for their age. He understood that they wanted to mirror older people. Little do they know that adulthood sucks. Enjoying your hobbies and interests makes it easier to keep your life going. Phoenix was about to turn thirty-five and still enjoyed Star Wars. Just as much as he did when he was a kid. 

He tried to make Trucy feel better by telling her that. She should enjoy things as much as possible. Life is too long to be listening to what bullies say to you. 

Her nodding and brief smile made Phoenix know that she had understood the message. Regarding finding new friends, Trucy already knew another girl whose interests were similar to hers. Her name was Jinxie.

The first thing Phoenix thought was that the girl had a weird name. But, he wasn't no one to discriminate. While Trucy had easily found new people to hang out with, Phoenix had nothing else to worry about. 

Half-way through the movie, Phoenix kept thinking about the case. It had been a while since the last time he had overthought something that much. Overall, he was concerned about what he'd say to Trucy if he saw himself having to leave. Was he going to risk his job for a case? His new life?

Larry had a point. He was not a cop anymore, and things could get tough at any moment. Vera could probably be in Portland in those instances – enjoying a meal with his boyfriend or getting comfortable in her new place. Or maybe not. Maybe she needed help. 

Looking at his daughter, Phoenix became conscious of the choice he had to make. Either way, whatever he did, he had to do it with Trucy in mind. 

At that moment, he decided to start the investigation that same week. And, if things started to get fishy, he would stop. 

He promised it to himself. 

For his sake. And for Trucy. 

Chapter Text

His boss’ response to the request for permission for the night was better than he expected. However, he had to compensate with two extra shifts the week after.  

The private security company he worked for never had a problem with his flexibility regarding schedules. It was written in the contract, after all. But meant that he'd the responsibility to cover the hours of another guard, or they would cut it from his salary. Working a twelve-hour shift was no problem to him, overall if it came with extra money for the month. 

That night, he had to meet Maya and Franziska for dinner. 

He had told his daughter to get ready an hour before they were supposed to leave. Usually, Trucy got easily distracted and ended up taking her double. However, Phoenix had started to notice that, when it came to Aunt Franziska, Trucy was ready in less than twenty minutes.

Franziska was in the city regularly but seldom had Phoenix meet her there. The last few times he was busy with a night shift at the mall, so Trucy went to spend the afternoon with her and Maya. 

Trucy seemed to have developed a good relationship with her. Calling her "aunt" came naturally as she spent more time with her. His daughter already considered her family, as well as she did with Maya or Athena. Although he couldn't say the same. Phoenix’s relationship with Franziska is complicated. 

Since he'd talked with Maya the day before, Phoenix wrapped his mind around his issue with Franziska. He didn’t hate her. Moreover, they had more than just a few things in common.

Long ago, he accepted the reality. He was obliged to see her and encounter her on multiple occasions if she was in a long-term relationship with Maya. If they were to marry, Phoenix would probably see her even more. And he will have to get used to it, whether he liked it or not. 

He had nothing to complain about Franziska, though. Well, besides the small detail that she was Miles’ sister. 

If he avoided her, it was to prevent awkward situations. Phoenix didn’t remember it lucidly, but a year and a half prior, he had called her when he was having a bad moment. 

Christmas festivities were approaching, and Phoenix had woken up with a stabbing pain in the back of his head. Right where the wound was. 

The doctor said it was completely normal to feel pain or itching in a scar. His nerve tissue was still not fully recovered yet, so he needed to take painkillers. But the memories came back, and the pain increased. His headache made him stay in bed for an entire day, without being able to sleep.

Memories from Atlanta appeared like ghosts from the past. Always there, even if he wasn’t able to see them. 

He blamed himself for a lot of things and got upset for a few others. For Penny Nichols' death, for allowing Kristoph to get under his skin, for not being a better cop. 

That night on the top of the coffee shop became a recurrent nightmare. Because he was injured the whole time, Phoenix found it impossible to actively remember what happened. It was like his mind had suddenly erased it from his memory, but still reproduced it during his sleep. 

All that physical pain became anxiety. Phoenix just wanted it to go away. He wanted to stop feeling. 

Maya had taken Trucy for the night so he could rest properly. Also, he didn't want his daughter to see him like that.

So, Phoenix opened a bottle of whisky his father had gifted him for his new apartment, and didn't stop. 

When he wasn't even able to count how many glasses he'd drunk, his intoxicated self had the brilliant idea to try and call Miles. 

He needed to talk to somebody who understood him. But also, did it to torture himself a little bit more. Because he knew the outcome. 

He dialed the number. 

No response. The phone is turned off or the number doesn't exist. 

Phoenix had done it before. More times than he wanted to admit. In the beginning, he tried to convince himself that maybe Miles was too busy with his new work (whatever it was because Phoenix didn't even know where he lived). He struggled to accept that Miles either didn't want to talk to him or had changed his phone number. 

To finish screwing it all up, a better idea came into his mind: calling Franziska. He just had to ask her about Miles’ new number, and hopefully, he would get it. But it didn't come out as he planned.  

“Hello?” 

“Hey, Franziska… I'm Phoenix…” He said with difficulty. He was very drunk. “I was wondering…” 

“Fran, who is it?”  

Hearing his voice made Phoenix break down. After that, his memory went blurry. He didn’t know what he said, but he remembered Franziska hung him up without saying anything. 

The day after, Maya had come by to his apartment. And she was really, really upset with him. Though, the story she knew erased Miles' presence on the other side of the line. 

As time passed he concluded that distancing himself from Franziska was the best choice. And he also needed therapy. 

Phoenix opened his eyes when he heard Trucy's steps approaching the living room. 

“Can I bring my sketchbook to show it to Aunt Franziska?” Trucy asked. 

Phoenix was on the couch. He hadn’t even started to dress up, and Trucy was already wearing her favorite blue dress. “Which sketchbook?” 

“The one she bought me for my birthday,” Trucy showed Phoenix a small notebook lined with a lilac flower pattern. 

“Oh, sure. Why not?” Phoenix shrugged. He didn’t remember about Trucy having a new sketchbook. Nor had he seen her drawing on it. How present was he lately in his daughter’s life? 

“Have you used the pencil colors I bought you?”

“Uhm… Not yet,” Trucy gazed away. She did it knowing that Phoenix would feel upset in some way. “They are so beautiful, it makes me sad to waste them, Dad. Also, now I’m into just pencil, no coloring.” 

“It’s okay. I understand,” Phoenix smiled briefly. He got up on the couch. “I'll get dressed. We’re leaving in twenty.”

-

Maya had booked a table in her favorite Italian restaurant. 

Pomodoro was a cozy place tucked between two buildings on the outskirts of Brooklyn, near the bridge. Though small from the outside, the restaurant extended a few meters inside. A wood oven at the bar allowed everyone to see their pizzas being cooked. 

The walls were made of stone, and warm chandelier-like lights gave it a rustic vibe. Floral garlands hung on the ceiling, and decorative plants were inside old milk tins, giving the place a countryside feel. Despite not being well-known, the family-owned restaurant served delicious food. Phoenix and Trucy arrived first, and the owner greeted them with a smile, remembering them as regular guests.

After ordering some drinks while they waited, Trucy was sucking on her cranberry juice with an edible stray while absently observing the surroundings of the place.

Phoenix wasn’t drinking alcohol that night, so he decided on a kombucha. It was not to his taste, but drinking something calmed sugary his nerves. 

When Maya and Franziska arrived, the first thing she did was give them a receiving grin. Maya hugged Trucy, who seemed very excited by the arrival of the two. 

“Aunt Franziska!” 

Trucy was received in Franziska’s arms. Phoenix took a look at her. Her hair was shorter than the last time he’d seen her. Even if she hadn’t changed a bit, he felt like he barely recognized her. The last time they saw each other was before Christmas when Franziska picked up Maya to go to the airport. He was prepared to talk to her then, or at least have a trivial chit-chat. But, at the moment of truth, the conversation never came.

Phoenix had the same plan for that night. And that time, his body won’t feel as tense as a violin string tuned to its maximum. He’d been working on it with his psychologist. And therapy had to pay off at some point. 

Franziska greeted coldly and sat in front of Phoenix. She pulled off her jacket and placed it around the back of her seat. 

She probably had the same desire to be there as he did. None. 

And she was making an effort for Maya. Just like him.

“I’m sorry we were a bit late,” Maya said. “We were catching up about a few things.” 

The justification, followed by a brief gaze from Franziska made Phoenix wish he wasn’t aware of what the actual reason for their delay was. 

A waiter brought them the menus. Phoenix opened his and looked through it a couple of times, though he knew he would end up eating whatever Trucy wanted. His daughter was quite hesitant when it came to making decisions, even the smallest ones such as Alfredo pasta or Margherita pizza. To give it a solution, they would order both and share. Phoenix didn’t care much. Whatever that made Trucy happy, he was fine with it. 

As he raised his gaze from the menu, he found Franziska’s eyes. The unintentional eye contact made them look away instantly, evolving both into an awkward silence. 

What was curious about his relationship with Franziska was the silence they shared. He had seen Franziska being mean to those who annoyed or irritated her. And, at first, Phoenix expected that same behavior towards him. But, no. Franziska never said a word to him. And that was what bothered him the most. She disliked him so much that she wouldn’t even speak a word to him. 

“Trucy, how’s school going?” Franziska asked, closing the menu and driving her full attention to Trucy. 

“Fine,” Trucy said. “I got an A plus in my art project.” 

“How wonderful,” Franziska spoke with elegance. “Congratulations.”

“I didn’t know!” Maya gasped in excitement. “Congrats, Trucy!” 

Trucy's cheeks got flustered. “Thanks…” She muttered. 

Phoenix smirked when he saw Trucy's face turn into a rosy tone. 

He felt proud of his daughter. Her academic skills were brilliant, even for an average teenage girl. More so, her interest in art made Phoenix see himself in his daughter. 

He hadn't pushed it into her, it just came naturally over time. She borrowed his non-touched for a long time oil paints and canvases when she was bored on a Sunday morning. When Trucy asked for her first professional pencil kit, Phoenix couldn't escape from the excitement. 

Art was something important to him, and it became a thing to bond over with his daughter made it even better. 

At the moment, he didn't expect it to go further than a special interest that might evolve. To become diluted, or even replaced with another topic or activity. But Phoenix was keen to encourage his daughter if that was the career path she wanted to pursue. 

Giving her the support he never got. 

The waitress returned, and they ordered their food. Trucy ended up having the spaghetti marinara, and Phoenix got her second choice: chicken parmigiana. 

Maya ordered for both her and Franziska. It seemed like Franziska was doing the same as him. Eating the other's choice so her partner could enjoy both plates and share. 

When situations like that happened, Phoenix got a reminder of how much Franziska and he had similarities. 

He could even hear Miles’ voice in his head. 

“If you and my sister don't get along because you don't want to… You two give the same degree of stubbornness and meanness. Yet you both are caring and protective.” 

Then, Phoenix felt his corners rising into a smile. 

Being around Franziska also meant remembering Miles. 

He didn't do it obsessively. Phoenix couldn't help to get memories from back in the day. 

At first, it hurt. It made him mad to keep being attached to someone with whom you've lived such a traumatizing experience. He and Miles had bonded around a terrible circumstance that led them to sow something beautiful. And yet, they weren't strong enough to let it bloom. 

But then, Phoenix had started to accept it. Or at least working on it. 

He wouldn't let go of that case, even if it happened long ago. It was the last case of his career, after all. Though it was high time to do so. 

Lately, thinking about Miles didn't hurt anymore. At least that meant some progress. 

With a slight shake of his head, Phoenix brushed off the memories his head and drove his attention to the table. He tried to engage in the conversation Trucy was having with Maya, where she was telling her about high school drama. 

“And then the teacher kicked him about smoking weed in class,” Trucy said, sipping from her drink. Maya giggled, amused by the story. “It smelled so bad after. I don't understand why they even like it.”

“Children these days…” Franziska mumbled, rolling her eyes. “Fourteen and already addicted.” 

“Addiction is quite common these days around young people, Frany,” Maya said. “Trucy, you should wait until college. There you can do whatever you…”

“Maya!” Phoenix opened his eyes in disbelief and quickly laughed it off, stopping Maya from talking further. 

She raised a brow. “What?” 

“Don't give the kid that kind of advice, honey…” Franziska said. 

Nevertheless, Maya seemed confused by their reaction. “Everyone does pot in college!”

“Maya!” 

Trucy maintained her silence, sipping the remaining sweet beverage already watered down by the ice. 

-

Phoenix felt full after eating half of his dish and half of Trucy's. Even though they'd shared, they were taking some leftovers as Trucy loved them so much. 

Maya lay back in her chair, rubbing her belly, while Franziska finished her sparkling water bottle, pouring the remaining liquid into her glass.

“Do we have room for dessert, Trucy?” Maya asked slyly. 

Trucy nodded. “Always!” 

“I'm heading to the restroom,” Franziska said, excusing herself. “I'll be back soon.” 

Maya extended her hand until she reached Franziska’s to give her a brief caress. “Okay… What would you like for dessert?”

Franziska left a brief kiss in Maya's hand. “I'll eat whatever is of your liking.” 

They smiled at each other, and then Franziska headed to the bathroom while carrying her small purse. 

Phoenix thought about whether he should say something to Franziska before the night ended. He owed her an apology, among other things. 

Suddenly, Trucy gasped, getting herself straight on the chair. 

“What happened?” Phoenix asked. 

Trucy looked at him with concern in her eyes. “I forgot my sketchbook in the car!”

“It's fine. I'll go get it,” Phoenix said, standing up. “Do you mind staying here, Maya? I'll go to the car and back in a minute.”

“Sure! No worries.” 

Phoenix got the car keys and headed to the restaurant's exit. 

A cold breeze hit his face. Even if the days had become warmer, the winter wasn't over yet. As for how crazy the weather was currently, Phoenix wouldn't be surprised if it snowed in New York City at the beginning of March. 

Just when he turned around the corner, he found Franziska in the street. The light coming from the restaurant brightened her shape, covering her in a bright red and yellowish tone. 

She was resting her back on the wall with her arms crossed. It was cold and she was in short sleeves, but she didn't seem to mind. What was she doing outside? She was supposed to be in the bathroom. 

Phoenix observed her for a moment, thinking about what to say. She let out a long sigh, and then she took a pack of cigarettes out of her purse. 

"Franziska..." Phoenix was finally able to articulate. 

She wasn't surprised. Or at least she didn't show any kind of emotion. She just looked at Phoenix out of the corner of her eye and carefully opened the box. 

"Don't tell Maya," She said with her usual coldness. "I've promised her that I’d quit. And she'll tell my brother."

Maya hated tobacco. As a doctor, she’d seen too many people die from addictions. Lung cancer, trachea cancer, ischaemic heart disease… She swore the bodies weren’t exactly pretty when she performed the autopsies. 

But, overall, it reminded her of her mother who died young due to smoking. 

And Miles… Miles couldn't handle the odor.  Phoenix remembered the conversation, as well as he remembered any tiny (and stupid) detail of Miles. 

His father being a heavy smoker acted as the origin of the disgust towards it. If someone was smoking in the street, he made sure to be as far as he could. He only tolerated it as long as people didn't do it in front of him, or if they tried to coat it with perfume. 

But, still. The scent triggered him. It made him sick. 

So, if Miles didn’t know already, it was because Franziska was the greatest liar of all time. 

And Phoenix was going to do her a favor. Telling a white lie for her would at least prevent the creation of more tension between them. 

"I won't." He said. 

Franziska picked up a cigarette and put it between her lips. She put the box away and started looking for the lighter. Suddenly, she frowned and took the joint in her hand. “Are you going to stay there and judge me like a fool?” 

Phoenix didn't even realize he was staring at her. Ha had almost forgotten why he had come out of the restaurant in the first place. He didn't know why, but Phoenix was hoping that during that time Franziska would tell him something. 

He decided he was going to continue on his way to the car, but at the last minute, Franziska called him. 

“Wait,” She said. “Maya said you have a new case in your hands.” 

Phoenix turned around. “Uh… Yeah.” 

“What is it about?” 

He summarized the case for her, avoiding one or two details. 

“Sounds big for a private detective,” She said after lighting the cigarette. “Are you sure you’ll be able to handle it?” 

“I think I will… Thanks.” The comment bothered him a bit, but Phoenix ignored it. 

“Isn't it easier to keep watching over some paintings?” 

That angered him. They’d barely looked at each other during the dinner, and then, when having an actual conversation, she was judging him. 

"Why do you hate me, Franziska?"

Phoenix had been wanting to know the answer for a while. The last time they had an actual conversation was at Miles’ place, two years prior. She had never looked at him with kind eyes. Phoenix understood that it was her way of expressing how protective she was with her brother. And sometimes he wondered if she did the same towards Maya. 

Phoenix was tired of guesses. If he was going to make an effort to improve the situation,  then better that at least the intention was reciprocal.

Franziska lit up a cigarette, driving the lighter up to her lips. She chuckled dryly before answering. 

"Well, you cannot deny that I have my reasons to do so," After taking a puff, she let go of the smoke. “I don't like you, that's true. But hate? Hate is a waste of energy. I hate war criminals and incompetent politicians, those whom I actively seek to crumble through justice.” 

Those words made the situation a little better. At least Phoenix knew he wasn’t a target of Franziska’s hatred. For her, he was better than a criminal. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Staying still on the sidewalk, people started to stare at him. So, Phoenix decided to approach Franziska and place himself next to her. 

She offered him a cigarette, but he declined. He’d smoke on a few occasions. But the lie they were to tell Maya was big enough already. 

Phoenix stayed in silence. For a moment, it seemed to him that they were friends. “Why don't you like me, then?” 

“And do you like me?” 

She had a point there. 

Franziska sighed looking away. “You know everything that it takes to become someone?” 

The question left Phoenix confused. He assumed it was rhetorical, as he couldn't come up with an answer. 

"Well, of course. With your brilliant and inspiring career. No studies. Coming from the bottom until almost touching the top must feel great," Franziska sucked on the cigarette again. "And still, with all the effort, all the years thrown to the trash because you choose selfishly." 

Phoenix lowered his head, looking at the wet pavement that mirrored the street lights. He felt uncomfortable. However, uncomfortable talks need to be addressed from time to time. "I don't think I follow you…" 

"My girlfriend got suspended and now works two jobs part-time. At a funerary house and as your assistant, none of them are well-paid. Do you know how much time she spent in college, doing research and writing her articles? Effort cannot be measured in time, Phoenix Wright." Franziska spoke quickly as she had expected, saying it for a long time. “And just when she got the perfect career in the FBI as a criminalist you, her best friend, gets her suspended.”

Franziska paused to take some air. She was lecturing him, and Phoenix was giving his permission with his utter silence. Then he decided to look her in the eye, letting her know that he was allowing her to continue. 

Franziska sighed, crossing her arms. Her expression loosened. And for a moment, she reminded him of Maya and her momentary frustration moments. 

“Now you have a dream job, where you can do whatever you want…  Exactly what you were doing before but with no one to contradict you. Must feel nice,” Franziska took another blow out of the cigarette. She then tapped it carefully, letting the ashes fall and disappearing with the breeze. "What angers me the most is that you hurt my brother in the process… And before you open your mouth, you should acknowledge that I know what happened. I’m entirely aware of it. My brother did wrong, but you weren't precisely in right either." 

Phoenix swallowed dry. Franziska had more to scold him about than he first thought. And the worst part was that she was right. She was so right. 

"So, yes, Phoenix Wright. I don't like you. Because you are the foolest man I’ve ever met," Franziska glanced at him with a fierce look. She placed her body against the wall again. "And that's why I shall help you with your case."

“I don't need your help.” 

“You want to get my brother back?” 

Phoenix's heart stopped for a moment. He had to breathe heavily with his nose, making sure the air made its way back to his lungs. 

Looking for Miles was something he had sworn to leave behind. 

When the revision process had finished and the federal court decided to kick him out of the FBI (and ban him from working at any public law reinforcement department), Phoenix decided that it was his chance. A chance to have a peaceful little life away from murders and human atrocities. And decided Miles had to be part of that. 

Phoenix took a backpack and the first plane to Atlanta, hoping to be able to solve things. But foolish of him for believing in the power of love. 

When he arrived, Miles was nowhere to be found. He had changed his cell phone number, and never told anyone where he was heading. Not even Mia or Gumshoe. 

Phoenix tried to process it once more. He would've never expected to share his feelings with Franziska, but there they were. 

“I think I do.” 

“Then you could use my help. We both can benefit from this situation.” 

"Why…?"

"I'm giving you the opportunity to fix it and stop being a fool," Franziska cut him off before he could ask further. "If this case of yours can help Maya to get her license back, take it as an opportunity to fully redeem yourself." 

A gasp of hope came back to Phoenix. If Franziska was telling him that, maybe there was a chance to still fix it. 

“As to what my brother refers to, he needs someone like you in his life. You cannot surrender,” Franziska crossed her arms. “He was genuinely happy with you. And he needs something pretty to happen to him… At least for once.” 

Phoenix's heart turned around. All rational ways of thinking left his mind, stepping aside to let all the old feelings come back. They'd never fully gotten away, but Phoenix tried to hide them. 

Miles was genuinely happy with him. And so was Phoenix. 

"Thank you, Franziska. But... Why do you help me?" 

"As hard as it is for me to accept it, you're the only one besides me who cares about him," Franziska turned off the cigarette, putting it out against the wall’s bricks. "And that makes me dislike you even more, Phoenix Wright. Because you cared and still hurt him."

-

Franziska followed him to the car, looking for somewhere to throw the cigarette away. In the end, she found some trash. 

While they walked down the street, Phoenix encouraged himself to talk. “I’m sorry.” 

Franziska looked at him. “Why?” 

“For calling you drunk. And making a scene,” Phoenix scratched the back of his neck. “I should’ve talked to you properly since the beginning.”

She lasted a few seconds without responding or breathing. “I’m not mad,” Franziska shrugged. “If you wanted my help, you should’ve asked. I’m not a bad person, Phoenix. It's one of the few things I share with my brother that I'm also proud of.”

He nodded, smirking. “I'll keep it in mind from now on.” 

Phoenix went to the car and retrieved Trucy's notebook. Then, they went back to the restaurant. They stayed quiet on their way back, though it wasn’t uncomfortable any longer. Phoenix finally understood her. And in a sense, he felt Franziska understood him too. She’d done it all along. 

Maya and Trucy had already started on dessert, unable to wait any longer. Maya was surprised to see them return together and quickly asked where they had been. 

Franziska swiftly concocted a story. 

She had received a call from her boss upon leaving the restroom and decided to take it outside in case it was urgent. There, she had run into Phoenix, and they had started talking.

Phoenix wondered if Maya would believe what she was saying. And her face showed no skepticism. Instead, she beamed widely, pleased to know that Phoenix and Franziska had been ‘caught up in conversation’. 

Sometimes, Phoenix envied Maya for being gifted with eternal ingenuity. 

Franziska took a bit of the pudding Maya had ordered, and Phoenix ate the leftovers from Trucy's brownie. In between asking for the bill and waiting for it to arrive, Trucy finally could show Franziska her sketchbook. 

Regardless of her excitement, Phoenix noticed that Trucy did it with shyness. Like she was expecting Franziska’s approval of some kind. Since she was who had gifted her the bloc, it was to expect that she would feel glad about it being used. 

Franziska listened to Trucy while she explained some of her drawings. Little by little, a slight smile formed on her lips, which made Phoenix smile too. 

“Your drawings are lovely, Trucy,” Franziska said. “Was the kind paper adequate after all?” 

“Yes! See? You can’t see through the pages,” Trucy showed her the pages in between. Trucy pushed the notebook away a little as if hiding something. “Aunt Franziska, I also tried to draw you two. I’m not very good at realism yet, but I wanted to show you.” 

Franziska’s eyes opened with surprise. “It’s okay. Show me.” 

Trucy looked for the page and handed the notebook to Franziska, whose expression softened with tenderness. “Trucy, I’m touched.” 

“I wanna see it too!” Maya exclaimed. Franziska passed it hand to hand, and Maya gasped full of excitement. “These are we? We look so cute!”

Trucy giggled with shyness. “It's just a doodle…”

Phoenix observed the interaction, finding his daughter’s actions cute. 

“Can I see it?” He feared for a moment that Trucy may not want to share it with him. And he was determined to accept it if so. 

Trucy nodded and Maya handed it to him. The drawing wasn't very realistic but it was an attempt. She had drawn both Franziska and Maya's portraits, just the face. They were pretty recognizable. 

Phoenix nodded. “It's very cute, honey.” 

“Thanks, Daddy.” 

There had been some time since the last time Trucy called him Daddy. Phoenix's heart felt filled with love toward his daughter. He gave her the notebook back, making her smile. 

-

Trucy hugged both Maya and Franziska in a farewell at the entrance. Afterward, Franziska slipped a business card into Phoenix’s after a shake. 

“Call me if you need anything regarding your case. I have good contacts,” Franziska muttered. “Regarding my brother, he’s rather unpredictable. But he shows up from time to time.”

Phoenix took the card into his pocket. “Thank you, Franziska.” 

Franziska adressed a brief smile. “You’re welcome.” 

Maya seemed to notice their interaction and rapidly approached them. “What are you whispering about? Are you friends with secrets now?”

“Perhaps is a surprise… And we cannot tell you.” Franziska said, taking Maya’s hand and then kissing her on the cheek. 

Maya giggled, enchanted. “If that’s so… I won’t be nosy.” 

After the definitive goodbye, Phoenix and Trucy got to the car. Trucy sat next to him, in the copilot seat. 

The night went better than he had previously thought. Phoenix had been able to talk to Franziska. Even if he got lectured in the process, he felt relieved to have finally taken that step. The first to build a better relationship with Franziska. 

“What did you and Aunt Franziska talk about?” Trucy asked. 

Phoenix got caught off guard by the sudden spark of his daughter’s curiosity. “Uh… Work.” 

Trucy nodded, though she didn't seem very convinced about the response. Phoenix looked at her and sighed. 

“I'm working on a new case, and Aunt Franziska wants to help me,” He explained. “A woman is looking for her daughter and I'm going to help her find her.” 

“Are you going to leave?” 

Phoenix swallowed hard. Was he? He didn't know. 

His old days in the Bureau were all about traveling around. At first, they were just brief trips. With a bigger team of supervisory special agents, criminalists, and profilers everything went smoothly. 

But, as his unit ended up reduced to him, Maya, and Apollo, the cases he received were more complicated to solve. 

The last few, including Atlanta, were those that nobody wanted to deal with. Whether nobody picked them, or they were less urgent.

If it wasn't for Maya was sisters with the Deputy Chief of Atlanta PD, Phoenix would've never investigated Regina's abduction. 

His absence was barely noticeable before. But as his stances began to enlarge in time, he started to notice that he was missing seeing his daughter growing up. And it hurt him to not be there for her during relevant times. 

As soon as he left the FBI, Phoenix noticed all of it was intentional. Reducing his unit, and sending him on long journeys was an easy way to drain him. To make him want to leave. 

And they achieved it. 

Being kicked out wasn't as bad as he thought. They could've been nicer by at least letting him take a position in New York PD. But, in the end, he preferred it this way. A life far from danger. 

“I don't know, sweetie… Maybe. But I didn't even start with the investigation,” Phoenix said.  

“Is it dangerous?”

“No, no…” Phoenix shook his head. “Her mother just wants to get in touch to make sure she's okay.”

Trucy looked at the leftover bag that was resting on her lap. Her lips frowned to the left. “Okay…” 

Phoenix was reminded of how susceptible his daughter still was to such topics during moments like those. And it dreaded him to think so. 

 He never discussed his cases at home because Trucy didn't need to know. Even though she was older now, Phoenix had decided never to talk to her about the nature of his work. Since she was young, she only knew that her father worked to stop bad people. This idea reinforced the image she had of her parents as if they were superheroes. Her father was like Superman. As she grew up and became aware of the world's harsh reality, Trucy realized who her father truly was. He was a policeman, more specifically an FBI agent. He dealt with the worst criminals in the country, faced violence, and used it every day. He had to chase criminals and, most of the time, try not to die during the process. 

Despite her aunt Athena telling her not to worry, Trucy was always afraid that something terrible would happen to her father.

And Phoenix knew it all too well.

Chapter Text

Since he was back in the city, everything reminded him of his years working at the New York Police Department. His days on the Special Victims Investigation in Brooklyn had ended a long ago. He used to deny it, but Phoenix sometimes missed it. 

Thought the city had changed a lot. 

Phoenix couldn't describe exactly what was different. But he felt it in his core. 

Perhaps it was the people due to the fast rise of social movements. The culture, the streets. Influenced by the sudden evolution of society. 

Or maybe it was his own perception that had changed. He wasn't as young anymore. He wasn't Detective Phoenix Wright. He was Phoenix Wright, part-time security guard, part-time private detective. 

Maya was probably right. He was approaching the forties crisis. 

To think about something else, Phoenix tried to review his plan. 

After dropping Trucy in high school, Phoenix drove down to the island of Queens. 

Iryna Misham had facilitated a list of Vera’s friends' names and brief info about them. He had managed to find their social media profiles and some pictures.

He had decided to start by asking them for more details. If Vera didn’t tell her mom something relevant, she would’ve probably told her friends. 

Phoenix headed to Vera’s high school, where he hoped to get access to her academic records. As well as information from her teachers and friends.

As far as interviews were concerned, he still used the strategies from the FBI training. 

Being personal with the victim's loved ones helped to form a sort of bond between the witnesses and the agents. Showing empathy and understanding easied the interrogation moments, and made people trust him.

Although of course, it isn't a real relationship. Special agents should avoid at all costs emotional involvement within a case. What mattered was to make people believe they were. 

As a private detective, interviewing people related to the case became more complex. There had been times when people wouldn’t give him authority to enter places or interrogate witnesses just because he wasn’t a cop. Therefore, he'd have to be more careful with his words and put extra effort into seeming legit. 

If things got too tricky, Phoenix had his secret weapon: a fake badge (Larry’s courtesy). You can go as far as you want with one of them, so having it gave him more security. 

He was aware of the illegal nature of carrying fake credentials. If the situation where someone caught him in his lie was given, he could get into a big mess. 

Phoenix never thought about the awful outcome. The worst thing that could happen was he would go to jail, but that would never happen. 

The high school was located near Kissena Park, north Queens. 

He had done his research about the school. It was quite prestigious and had the highest attendance and college enrollment rates. It also had a huge amount of programs aimed at future college education, as well as clubs for all kinds of interests and the best athletics team in New York’s high school league. 

Phoenix thought that in a place like that, standing out must be difficult. He was grateful that his parents enrolled him in a public school in his hometown, where he only had to care about the basketball team and Spinach Day -held on Thursdays at the cafeteria. 

Without thinking it much, Phoenix got out of the car and headed to the building. At the entrance, he came across a janitor. An old man in a green suit carrying a cleaning cart 

“Good morning, sir,” Phoenix greeted. “I’m looking for the principal’s office.” 

He indicated the directions without asking much. 

Phoenix thanked him and walked through the hallway. Full of green lockers, the corridor extended a few meters. And at the end, there was the schoolyard exit. The high school was rather big. Three floors, enough to hold all the neighborhood’s students from ninth to twelfth grade. 

The Principal's office was to the left, across from the secretariat.

Phoenix had to go confidently with his actions. If there were a circumstance where he had to improvise, he would. But there was no way he wouldn't interview Vera's friends that morning. He had already decided on it. 

He knocked on the door, which was already open, and the secretary gazed at him with curiosity. 

“Good morning. I'm Phoenix Wright. I'm looking for the principal's office,” He smiled, trying to seem trustworthy. 

The secretary didn't pay much attention. “Do you have an appointment?” 

“It's about Vera Misham, a senior student,” Phoenix answered rapidly. He was already touching his fake badge, ready to take it out. “She has disappeared and I need to ask some questions.”

“Disappeared?” The woman asked, setting her eyes aside from the computer’s screen. She had no clue. And it was the first time she had heard about a student vanishing. “I had no idea. Wait here, I'll tell Mr. Gardiner.” 

He had to hide his joy behind a brief smile, followed by a nod. 

Phoenix sat in the plastic blue chairs while waiting for the secretary to come. It was just the first step. But, if the principal was willing to let him speak with the students, the plan would be successful. 

In less than twenty seconds, the secretary was back. “Come in, please.” 

Phoenix walked towards the office. He kept his breathing calm, although his stomach always hurt when he encountered this kind of situation. One bad move and everything would be screwed. 

The high school’s principal was sitting at his desk and poked at Phoenix as he stepped into the room. “Good morning. Mr…?”

“My name is Phoenix Wright,” He extended his hand, which Principal Gardiner shook immediately. 

“Nice to meet you,” He said while the secretary offered Phoenix a seat. “Miss Shepherd told me that you're here because of the vanishing of one of my students. Are you from the police?”

Phoenix had two options: saying yes and infringing the law, or telling the truth. 

With experience, he had learned that it was best to wait and see how people reacted to his presence. In that case, the risk wasn't as high as he would've expected. 

Both the secretary and the principal seemed like good people. Their fast reactions and the willingness to receive Phoenix when they heard about something that had happened to Vera without questioning further said enough about their personalities for Phoenix to know what to do next. 

“No, I'm a PI. Ms. Misham has contacted me,” Phoenix said. Due to the confused expression of the principal, he felt the need to explain himself more. “Police departments don't usually take vanishing cases of Vera's age range. Most of them are usually runaways.”

“Understandable,” The principal shrugged. He sighed and crossed his hands on the belly, getting comfortable. “And I guess Ms. Misham doesn't believe Vera left on her own. That's why you are here.”

Phoenix nodded. “That’s right.”

“You know, Mr. Wright? As a principal, I must take care of the student's well-being. And perhaps I don't know all of them, but I know when they are capable of certain things and when they're not,” The principal said. “Vera Misham was a good student. I think she was going to receive a scholarship for creative writing.” 

“I didn’t know,” Phoenix said. Mrs. Misham never mentioned it. On the contrary, she was worried about money for college. He decided to follow the conversation instead of getting off the subject. “Mr. Gardiner. Vera hasn’t come back home since a week ago. And her parents have no clue about where she might be. If I could speak with her friends, it would be a great help.” 

“Sure, sure,” Mr. Gardener said, seemingly enthusiastic about the idea of helping. “Tell me their names and we will get them called during their break. I would lend you my office.”

-

During his wait, Phoenix went through Vera’s school records. The girl was above her scholarship’s expectations. She had a perfect attendance record, for which she received a prize the year before. Her grades were fairly outstanding, within literature and art history especially. Only she lacked participation during class lectures. Nevertheless, she was among the top candidates to receive a college scholarship. 

Phoenix comprehended why Mrs Misham wasn’t aware of it. The winners -two between all the selected ones- were to be announced in May. But, by how the principal had talked, it seemed like the decision was already taken. 

Vera was to receive the scholarship. 

All those documents reinforced the idea of Vera as not the typical runaway. The idea of a cult popped into Phoenix’s mind. Maybe Mrs Misham was right and her daughter had been taken. 

Vera’s friends' testimony could be decisive about that possibility. 

When recess time arrived, the secretary got Vera’s friends called. Both girls arrived within minutes of the office, both seemingly confused for the call. 

One ginger-haired, the other brunette. Emily and Lauren had known Vera since they were juniors in high school. They looked like two completely regular eighteen-year-old girls.

Vera’s friends sat after Mr. Gardiner asked them to. The principal proceeded to explain the situation. 

“Lauren and Emily? I’m Phoenix Wright,” he introduced himself. “I’m a private detective. Vera’s mom has hired me to find Vera.”

The girls looked at him with skepticism. 

“You’re not a cop?” The brunette asked. Phoenix recognized her as Lauren by the pictures he had seen. 

“No, I’m afraid not. But I used to work with the FBI. I’m solo now,” telling the girls his story might help to gain their trust. “Police don’t investigate possible runaway cases.”

“You think she was a runaway?” Emily, the redhead asked.

“You girls need to tell me,” Phoenix said. “Was she?”

The two friends looked at each other. 

“She definitely wanted to leave New York. She was very keen about it,” Emily said. “But she doesn't even have her license. I don't imagine her leaving by herself.” 

“Have you contacted her?” Phoenix asked.

“I tried calling her. Several times,” said Lauren. “But her phone has been turned off.” 

Phoenix nodded. “Did you ever meet her boyfriend? If so, did you notice something weird about him?” 

“Vera's boyfriend? Do you mean Glen? Yeah, we met him a couple of times. He's kinda weird,” Emily looked up, thoughtful. “But he's a nice guy. We were a bit worried at first because he's older.”

“And you know… sometimes you gotta watch out.” Lauren shrugged. “If she's with him, I'm sure she's fine. What bothers us is the lack of contact. I'm sure Iryna is worried about that too.” 

Even though the girls painted Glen as a nice guy, the word “weird” ousted Phoenix. To that point, it was very clear that Vera’s vanishing had something to do with her boyfriend. There was no doubt. However, the reason why (and how) was still in the air. 

Phoenix needed to ask further about Glen. “Did you know where he worked at?”

Lauren shook her head. “He was into computers, I recall. But never mentioned the company’s name.”

“Did Vera ever mention anything about a group? Something like… Secret club?”

“Vera is a literature nerd, Mr. Wright. The only club she attended was the book club.” 

“Was she engaged in something related to drugs or…?”

The questions seemed to startle both girls. Principal Gardiner opened his eyes with horror. It appeared that they took drug issues very seriously in that high school. 

“No, no. We don't even drink yet,” Lauren said. “Why?”

“Just to know. I need as many details as you can give me.” 

 Phoenix didn’t quite believe that statement, but he didn’t want to go over that topic. At least not in front of the principal, knowing the girls might refuse to talk further.

“I only have more questions,” Phoenix handed them a piece of paper. “If you could please write a list of the places you frequented with Vera. I will also give you my number in case you remember anything else.”

-

He had just started. And already was thinking about surrendering. 

Sitting in his security hut, he looked at the security cameras with boredom. That would be a long night at the mall, and it was barely eleven pm. 

Phoenix leaned on his fist, sighing. The worst part of the job was that there was nothing he could find entertaining. 

The stores were closed, and he had no TV available. He could go for a walk around, see if he could sneak inside some toy store, and look for something he could buy Trucy. 

However, after giving it a second thought, Phoenix remembered Trucy didn’t like toys anymore. 

He let go of a long sight and took his cell phone out of his pocket. He clicked on the first podcast he found about crazy stories on the internet and clicked again to play it. 

Two weeks passed since he talked to Vera's friends. And the investigation was left in a muddy pond. 

He had visited the places Vera frequented. The local library, a couple of cafés… He even talked to the people from the book club. But nobody had a clue where Vera could be. 

Then, he changed the strategy: if he wanted to find Vera, he had to find Glen. 

He tried to contact one of his old peers at the NYPD and ask for information about Glen Elg. An address or workplace. It seemed like a good idea until his former partner gave him runarounds. It's been a long time since they talked, and he didn’t sound very pleased by Phoenix’s call. 

He began to feel a bit desperate to find clues. 

And, after checking the phone book and finding no answers, Phoenix began to feel discouraged. He had spoken with Iryna and her husband, Thomas, a couple of times, trying to find any lead. And yet, he found himself at a dead end.

The only thing he could affirm was that, by Vera's friend's testimony, he was able to arrive at a conclusion: If Vera had left with her boyfriend, she was probably fine. 

The idea that there might be a sect had been diluted like watercolors on a wet canvas. Phoenix theorized that maybe Glen Elg was in a gang, or something related to drugs. The idea of Vera being engaged in something like that wasn’t far-fetched. 

If she was a loner, she was prone to find a sense of community and friendship within that kind of people. Lonely people who found an escape from substances. 

Phoenix was nobody to stop a girl from doing whatever she wanted, especially if she was of legal age. And her parents couldn’t either, even if she was still childlike in some aspects. 

But, was he actually going to give up so easily? Phoenix didn’t used to be like that. 

When he worked for the FBI, he did anything he could to get answers. Even if he had to spin around the same topics and re-interview the witnesses. Go over the clues again, calling anyone who could help him. 

Calling anyone who could help him. 

At that moment, he realized he still had one resource left: Franziska.

He had almost forgotten about it. Franziska had gladly offered her help to him. And he did not doubt to request it. 

He reached for his phone and quickly dialed the number he had saved after receiving her card.

Phoenix prayed that Franziska would answer.

“Franziska speaking,”

“Franziska, it’s me. Phoenix Wright… I need a favor.”

And just like that, Franziska listened attentively to his request. 

“I’ll see what I can do. Give me a few minutes and I’ll call you back.”

After they hung up, Phoenix held his cell phone. In a matter of minutes, Franziska called again. 

“I’ll send you Glen Elg’s file by email. My contact says he paid with a card at a Thai restaurant in Portland, Oregon yesterday,” She said. “It seems he lives in the north part of the city. But I’m afraid I can’t give you his address.”

A smile appeared on Phoenix’s face. All was not lost yet. “Alright… Thank you, Franziska.”

“No problem,” She paused. “Are you going to go after him?”

“Yes,” he said, firmly. “Vera has to be with him. I’m sure of it.”

“Good luck, then,” Franziska wished him. “Let me know when you get there. To Portland.”

Phoenix became conscious of it at that right moment. He’d to go to Portland. 

- 

Asking Maya to take care of Trucy for a few days had been difficult. But saying goodbye to his daughter had been worse.

“Trucy, remember the case I told you about?”

His daughter was focused on her console, but she turned her head when she heard Phoenix’s voice. “The girl who disappeared?”

“Yes,” Phoenix said. “You see, I think I know where she is now. But I have to go find her.”

He was unable to decipher his daughter’s look. She stared at him with a mix of confusion and sadness. She pursed her lips from side to side, and Phoenix gave her time to respond.

“Can I stay with Aunt Maya?”

That wasn’t the question he expected, but Phoenix nodded firmly. “Of course.”

Trucy said nothing more and returned her attention to her video game.

Phoenix didn’t know how to feel about it. On one hand, he felt he had disappointed his daughter. But on the other, he was determined to return in a couple of days. And he thought it wasn’t such a big deal.

- 

He contacted Vera’s parents to tell them he was traveling to Portland with the hope of finding Glen. And, hopefully, also their daughter.

As a thank you, they got him a plane ticket for the next day. They also offered to pay for the return trip. Phoenix felt very grateful to them.

He took his flight just two days later. He hugged Trucy at the airport, telling her there was no reason to worry. He would be back on Tuesday, safe and sound. His daughter hugged him tightly. Still feeling the sensation of Trucy’s arms around his neck, he boarded the plane.

Based on the information Franziska had given him, it seemed like Glen Elg was living a normal life in Portland. And his receipts were too large to assume they were individual expenses.

Hoping to be closer to finding Vera, Phoenix allowed himself to sleep most of the day after the long flight.

He stayed in a motel he found near downtown. The space was small, with just a bed, a bathroom, and a window. But it was enough for his short stay.

Sitting on the bed, he reviewed the documents Franziska had given him. It wasn’t much, just the latest data from a bank account, a phone number, and a photo. The first thing he did was try calling the number, but it seemed to be off. He tried a few more times. Nothing.

Then he reviewed the latest card payments. The last one was at the Thai restaurant Franziska had mentioned days ago. For now, that was his only lead.

Before making his first move, Phoenix tried calling Franziska. However, the call hopped to voice mail. He was hoping to be able to ask her about what he should do, but he'd wasted enough time. So, Phoenix left her a brief text message, indicating he was in the city. 

That afternoon, he dressed and found the restaurant’s address. It wasn’t far, so he decided to grab a quick bite and then take the subway to get there.

The ride was rather short, but he was able to admire the views through the sub's windows. 

He’d never been to Portland, and the city was beyond his expectations. Every neighborhood had its unique style, and art in every form was present in every corner. The bohemian atmosphere is reflected in the vintage stores and the people’s clothing. 

Creativity, diversity. Phoenix could only describe it as electric and vibrant. Alive. 

He had to admit that his mind has built a complete opposite image, based on the common misconceptions. 

Phoenix expected a cloudy sky and the smell of crime in the streets. But it was sunny, and in the street, he only saw Easter arrangements. 

He remembered Miles talking about how much he loved it. And now, he was finally able to understand why. 

That was Miles’ city, and being in it gave him a kind of nostalgic feeling. Miles had always been something that was, but at the same time was not in his life. Portland was Mile’s city. Portland was Miles’ past. Portland was Miles. 

The lyrics of a song he heard a few days ago played on his mind. 

Every time I drive through the city you’re from, I squeeze a little

And he did. His heart squeezed and his body felt like it could crush in tears at any moment. Phoenix hoped his stance there to be short. Or everything will start to be about Miles again.

The restaurant was on a corner with a building. At the window, there were two large neon signs. One with Thai letters, and another that said “vegan friendly.” The interior decor wasn’t very notable, though the bottles behind the bar rose to the ceiling.

Maybe Phoenix was becoming a bit of an alcoholic if the only thing that excited him about the place where the exotic liquor bottles.

He approached the counter, where a woman with dark skin and of Asian descent smiled broadly at him. “Welcome! Would you like a table?”

The truth was he was quite hungry, so eating something would do him good. "Yes, please."

The girl walked him to a single table near the window and gave him the menu. "Our Tuesday's special is panko chicken with lemongrass, mayonnaise, and curry."

Looking at the variety of dishes, Phoenix instantly thought about Maya. She would've loved the restaurant. He would be sending pictures later to make her jealous. 

He ordered the special and a couple of dishes accompanied by a tall Thai beer.

Phoenix had barely eaten for the last few days, so he enjoyed his meal as it was his last.

It got dark outside and he'd almost forgotten he had to ask about Glen. 

The waitress came back one his dishes were empty. "Did you enjoy your meal?"

"Yes, it was amazing. Thank you." He said. 

"Can I bring you something else?" 

That was his opportunity. 

“Actually... I’m looking for someone,” Phoenix took Glen’s photo from his pocket and placed it on the table. “Do you know him? He was here on Thursday.”

The girl looked at the photo. “Yes, yes... He's a regular. But I don’t remember his name. Maybe my mom does. Wait, I’ll call her.”

Instead of leaving, the girl shouted something Phoenix didn’t understand. And, within seconds, a woman came out of the kitchen. They conversed a bit, and from time to time the mother glanced at Phoenix. Then, she took the photo in her hands and nodded.

“Glen,” the woman said. “He lives in neighborhood. Almost like family.”

“See? I told you he looked familiar,” said the girl. “Has he done something wrong?”

Phoenix didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled out another photo. Vera’s. “Do you recognize this girl?”

The girl nodded. “She came with him the last time. She was nice.”

Her mother nodded. “Girlfriend.”

Phoenix took the pictures away. “Where does Glen live?”

“You cop?” the woman asked. 

“Yes,” Phoenix said without a doubt. "But, don't worry. He's not in trouble. I just want to ask him some questions."

Both women looked at each other and exchanged some words in their language before answering. 

“We’ll give you the address,” the girl said. 

Along with the bill, the owner gave him a note where the address was written. "Glen is a good boy."

Phoenix nodded. "I don't doubt it."

He thanked both the hostess and her mother before leaving, who looked at him weirdly. 

Maybe he'd risk himself too much by affirming he was a cop. It didn't seem like that had inspired much confidence in them. 

Helped by his phone, he found the address. The apartment was just a block away. He didn’t know if he could trust it, but Phoenix headed there anyway.

He received an upcoming message from Maya. 

Maya: 'I hate you'

Phoenix smiled. 

Phoenix: 'I'll buy you dinner when I'm back'

Maya: 'You'd better'

When he reached the building, and rang the buzzer. But no one answered.

So he decided to wait. Minutes passed and no one was coming inside the building. And I was starting to not feel my hands because of the cold. 

Maybe he could try calling Franziska again.  

But, just when he thought his chances were over, a girl came out of the building with her dog. Phoenix took the opportunity to enter.

The girl gave him a strange look. It was true that his appearance didn’t inspire much confidence. Nights in Portland were still cold, and he had put on a hat and a wool sweater. Plus, it had been a while since he shaved. Still, he smiled at her and thanked her.

Phoenix climbed the stairs to the fourth floor and looked for door 4F. When he found it, he realized he was just one step away from finding Glen Elg.

He knocked firmly on the door. But, to his surprise, it opened on its own. The lock was broken. And then Phoenix imagined the worst.

He took a step back, feeling the adrenaline flood his entire body and making his hands start to tremble. It had been a while since he felt so alert.

He clenched his fists and decided to enter. If someone was hurt inside, he had a duty to help them.

With the flashlight of his phone on, Phoenix opened the door and closed it behind him.

He walked carefully. He passed through what seemed to be the kitchen until he reached the living room.

And what he saw next horrified him.

A man was lying face down on the floor, with a blunt wound on the back of his head. He looked around and saw the blood stains that had splattered the carpet, the couch, and the coffee table.

Phoenix took a breath and then knelt to examine the body. He tried to feel a pulse, but there was nothing there.

Glen Elg was dead.

He cursed under his breath, trying to understand what could have happened.

There were almost no signs of violence, besides the blunt force trauma in the head. The rest of the apartment seemed tidy. He assumed the victim was probably surprised from the back, and bled to death. 

He stayed crouched, thinking about what to do. He had to call the police, that was for sure. But he didn’t know what he was going to tell them. He supposed that the truth.

Phoenix reflected on his options. If Vera wasn’t there, she might be somewhere else. Or maybe she had been taken.

Looking at the body’s death wound again, the back of his head started to hurt. Right where his scar was. 

He grimaced, caressing the area. 

It’s psychological. It doesn’t actually hurt. He tried to convince himself of it. Just like he'd learned in therapy. 

Phoenix was about to panic. Everything he had worked on with her therapist seemed to be going down the drain in that city. In that room. 

But he couldn’t allow himself to have a panic attack. Not there, not at that moment.

He had to do something. He had to get out of there and dial 911 from the hallway. And he had to do it quickly. 

Suddenly, he heard a step behind him. Then, he began to get scared. He had gotten himself into a big, big mess.

The sound of a gun being loaded rumbled in his ears. 

His throat went dry and began to feel sweat dripping down his forehead. He had to stay calm. He was still in shape; he could easily disarm someone if he had to.

Phoenix was ready. On the count of three, he was going to turn around. 

"FBI," A voice said at his back. "Turn around."

Phoenix froze for a moment. The situation was much more twisted than he thought.

But soon he noticed that the voice sounded familiar to him. He couldn’t believe it. It couldn’t be. 

Phoenix obeyed and raised his hands slowly. Then turned around on his knees. 

When he saw him, under the light of a flashlight, Phoenix couldn't even start to believe it. He was wearing a bulletproof vest, with the FBI logo on it.

Phoenix ran out of breath.

Chapter Text

Portland, Oregon. 

January 20th, 6 a.m. 9 years before Atlanta

Immediately as he got out of the car, he felt the sudden change of temperature between the outside and the warm, climatized inside of his car. Luckily, he was wearing a thick sweater, in addition to snow socks and gloves. He had also taken the raincoat just in case the rain surprised them.

There was an hour left for sunrise. The humidity of the night remained in the air. And raindrops covering the vegetation emitted the distinctive aroma of petrichor, which he took a moment to breathe in.

Holding his coffee, Miles walked through the park looking for his crime scene. He stepped on the mud with determination, burying his boots in the wet soil as he gave firm steps. A year before, he would’ve been terrified of getting his shoes and pants dirty. 

He used to get well-dressed to work, thinking it would create a good impression. After all, he was the youngest and wanted to be taken seriously. Because cleanness means perfection – That's how he was raised. 

But, fieldwork always means dirty. Blood, mud, stagnant water, human fluids… And most of the time, he avoided approaching too much to the scene. It gave him a strange feeling of anxiety.

It took him a while to understand that what he meant was that he was overdressed. And, if he wanted to get involved to the maximum with the fieldwork, his attire had to change. 

Besides, being the target of the Chief’s mockery helped quite a lot in his decision. Miles never understood why he compared him to a cop from a seventies TV show until the sergeant talked to him over drinks and explained it to him. 

To his surprise, uniform jackets and military boots were the comfiest things he’d ever worn. And getting home and having to toss all of his clothes in the washing machine implied a long day of work. 

As he approached the place the sergeant had indicated during the call, Miles imagined what the scene would look like. The sergeant had given a few details. None, to be more precise. Someone has found a woman in the lake. That’s all he knew. 

Blue and red lights from the patrol cars reflected in the water. A yellow tape surrounding the area marked the place. The area was enlightened by the old street lamps surrounding the body of water, creating an eerie scenery.

The forensic team dressed all in white, had already started working. Some of them were examining the surroundings, helped by special flashlights. In the middle of the lake, two techs were taking the body out with a small boat. 

It was early, so they had a few hours before curious people started to come by. If necessary, he would have no problem requesting the closing of the park and facilitating work for the department. 

After showing his badge, he trespassed the tape and saw an officer interrogating an early runner, who Miles assumed was the witness. 

He saw the Sergeant next to the other side of the fence, so he headed there. 

“Miles, you're here.” He said as soon as he saw him. 

“Good morning, Sergeant,” Miles greeted. “What do we have?”

Tyrell Badd, Sergeant of the Criminal Affairs Department. It had been a year since Miles worked within his unit, which was enough to make him aware of some things. 

Badd always wore the same jacket, cut his beard the same way, and had a cold yet sometimes sarcastic attitude. The only thing that changed lately was he had substituted cigarettes with lollipops, which was a relief for Miles’ nose.

“Female,” Badd answered after taking the sweet treat out of his mouth. “Our buddy there noticed her while he was jogging around the park. At first, he thought she was drunk swimming.”

Miles found it funny how people's brains thought the stupidest things when it was time to deny they were seeing a dead person. “Did he step close to the lake?” 

“No, he saw her from there,” Badd pointed at the path. “And called 911 after seeing the victim won't move. He waited for the patrol at the entrance.” 

Miles pictured the scene in his mind: The witness running around at five am. Finding calmness in the empty park during the early morning was perfect for doing his usual five-mile run. 

He probably took a light breakfast, full of carbs if he was a long-time runner.

Glad by the lack of rain, he came out of his house, went to the park, and did his usual routine. 

Until he passed by the lake and saw a woman. Thinking she was swimming, he called for her. Seconds later, his mind rationalizes what he is seeing. Calls emergency services, and follows instructions. 

“We should take his footprints anyway,” Miles said.

Badd looked at him for a brief moment. Without questioning, he called the first tech he saw. “You. Take the witness’ fingerprints and footprints. Tell him it’s routine protocol.” 

Badd rarely questioned him. And, if he did, he wouldn’t say anything. He didn’t let Miles do whatever, but he gave him a certain freedom. If he wanted to interview the witnesses again, they would. If he wanted to take a witness's fingerprints, they would. 

Miles didn’t understand why he did that considering that many times, he was mistaken. 

“Hey, Miles!” The other detective approached them, walking down to the lake.  “Have you brought some coffee for your uncle Ray?” 

“Raymond, leave the kid alone,” Badd said. “What has our friend said?”

Badd had called him "the kid" since Miles started as a cop.

Fresh-graduated from the academy Miles didn't like it. He didn't want to be seen as a kid for being the youngest detective within his unit. Within the entire bureau.  

Forever a detective, Raymond Shields (besides what it might seem at first) was a smart guy. Always joking around, and not taking things too seriously most of the time. 

Sergeant Badd and Raymond Shields were peculiar men. Since Miles had started working on his team, he had tried to analyze them and understand certain patterns of their behavior. But, he’d failed; somehow, that made Miles appreciate them more. 

“Same story,” Raymond opened his small notebook.  “He found her while jogging. Around five pm.”

“Has he seen someone suspicious around?” Miles asked. 

“Nah, it was too dark. Besides the paths, the park isn’t well-lighted,” Raymond said. “He claims that he rarely crosses with somebody else this early. So, he would’ve noticed.”

"Sergeant Badd!" The forensic called. 

The three men responded to the call, approaching the body (now out of the water).

Miles took a moment to look at her. It was a brunette woman, probably around his age. She was pretty. Her olive skin tone had gone off, and the pallor mortis could be noticed in her lips. 

"The body was floating, so she died before they brought her here. I don't think that drowning is the cause of death," The female forensic said. "The water is freezing, and I cannot tell exactly how much time she's been dead. But, by the skin state and the lack of bloat, I would say that she has been in the lake since midnight,"

"Six hours in the water," Badd said, rubbing his chin. "Sexual assault?"

"The state of the body would complicate finding biological evidence," She answered, checking the rigid arms of the victim with the gloves on. "She is dressed. As I said, I cannot make any solid conclusion. We won't know until I perform the autopsy," 

"Would you be able to extract the fingerprints?" Badd asked. 

"Sure," The foreman assured. "Even wet and coarse, the fingers' skin stays intact," 

Miles crouched down to see the body. No violent marks, just dull and wrinkled skin. 

Half of her body was hidden under the blue bag. 

The hair stuck to the blue fabric, making her look like a magic creature. Like a siren. 

Never had Miles seen such a drowned body like that. He had never seen one, actually. Or at least not in real life. He’d seen pictures while studying them. But that body was nothing like the pictures. It wasn’t rotten, it wasn’t gross. 

And she was fresh, no smell. 

Decomposition in submerged bodies was something exceptional. The water retreats the rotting process, conserving clothes in a perfect state. The seaweed and mold didn't catch her, and she was barely bloated. However, it has its hazards. As the decomposition quickly accelerates its process once the body is out, reclaiming the lost hours. 

Suddenly, his stomach crawled. Maybe it was the coffee mixed with the granola bar he'd taken before leaving home. 

"What do you think, Miles?" Raymond asked. 

Miles cleared his throat, trying to send the nausea again. "Yesterday we were at fifty degrees. Rainy. It's a bit cold to be wearing a short sleeve shirt and jeans," 

"Maybe she's a prostitute," Raymond theorized. 

"Even whores wear coats in the winter," Badd pointed out sarcastically. "You should know it better than us, Ray," 

"Prostitute or not," The forensic interrupted. "I got to take her. I'll call you if I find anything interesting," 

She zipped the bag, and with the help of two techs, the body was carried to the truck. 

Miles took a moment to look around. The scene was nothing but interesting - A body floating in the park's lake found by a runner. 

He was used to all kinds of criminals. Those who hide the bodies, those who try and don't succeed, and those who don't even bother to hide it. This was most likely case number three. 

If the culprit wanted to make the body disappear, the river was just a few streets down, and it would've been very effective. 

So, why let the world see it? And why the lake? 

"Had we found any belongings?" Miles asked. 

"The officers had combed the perimeter and nothing," Raymond said. “No ID.”

It was impossible that this girl was nobody. Someone must have been missing her at the time. And, as soon as the missing person report was issued, they would be closer to finding the killer. 

“Water is a useful resource if you want to obliterate evidence,” Miles said. “If our culprit is smart, he brought her here during the storm. Knowing there was a minimum chance someone would be around, he carried the body and dumped it in the lake. We won't find any footprints nor fingerprints that belong to him.”

“Dumping her in the lake is not very smart, tho,” Badd put the lollipop in his mouth. “Unless he's a fucking psycho and wanted us to find her.” 

"Carrying a body through a park is an arduous task for one person,” Raymond said. “But, us finding her would mean there will be others.” 

Miles never liked jumping to conclusions that easily. Though at first sight, Raymond's words were to be taken seriously. 

Nobody dumps a body like that. Not unless you're a serial killer. 

"I think it is time to go," Badd said. "We can check missing reports while we wait for Jules' call. Let's identify our victim first."

-

Ten hours later, Forensic Jules had the results. Sergeant Badd drove to the morgue, with Miles as a copilot and Raymond in the back seat. 

Portland's sky had finally cleared as the sunset approached. Although the sun didn't come with warmth. The temperature stood low, and people spent their afternoons in the coziness of their homes or the calmness of a cafe. 

The morgue wasn't that far from the police headquarters, near the University. It was built next to the General Hospital, used by both doctors and the police. 

It was cool inside, so no one took off their jackets. On the other side, the forensic surgeon and her assistant were wearing their medical uniforms, which included short-sleeve surgical shirts. Working twelve hours a day inside a big refrigerator changes your body thermostat, making you almost senseless by the cold. 

Miles placed himself next to the table, where the body lay in silent rest. Due to the temperatures, it didn't smell. He was only able to sniff the aroma of metal (provoked by blood) and the latex from the gloves. 

"She died of an overdose," The forensic said. "As you may see, there are needle holes in her arms."

She twisted the body's arm, letting the detectives see the marks. 

"Also, small pupils, blue nails... And the content in her blood is huge. She was a user for sure," 

"Opioids?" Badd asked. 

"Heroin, yeah," Jules said, placing the arm back in the initial position. "And now something that you would love."

With expectancy, Miles looked at the forensic movements.

Forensic Jules took away the blanket that covered the body until she reached the abdomen. Miles felt his stomach turning again. 

“What’s that? Cigarette burns?” Badd asked. 

The forensic nodded. “Not only cigarettes but also cigars. Some burns are bigger than others.”

Raymond looked at the burns closely. “Were they made the night she was murdered?” 

"Not all of them. The white ones indicate the skin is completely healed. So the burns were provoked around a year ago, more or less," Forensic pointed at the scars with a pen. “The most recent ones are these. The reddish ones.”

Miles felt Sergeant Badd's eyes on him. Avoiding eye contact, he looked at him back. At that moment, Badd gazed away. 

"But this isn't the most interesting thing," With the assistant’s help, they carefully turned the body around, showing her back. 

"What the hell...?" Raymond said. 

On the victim's back, right at her left shoulder's place, there was a mark. A big mark in the flesh, covered by blood scrub. 

"It's a first-degree burnt, almost healed," Forensic explained "It was made with a very hot metallic object."

"Looks like what they used to do to animals," Miles pointed out after being quiet for too long. "It's like a mark, to know who the cow belongs to. It’s called cattle brand." 

"I've never seen such a thing," Badd said with a disgusted undertone. 

"Here, I’d taken pictures," Forensic Jules handed them a file, which Miles took. "Here is also the full report. Her fingerprints aren’t in the system, so there’s not much else that I can do."

“Alright. Thanks a ton, Jules.” Badd said. 

“As always it’s my job,” She said. “I’ll keep the body here for a week. Let’s hope someone is missing her.”

Back outside, Miles maintained the file closed. He didn't understand what had happened to him. He’d already seen a few cadavers, but this one made him want to puke. 

"You know what this sounds like?" Badd said as opening the car's door. "Sex trafficking,"

"It wouldn't surprise me," Raymond said. "Miles, you weren't here. But two years ago we dismantled a whole ass ring."

"I read about it," Miles said. "You think the same people did this?"

"Maybe," Badd shrugged, pulling on. "They're all in jail, but they have someone on the outside who helps them with all the shit. It wouldn't be the first time that I see it."

"So, you are saying that we can assume it's the same guys?" Miles asked. 

"I'm just saying that it wouldn't be too much to pay them a little visit at prison. Maybe they know who did this."

“The girl was tortured for quite some time,” Miles pointed out. “It isn’t the usual behavior of a pimp.”

“These are no pimps, kid,” Badd said, looking at him through the mirrored glass. “These are human scum.”

-

Miles had a relatively easy mystery. Young woman found dead - The usual story. If Badd and Raymond were right, the pimps would give them all the information they needed. 

He had seen similar cases where the victims ended up being identified by a friend or another sex worker. The mark at the back was the thing that tingled the back of his head. 

Usually, there was a process to be considered as one. Like a "training". Afterward, they got picked by someone willing to turn them into an inversion. To avoid problems between bosses, the girls were marked. It also made it easier to identify if they had a problem with a client. 

Using the cattle brand might be a new form to identify the workers. More sadistic than a tattoo, for sure. That was what intrigued him. Why was there a need to do that? To submit a girl to such torture to identify her as your worker? 

Starting from the idea that being a human trafficker is already, in itself, crazy.

Anyway, Miles decided to give his ideas a second thought while at the gym. 

On nights like that, the sergeant used to buy him a drink. Overall if Miles was having a bad time. But Miles preferred to spend the time after his shifts releasing some cortisol. 

Even though he had been feeling dizzy all day, Miles wanted to do his usual workout as it would help him think more clearly.

He ate something simple for dinner and then drove there with the expectancy of finding it almost empty. He succeeded. 

Miles repeated it almost every day, sharing the space with the same five people. 

That day, he decided to try and lift more weight. So, he took two of the lifts that were piled up. At first, it was easy. But then changed to a more heavy ones. He didn't last much without noticing how hard it was being for him. 

The young detective surrendered after a few minutes and lay on the floor while catching some air. 

His chest went up and down as the image of the woman from the lake came back to his mind. The burns and the overdose. He began to build a theory. 

Maybe she was with someone that night. She got high and accidentally took too much. When her heart stopped, and she was carried to the park. What a weird way to hide a body. 

No, that couldn’t be. 

She was part of a sex trafficking ring. Someone bought her and tortured her for months. Sexual release, or maybe as a punishment for what she was. It was something sadistic for sure. 

Miles got out of his dissociation when a man looked at him from above. He moved his mouth like he was saying something. Miles didn't hear him. Soon he noticed that he was wearing his headphones. 

Miles took them off with confusion. "Pardon?"

"I asked if you are okay," The man said. 

Miles observed him while still lying. The man was tall, probably a bit taller than him. Blond, sharp face, and Asian features. He had never seen him there before.

"Yes, I am," Miles got up. "I was just catching a breath." 

The man smiled like he was amused by the response. "It seemed that you had gone to another universe." 

"Excuse me?" Miles didn't fully understand if he was joking or serious. 

"Nothing," He said, brushing it off. Then, Miles understood that he was trying to be nice. "Do you mind if I borrow one of these?" 

He pointed at one of the heavyweights.

Miles nodded. "Sure. I have finished already." 

The blond man picked both weights. Miles looked at him while wondering if he would give him any further conversation. 

But he didn't. With a small "thank you" the man walked away, heading to another corner of the room. Miles wasn't a man of small chat. However, he found himself looking for more. 

Maybe it was the solitude that made him feel the need to find someone willing to talk to him. To give him conversation, to find him interesting. A friend. 

After his failed weightlifting workout, he headed the running machine. His five-mile run was smooth, and anxiety-releasing. Just as he was looking for. 

Maybe he wasn’t made to be strong. But Miles was made for running fast. 

-

Miles arrived home late at night. He parked the car inside the garage, protecting it from the storm. While doing so, he noticed that the spark plug made a strange sound. It wasn’t the first time that happened. And it was also not surprising. His red Ford from the nineties somehow was kept in one piece after twenty years. 

He cursed in a whisper while taking off the keys. If the car broke, he didn’t have enough money to pay a reparation. And by the residual knowledge in his head about cars, Miles was sure the pieces it needed weren’t manufactured anymore. 

Laying on the wheel, he took a deep breath. If he saved a little bit of money, he could get the red Mustang of his dreams. 

Carrying his gym bag, he turned the keys and opened the thick wood door. The first thing that came to him was the smell of heavily roasted hazelnuts and dark chocolate. An orange-toned light that came from the kitchen made him know that his sister was still up.  

It was a relatively big house. Victorian style. With a porch and a garden that surrounded the land. Everything was made of dark brown wood. Like everything in his life, it still stands beside the years and the rain. 

Now that it was his, Miles didn't feel any different. He decided not to change any furniture or make reforms as he liked it just like that. He only replaced some things from the kitchen and bought new sheets. Besides that, all remained the same as it was since he was five. 

He walked through the corridor until arriving at the kitchen. 

Franziska was sitting at the table, reading through a document. In front of her was an empty bowl, probably previously full of ice cream. 

"You're still up?"

Franziska hum. "I have an important test tomorrow. I need of the details fresh," 

Franziska was disciplined, a value that came from family. “I made cookies. You want some?” 

“Are they partially burnt?”

“How do you…?”

“Because you’ve been burning the cookies since you were eight, Fran,” Miles said. “And I could smell it from the front door.”

Franziska frowned, annoyed by her brother’s teasing. 

"How was your workout?" She asked, poking her head up. "Are you bulked yet?" 

"No, not yet," Miles said. "I'm going to bed. Don't stay up too late."

"I'm not ten."

"If you don't sleep, tomorrow you'll be angry and won't give a good performance, Franziska."

Both knew that it was true. Sleep quality is key for a good memory. 

"Alright…” Franziska sighed unwillingly. “Good night."

"Good night."

Miles was too tired to have a full shower, so he just washed his body and got his hair a bit wet. The morning after, he would wash it before heading to work. He liked to wake up early, so it wouldn't be a problem to do so. 

After putting on the pajamas he checked his phone. He knew it wasn’t healthy, but Miles barely touched it during the day due to his busyness. 

Two messages from Matt.  

Miles opened the chat. 

Matt: ‘Hey, I was wondering if you'd want to hang out this Thursday after your shift’

Matt: ‘Bowling? Drinks on me.’

A brief smile appeared on his lips. 

He'd met Matt a couple of weeks back during an investigation. Miles was investigating serial arsons that had happened just before the holidays. 

Matt was second-in-charge in the district's firefighters park. Miles interviewed him about the fires and also asked for the reports. 

The surprise came when Matt invited him for a coffee afterward. Miles was on service. And so was him, said Matt. 

He was a firefighter. They talked about the arsons but didn't last much without changing the subject. They talked about college, Los Angeles, and briefly about work. 

Matt was Californian. Tall, with light brown hair. Strong, a bit of a teaser, but quite intelligent. 

And Miles wanted to know more about him. 

Maybe he was getting excited too fast. He didn't even know if he was even trying to flirt with him. But he must be, right? Not everyone he interviewed wanted to buy him a coffee or asked for his number. 

He'd never had a long-term, formal relationship. Not that he was lack of experience. 

His first hook-up was in his last year of college. At nineteen, he was the youngest in his class. During a party (to which his roommate had insisted he go), he met a senior pre-med student. And at some point, he ended up inside the guy’s car. 

During his first year of law school, he met another guy. Andrew. He’d majored in philosophy, and Miles thought they were pretty much intellectually compatible. But they broke up when Miles expressed his desire to be a cop. 

Then, he met John. John was an accountant. The job that is considered the most boring of all time. Though Miles found John an interesting person, John couldn't say the same about Miles after two months of dating. 

And that was pretty much it. 

His love life was something people would refer to as ‘depressing’. But Miles wouldn’t agree. 

On the contrary, many times he wondered if all that had been love. Because he didn’t miss any of those men nor felt sad by thinking about them. 

He hooked up with the pre-med because he’d never kissed another man. He was with Andrew because he was smart enough to understand him. And John made good coffee. 

The feeling of knowing that someone else loves you was fine, but not big enough to miss it. 

Maybe with Matt, it would be different. Miles felt like he could love him. 

After arranging his date, Miles lay in bed. 

For most people, that is usually the best time of the day. When touching the smooth cotton sheets after a long day of work, meant resting and letting the sleepiness hold you and embrace you in its arms. To finally let your mind shut down, and fall into a profound dream.

But for Miles, the process was way far from that. When he hit the bed, it was when his brain started to speed up, bringing undesirable thoughts to his mind and preventing him from sleeping. 

Firstly, he thought about the case, and how he would approach it the next day. 

After making a basic croquis on it, he changed to another topic. 

The guy in the gym. Miles questioned himself if he found him attractive or not, while as well revisiting their conversation. Maybe the guy thought that Miles was dumb, or rather felt there was something weird about him. Miles didn't know if he should do something about it or not. After all, it was just a random encounter. Maybe it was high time to change the gym. 

Last but not least, the situation with his father. Franziska and him had been living alone for only a year. But the absence of their father wasn’t that much notorious. The first months felt like a work trip that had extended for too long. When the year hit, Miles started to be conscious about how things were. 

Every night he was torn between the possibility of taking the stand. But it always ended in greater frustration and anxiety. Sleeping on it was not working.

There was not much time left for the trial. And the sole thought of it made Miles’ tummy hurt. The attorney had called him twice already in the past month, expecting him to decide whether he wanted to testify or not. 

He always said the same: “Help your father, Miles. Think about him. Think about you and your sister”

On the other hand, he had the police force and the prosecutor's office, to whom he served and had pledged allegiance. And they had told him that his father was a criminal. And a possible murderer.

Every night he was torn between the possibility of taking the stand. But it always ended in greater frustration and anxiety. Sleeping on it was not working

Miles turned around in bed, attempting to brush off his thoughts. He tried to regulate his breathing, following the usual meditation method he had learned in therapy. Even though he knew his thoughts were going to come back, at least if he tried, he knew it would end up working as it usually did. 

The minutes passed, and eventually, he heard steps coming from the stairs. Franziska was going to bed. 

He listened to her sister opening the bathroom’s faucet, and water splashing around. She was probably brushing her teeth. Miles heard the lights being turned off and her room's door being closed. Then he knew his sister was well. With that in mind, he was able to fall asleep. 

-

On the next morning, Miles dropped Franziska at high school. He wished her luck with her exam and looked her walk away until she was inside the building. 

He drove to the station and found a girl sitting at his desk. She seemed agitated, with her eyes staring blankly. 

“Detective,” An officer called him. “That girl is looking for you. She says it’s related to the drowned body found yesterday.”

Miles nodded. “Thanks.”

As he got close to his desk, the girl noticed him but ignored his presence. 

“I’m Detective Edgeworth. You were looking for me?” 

She finally looked at him, but she seemed confused. “You are the detective?”

He nodded. 

“How old are you?”

What a dumb question, thought Miles. “Twenty-three.” 

She shook her head briefly, sighting afterward. “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect to talk to someone my age. I’m Caroline. Caroline Dune.”

Miles was not offended. He was younger than the average person within his rank but didn't want people to think he lacked experience because of it. 

He sat at his desk and crossed his arms. “How can I help you, Caroline?”

“I saw in the news you found a body at Forest Park,” She made a pause while her eyes closed and her shoulders trembled. “I think the woman in the lake is my friend.”

Sergeant Badd and Raymond arrived ten minutes later. They guided Caroline to Badd's office, where Raymond gave her a box of tissues.  

She released her sobbing, almost choking on her tears. When she felt more relaxed, Caroline talked. 

"I saw it on the news," she explained. "My friend Vanessa told me she was going to attend a party last night. But I didn't want to go... A-and the description suits her." 

"Did you see her before the party?" Miles asked. 

"She came into my house," Caroline said, while a tear came down her cheek and she wept it with her hand. "We planned to sleep over, but she suddenly came with the party thing. She promised me she would come back, but she didn't... I wish I could've done something else to stop her."

He didn't want to be the one to say it, but somebody had to. "Miss Dune, if you could come with us to the morgue..."

"That won't be necessary," Badd interrupted. Miles glanced at Sergeant Badd, who presented an enigmatic poker face. "Ma'am, is there any identification mark you can point out about your friend Vanessa?" 

"She was wearing Levi's, both shirt and pants," she said, containing her sobbing. "She has... a big mole in the middle of her neck. I can show you a picture..." 

Badd had been right earlier. It wasn't necessary. The victim was Caroline's friend. 

-

When Caroline identified her friend's body, they were finally able to name the victim. It was Vanessa Rivera, a Latin-American twenty-three-year-old med student. 

Vanessa lived with her dad, a Salvadorean man who worked as a mechanic. They called him immediately. 

He never reported the disappearance because his daughter said she was spending the night at Caroline’s. 

It was the first time Miles saw a father completely burst into tears. He'd seen men get violent, or silent when knowing that a loved one had been murdered. 

That moved him. And he knew at that very moment the image of Alejandro Rivera would follow him to the end of his days as the image of unconditional paternal love. 

None of them, Caroline nor Vanessa's dad knew she was a drug user. And neither knew about her scars or the mark. 

The case made a twist Miles wasn’t expecting. The victim wasn't a prostitute. It was a college student.

Not that she was more important then, but the media and the world's point of view would consider it like that. 

The new facts completely changed the perspective with which he looked at that crime. 

Two weeks later, another body was found in the woods, at the creek. A moth passed, and another victim was discovered in a swamp. 

Finally, they could say that they were facing a serial killer. It was Miles' first, and he didn't know how to feel about it. 'Excited' is not a word you would use to describe that kind of situation. 

He was able to see what a human being could do to others with little to inexistent remorse. He had seen passional killings. Deaths that were caused for a reason - Though not rational ones. But this time there was no reason. 

During March, the Chief called the FBI for assistance. Though, the feds couldn't do much. After finding one more body, the murders stopped abruptly. And the case went cold. 

Other cases happened, and the box with the Brand Killer's (name given by the media) case was left to be forgotten at the station's archive. 

It had been years since Miles had thought about it. Sometimes he dreamt with Vanessa's body. 

Deep inside him, he knew that, if the killer was to come back, he would do so too. 

Chapter Text

Atlanta, Georgia.

20th June, 7 am. 4 months after Phoenix left.

Miles was face down on his bed. He'd just woke up, but didn't want to get up yet. 

He needed a moment. A moment to get his shit together before starting the day. 

Burying his face in the sheets, Miles tried to smell an aroma that wasn't there anymore. But he hoped to find some trace of it in the pillow. 

He genuinely expected that things would eventually feel easier. That he would start to forget, and life would return to how it was before. 

Unfortunately, Miles was wrong. 

He'd tried to restrict this action as much as possible. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop thinking about him

How could he? Everything remembered him to Phoenix. 

His couch, where they had drank coffee and ate noodles after a long day. 

His kitchen, where they kissed for the first time. And kissed a million times more. 

His bathroom, where Phoenix applied his hair gel in the mornings. 

His room, where (most of) the love-making happened. 

It wasn't exclusively of the house. At his office, Miles remembered every time Phoenix had come in and wished him 'good morning' and 'good night'. 

Miles tucked a hand under his body, caressing his abdomen. 

'I love you', were Phoenix's last words. 

Miles moaned softly, feeling a knot forming in his gut while trying to hold up his tears. 

Every day he regretted what he said next. And then started a fight that ended things. 

But there was little Miles could do. 

Phoenix left. Not only Atlanta, but also Miles’ life. 

He'd been hurt. He was hurt by someone he'd fallen in love with. 

And that someone wasn't going to come back. 

Finding Phoenix was digging into him and Lana was a hard gasp of reality. Their relationship couldn’t continue in their situation. Not if a psychopath had manipulated Phoenix into believing things that weren’t real. 

Miles had told him many times how much he trusted Lana, and it crushed him to find that Phoenix tried to ruin her career.

Phoenix had always been suspicious of her. And it had been very easy for him to investigate her. Overall because of his contacts in the FBI. 

There was also the fact that Phoenix had some documents about Miles. About his private life. 

And all because Phoenix thought Miles lied about so many things. 

But the reality could not be further from that. 

Kristoph was right about a lot of things. He had not tampered with Phoenix, he exposed the truth to him. And Phoenix had been smart enough to find clues that proved all the dirtydoings. 

Miles only became conscious of it after doing his digging, discovering the truth about what the Prosecutor’s Office had done. 

Deep down, he knew. He knew something was going on from the very day Calisto Yew showed up at the police station. But Miles was blinded by trust. 

Trust in the justice system. Trust in Lana. 

Regina’s case only became tougher when powerful people became involved. The former Chief Prosecutor and the mayor had moved the strings. Without him knowing. 

Even if they'd tried to hide it, Miles found out Ernest Amano was responsible for the substance trafficking. Thanks to him, Kristoph Gavin had acquired the drug he later administered to his victims. 

The case could have been solved earlier if the analysis wouldn’t have been confiscated. And Miles felt guilty about it. 

He'd been corrupt without even noticing. Phoenix probably thought of him the contrary. And that's why he was digging. 

In addition to it, Miles started to suspect that Lana knew all along. She would do anything to be Chief Prosecutor. Even committing burglary and falsification of evidence. 

When Miles became aware of all that happened, Lana was already throwing a party for her promotion. And an unexpected call surprised him in the middle of the night. 

They offered something big. But Miles was tired of big offers. He wanted to be left alone for some time. 

He decided to continue with what he had promised to his sister. 

The two weeks he spent in Portland felt like the first real vacation he had had in a long time. After everything that had happened, Miles needed some time to think. About everything. However, he was aware that once he returned, everything he had been avoiding would come crashing down on him.

He attended his sister's graduation. He celebrated his thirty-second birthday at home with a strawberry and cream cake while they watched their favorite musical movies.

Miles decided to spend time reading and visiting places in the city. In his eyes, Portland hadn’t changed a bit. It was still as weird, diverse, and damp as ever. He loved it.

Returning home might have been a bit harder, but spending time with Franziska had made everything more bearable. After his brief absence, he was forced to return to Atlanta and continue with his duties. Luckily, he immediately got involved in a new case that took up all his time.

So, instead of spending the morning in self-pity and thinking about mistakes that had already been made, Miles got up from bed and headed to work. 

-

June 20th. 10 am. Milton, Atlanta. 

On that day, he had to visit one of the suburbs of Atlanta with Gumshoe and Kay, looking for clues about the thefts that had occurred in recent weeks. At first glance, they seemed like simple cases of breaking. Until things got weirder. 

The breaker didn’t steal anything. But suddenly assaulted a woman and injured her severely.

Their thief left no clues. He entered and exited houses when the owners were not home, usually in broad daylight. Three days ago, a new theft had occurred, but the thief encountered the homeowner. She was still unconscious in the ICU.

A couple of hours later, he was on a round to interview the victim's neighbors, hoping that maybe any of them saw something. 

“Do you remember if you saw anything unusual that week?” Miles asked the woman from the house in front of the victim's. “Anyone lurking around the house or a car you didn’t recognize?”

“No, Inspector. Everything seemed normal,” said the woman, clutching her apron tightly. “Is Rose okay? They haven’t let me visit her in the hospital.”

Rose Turner wasn’t okay. And Miles thought it wasn’t necessary to describe to that woman the reasons why her neighbor had been hospitalized. Behind her, a small child appeared, clinging to his mother’s skirt.

“Kevin, go play. I’m talking to these gentlemen…” she said, caressing her child’s hair. “Mommy would be there in a minute.”

The boy looked at Miles briefly and then went back inside the house. The woman turned to ensure her son was not nearby while they talked.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Rice,” Gumshoe reassured her. “Make sure to keep the door and windows closed. Just for your safety.”

“Let us know if you remember anything,” Miles added, extending a card.

The three left Mrs. Rice’s porch and headed back to the car.

“Sir, it doesn’t seem like we’re going to get any clues from the neighbors.”

“This guy seems to slip away very easily,” Kay said. “I’d commend him as a thief if he weren’t a rapist.”

Miles looked at her with seriousness. “I don’t think we should direct our praise towards any kind of criminal, Kay.” 

“You have to admit, sir, he’s pretty good,” Gumshoe said. “He gets into houses without triggering the alarm. Like a ninja.”

Miles wanted to reiterate the fact that they were talking about a criminal. Someone who had committed sexual assault. 

But Gumshoe’s words echoed in his head. In the five houses where the thefts had occurred, the thief had bypassed the security systems.

Initially, Miles thought the families had forgotten to set the alarm when they left, or the thief had some kind of jammer that allowed him to move freely through the house. But the reality was much simpler than all that.

“Do we have the security company reports?”

Gumshoe shook his head. “We haven’t requested them, sir.”

“Then request them. I’m sure all the families have the same company contracted.”

Kay got up from the backseat. “How can you know that, Mr. Edgeworth?”

“Because our thief friend isn’t a ninja,” Miles paused. Why he hadn’t realized it sooner? “He’s an alarm installer.”

-

June 20th, noon. Atlanta Police Department

“It makes sense,” said Miles after setting up his evidence board. “If he works as an installer, he has access to his clients’ houses. He can even inspect the houses while he works and decide which are the best targets.”

Kay and Gumshoe were seated at the table and nodded while taking notes. 

“And why break in?” Kay asked. 

“I’ve thought that maybe he’s some kind of stalker,” Miles explained. “Doing it makes him feel powerful, besides the adrenaline it surely gives him. Also, think about what he does. He rummages through drawers and leaves living rooms and kitchens upside down as if looking for something. But then leaves everything tidy and nothing ever seems to be missing.”

“He stole a necklace from the Dallas’s daughter,” Gumshoe pointed out. “Could that mean something?”

Miles gave a second thought to his ideas. If his theory was correct, the thief wasn’t looking to steal anything of value. Not money, not jewelry. But he did steal one thing that was significant to someone in the victim's families.

“I need you to call the families again. Have them check if they’re missing anything. Specifically, ask the women of the house,” Miles said. “Ask Rose Shelly’s husband if his wife is missing anything. A ring or a piece of clothing. If think his purpose isn’t stealing, but creating some kind of twisted game.”

His thoughts were racing. He even started to feel his temples throbbing. He was already completely immersed in the case, and it would be hard to get out.

“Mr. Edgeworth, do you think we’re dealing with a collector?”

Miles nodded. “A somewhat unusual one, but yes.”

At that moment, Mia entered the room. Miles didn't notice her as he was still admiring the board. 

“Miles, Lana has arrived.”

Miles looked at Mia then, and his mind drifted from the case. What he wanted to avoid was going to happen, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. 

“I’ll be right back,” he said before leaving.

He followed Mia to her office, where Lana was already sitting in one of the chairs. Miles wasn’t nervous, or at least he wouldn’t describe his physiological state as “nervous.”

He was anxious. His breathing had slowed until he felt the need to take a big gulp of air before coming in. 

The trials for Kristoph’s crimes were in process. Lana’s first act as the new chief prosecutor had been to expedite the judicial process as much as possible. She wanted Kristoph behind bars before the anniversary of Regina Berry’s kidnapping. Less than a month remained. Miles trusted she could do it. Lana was ambition personified. 

She glanced at him briefly when Miles sat down beside her.

“Inspector Edgeworth,” Lana greeted him. “How’s the thief case going?”

“We’re close, ma’am,” Now Lana was his boss, and he had to treat her more formally than before. “I think we know how he manages to get into the houses.” 

“I’m glad to hear that,” she said, though her expression conveyed not a hint of joy. “Let’s get to the point. How is Regina Berry?”

“She’s doing well. I was with her yesterday afternoon,” he said.

Miles hadn’t stopped visiting Regina since he found her. Viola and Iris were already well and receiving psychological help at home. But they were not going to testify. They were too young to undergo interrogations and judicial processes. What those girls needed was to heal—if they could.

In reality, Miles thought Regina shouldn’t either. But she was willing to do it. Or so she had expressed to him. 

The testimony of one of the victims was crucial for such cases. A guilty verdict would be much quicker, as any jury would believe the story told by a child victim of kidnapping.

“Do you think she’ll be ready for next week’s trial? I want her to be my star witness,” Lana said.

“I suppose the psychologist will have to determine that, ma’am,” judging by Lana’s look, Miles knew she wasn’t expecting that response. “I suppose she is. She eats properly and talks to me every day.”

“Perfect then,” Lana seemed satisfied. “What about Gavin's brother? Do we know anything about him?”

“He left the city,” Miles assured. 

“Understandable,” Lana sighed. “I would too if my brother had committed such atrocities.” 

Miles understood Klavier to the core. He knew he was somewhere in Virginia, but wasn't going to share that detail with Lana. 

The chief prosecutor stood up, fixing her attire after doing so. “Then there’s not much left for me to do here. Mia, have you been able to contact Mr. Wright? His testimony will be of great help. After all, he’s also a victim.”

Miles’s heart pounded in his chest. Every day he tried not to think about him. But he knew that as long as the case lasted, he was going to hear his name.

Mia clicked her tongue with concern. “I’m afraid Mr. Wright…”

“I will testify for him,” Miles interrupted Mia and looked at Lana firmly. “I was a witness to what happened. And I’m here. He's not. And he doesn’t have to come.”

“Very well,” Lana didn’t argue. “I’ll inform the judge. The final trial will take place exactly one week from today.”

Lana gave them both a look before saying goodbye. Mia’s office fell silent for a few moments, and Miles could only hear his pulse trying to return to normal.

“Miles…” Mia called to him. “You know you don’t have to do it. Phoenix…”

Miles stood up abruptly. He didn’t want to hear what Mia was going to say. “I want to request leave for this weekend. I’ve been invited to a conference in Los Angeles, and I wish to go.”

Mia softened her expression and sighed. “Okay.”

Miles nodded and headed to the door. He had to get back to his case as soon as possible.

“But Miles,” Mia stopped him just before he left. “You can’t avoid the topic forever.”

Still, with his back to her, Miles said nothing and opened the door.

Yes, he could. Because he was already doing it.

-

June 21st, 8 am. Jonesboro, Georgia. 

The call Miles received the next morning was not what he expected. Neither another theft nor another assault. But it wasn’t something much happier either. Kay’s grandmother had passed away.

Gumshoe broke the news to him, indicating that Kay was going to travel that very morning to her grandmother’s house.

They couldn’t afford to stop the investigation at that moment, but the situation required it.

Miles called Kay to try to console her. She was devastated and couldn’t stop crying. The funeral arrangements were already underway thanks to the village pastor so that very afternoon they would bury the woman.

Miles called the station to explain the situation and left the case in the hands of another detective, who was to handle the paperwork while he was away.

The first thing he did afterward was order a cake and prepare some macaroni and cheese. He knew it was a tradition in the South to bring food to funerals as a gift to the deceased’s family. Besides, he knew Kay wouldn’t be able to cook for herself for days. And making her favorite dish could also be a way to comfort her.

In the afternoon, he drove to Jonesboro, in Clayton County. Although Kay’s family was from Albany County, her grandmother had moved nearby once her granddaughter got a job with the Atlanta police. That way, it was easier for Kay to visit her every week. 

Despite Kay’s insistence on moving to the city, the woman had refused. She preferred to spend the rest of her life in a quiet village rather than in a chaotic city.

July had brought higher temperatures to the South, and also a suffocating humidity. The skies were cloudy, but not a single drop of rain fell during that day. 

Miles was wearing a black suit and quickly felt the sweat threatening to come out. 

Grandma Faraday’s house was white, with a blue-gray roof. The garden looked well-tended, and wild roses had been planted at the entrance.

Miles had been there a few times, accompanying Kay on her visits. He didn’t know her grandmother very well, but the iced tea she made was delicious.

Inside were already Gumshoe and his wife, Maggey, as well as Ema. Kay was on the sofa, wearing a black dress that reached her knee. She had her hair tied up in her usual high ponytail, though the brightness in her face had faded.

A fan was placed in the middle of the room to try to dissipate the heat. 

“Hello, Mr. Edgeworth,” Ema greeted him. She was wearing dark clothes. Miles had never seen her like that. “Let me. I’ll put what you brought in the kitchen.”

“Thank you, Ema.”

She gave him an attempted smile as she took the container of macaroni and the cake.

Miles sat on the sofa after greeting Gumshoe and his wife. The first thing he did was place his hand on Kay’s shoulder, who hugged him immediately.

Kay was devastated, and rightfully so. Her parents died when she was very young, and her grandmother was the only family she had left. But, at a certain point, she felt relieved by the fact that she didn't suffer.

The old woman had passed away during her sleep. Her heart suddenly stopped, resulting in immediate death. Her nurse found her that same morning. 

When everyone was there, they went to church. The pastor gave Kay his condolences and performed a short ceremony, where Kay gave a small speech. 

The five of them were joined by three old ladies from the village who were neighbors of Mrs. Faraday. 

But Kay didn't want to talk to them much. Nor with anyone else.

Her grandma was incinerated right after. Kay told Miles that her grandma’s desire was to be buried next to his son. So, Kay would take the ashes to Albany the following weekend. 

Back in the house, they had lunch. The ladies from town shared stories about the gardening club and how funny Mrs. Faraday was. 

It got late, so Gumshoe and Maggie said goodbye, giving a big hug to Kay. Ema also had to leave since she could not be absent from work for a long time. The house remained empty. Miles and Kay were the only ones left.

When the night approached, Kay took off her dress and got in comfortable clothes. Miles got rid of his suit and rolled up his sleeves and his pants. They opened the door and the windows, letting the cool night air enter the house and cool the atmosphere. 

They stayed sitting at the kitchen table playing cards. Kay spent the rest of the day drinking cold bear and eating the cherry pie Miles had brought. 

Miles decided to start a conversation when they were about to start playing poker. 

“Your speech was beautiful,” Miles said. 

“That's what everybody said,” Kay responded, organizing the tokens. “What am I supposed to do now with this house? I don't want to sell it,”

Miles looked at his cards. “Is that what concerns you? You can keep it if you want,” 

Kay let go of a long, tired sight. “I don't want to deal with it.” 

That was one of the things they were both alike in. Dealing with feelings wasn't their thing.

“I’m sure there’s something we can do,” Miles said. 

He started to think about it, looking for solutions. In the end, he would do anything to help Kay. She could keep it and rent it, or use it as a vacation place. 

“Those women knew nothing about my grandma,” Kay complained. “They only knew her for three years.”

“They must appreciate her quite a lot. After all, they’ve come to her funeral.”

“Can we talk about something else, please?” Kay asked. “Like... How I’m about to beat you up at poker?” 

“Sure,” Miles nodded, putting the deck of cards aside. “But I warn you. I’ve played with the entire Prosecutor’s Office… And Lana is the only one who can beat me.”

“We’ll see,” Kay said, smirking briefly. 

His staying had the purpose of distracting her until she went to sleep. Seeing her have fun felt like a reward. 

“By the way. What did Prosecutor Skye want yesterday?”

“She asked about Regina,” Miles explained. “Witnesses are crucial to this case. She’s taking it very seriously as the new Chief Prosecutor.”

“It’s understandable…” Kay sighed, pensive while shuffling her cards.“The Police Chief is retiring, too… Are you going to take his position?”

Kay’s question caught him by surprise. But his answer was clear since months ago.

“No,” Miles said redundantly. Though, he hadn’t been truthful about his real plan. “But, I'm thinking about leaving.”

Kay poked her head up in shock. “What? Where?”

“Far away from here,” Miles couldn’t keep it a secret. Not to Kay. “The trial will end next week. Kristoph will be on death row and I don't want to stay here to see everything fall apart.”

She nodded. “Can I go with you?” 

“No,” He answered bluntly. “Kay, you have a life here.”

“Mr. Edgeworth, please… I don't want to stay either,” she said, with her eyes about to burst into tears. “I want to change. Just like you.” 

Miles wasn't going to give in. 

“What about work?” Miles insisted. “What about Ema?”

Kay doubted for a moment. “We can bring Ema too! She's so smart… I'm sure she can find a new job anywhere.” 

She was hurt. And she wasn't thinking rationally. 

Dreaming about a perfect life, away from what makes you sad is never the solution. Miles couldn't let her do that to herself. 

He had to push the topic aside. The last thing Kay needed was to think about running away from her problems. Miles didn’t want her to be similar to him in that aspect. 

“I have a trip to California. I'm giving a masterclass at UCLA,” Miles explained. “We can make our decision once I'm back.” 

Kay resigned herself and they continued with the game without talking more about the subject. 

As expected, Miles won the game. 

It was already late and it didn't take long for Kay to fall asleep on the couch. As he covered her with a blanket, Miles pondered the idea of taking her with him.

She was his partner. His best friend. And sometimes felt like a sister, or even a daughter to him. 

Miles knew how much he meant to Kay. Abandoning her didn’t feel right. He needed to meditate about it. 

-

June 24th. Los Angeles, California. 

He had spent the night in his hotel, wondering what he should do. He had two things clear: first, he didn’t want to be Chief of Police; second, he didn’t want to stay in Atlanta. The Regina Berry case had affected him more than it should have. And it was not surprising, considering that a serial killer had tried to manipulate him psychologically and almost killed someone he cared about. 

At times, he wondered if what affected him was not the case itself but how the events of his personal life had unfolded simultaneously with the investigation. 

While the room was dark and Miles was trying to sleep, the thoughts about Phoenix showed up again. 

His heart ached. More than he was willing to admit.

While in Portland, he discovered that his sister had recently started a long-distance relationship with Maya Fey, Mia's sister and Phoenix's best friend. He was happy for his sister; she seemed to have found someone worthwhile for the first time. He was going to support her no matter what had happened between Phoenix and him.

She understood that he didn’t want to see him anymore. However, she asked if there was any possibility of reconciliation. Miles said no. 

He wouldn’t be surprised if Phoenix had indeed decided not to reappear in his life. 

Miles had convinced himself that it was for the best. Because Phoenix would never forgive him. And he could not forgive Phoenix for what he had done either. 

But thinking about him also made a bundle of nerves out of Miles. 

He had too many things in his head to be torturing himself about lost love. 

What worried him at that moment was the decision he had to make. Miles had already considered it a hundred times. He just needed the necessary courage to take it. 

He was going to leave Atlanta. He may move to Los Angeles. Jumping from one police department to another didn’t seem like a bad idea; that way fewer people would know him.

There was also the possibility of returning to Portland permanently. Although that implied many more things than just living there. It implied having to deal with his past and face it as it deserved. But maybe it was about time to do so. 

Adding Kay and Ema to the equation was what concerned him. They were both adults now, but Miles knew he would have to take responsibility for them in many aspects. However, that detail could wait until his return. 

The following day, not having slept much, Miles went to the university campus. 

A former professor had invited him to give a lecture on anthropology applied to the world of criminal investigation. 

Miles had never done something like that before, but he was excited that they had thought of him to speak on the subject. After all, he had enough experience to present his ideas and generate interest among the students. 

Visiting the place he studied brought back many memories. 

The summer he turned sixteen, Miles received an acceptance letter from the University of Los Angeles. He was determined to pursue a degree in anthropology.

Due to his high cognitive abilities, Miles skipped three grades in primary school. However, he didn't see himself as brilliant as others thought. While he could easily solve logic problems, interpreting concepts without rules or previous indications was more challenging for him. He also struggled with maintaining friendships. Despite his difficulties, his school placed him in higher-level classes, making him the youngest high school graduate and university entrant. Looking back, he wondered if he had been too young for this journey.

Within his family, it was expected that he would end up becoming a doctor or a judge like his father. But Miles wanted something different. He wanted to learn to understand the people around him. 

After four years, he realized that there wasn’t a single answer to explain people’s behavior. But along the way, he found many other things he wanted to learn. 

His initial plan was to enter the Law School at UCLA. But his father’s situation forced him to return to Portland to be close to his sister.

All that had been part of the Miles he was at that moment. Besides other subsequent events. 

The university hadn't changed a bit. All the hallways in the College of Letters and Science remained the same. Miles thought about the possibility of visiting the library after his lecture.  

He met with his former professor at his office, who greeted him cheerfully. The man was older, much more than Miles remembered. Of course, almost fifteen years had passed since his graduation. But his desk and his bookshelf remained the same. 

The man accompanied him to the classroom, where he introduced him to the students of the summer course he was taking. 

The class was a bit fuller than expected. But Miles wasn’t nervous. He had prepared his presentation and knew exactly what he was going to say. He had planned to reach a phase of improvisation, but he hoped it wouldn’t come to that. 

When his professor left, Miles connected the computer to the large screen. 

“As Mr. Montgomery has said, I was his student many years ago. However, I don’t work in the anthropology field,” he said to break the ice. “I’m a cop.” 

That seemed to surprise the students, who looked at him with curiosity. 

“I’m an Inspector with the Atlanta police in Georgia. Although, as you may have noticed, I’m not a much of Southerner.” Miles made an unintentional joke, which to his surprise landed well, followed by a murmured laugh. “I’ve worked in two police departments. So, I won’t focus so much on technical aspects of anthropology, but rather I will talk about various cultural aspects that…” 

Miles noticed a man at the back of the room with a rather peculiar appearance. He was much older than the rest of the students. He was silver blond, wore sunglasses, and rather extravagant clothes. 

He seemed vaguely familiar. But Miles decided to ignore him. 

“…that affect the motives for various crimes. But, also society’s reaction to this kind of event. Including the media,” he concluded. “If anyone is squeamish about murders, you are free to leave. There will be no repercussions.” 

No one stood up. Most leaned forward in their seats, looking at Miles expectantly. 

“Very well,” he said, holding the remote control for the screen. “I’m sure many of you are familiar with Jeffrey Dahmer…” 

During the two hours he spoke, he found himself completely immersed in his words. 

The interest shown by his audience in the topics he discussed was quite significant. Although Miles wasn’t too surprised, as younger generations were increasingly accustomed to violence. 

He didn’t show overly explicit images or any corpses. Just some crime scenes or scenes from police series. 

Hands flew up during the question round, many of them about his personal experience both in university and in his career, as many were to be freshmen students. 

When the class ended and several people said goodbye to him, Miles felt satisfied with what he had done. 

However, the next day he had to return to Atlanta and face the harsh reality of his decision. For a moment, he wondered if Kay would like the atmosphere of Los Angeles. 

He had sunk into his thoughts while packing his things. But a presence at the back of the room brought him back to reality. 

The man he had noticed earlier was still there.

“The lecture has finished,” Miles said, gathering his things into his bag. “Also did the time for questions.”

“You're a great lecturer, Mr. Inspector,” The man said. “You should consider dedicating yourself to this at some point.”

The way he had addressed him puzzled Miles. He talked like he’d acquitted him. 

“Who are you?”

The man didn’t answer. He reached into his pocket for something, and Miles frowned. He was hoping the man wouldn't pull out a gun. 

Though, instead he pulled a badge. “I'm SSA Shi-Long Lang. FBI.”

This reassured him in part. However, he felt more confused by his presence. “May I ask why a federal agent is attending a lecture on cultural Anthropology?” 

“To be honest, you're my reason, Mr. Inspector,” Lang kept his badge inside his jacket. “I've been looking for you.”

When he smiled at him, Miles confirmed his suspicions. He had seen the man before. However, he couldn’t recall where or when.

“Maybe you remember me from our first meeting, almost ten years ago. Of course, we’re not as young as we used to be. Are you still getting easily tired when lifting weights?” he smiled again, and something clicked in Miles’s brain. “My supervisor wanted to recruit you back then. But with all the chaos from the Brand Killer case, we had to delay it. When he retired, I wanted to find you. Sadly, you were no longer in Portland.”

It had been nine years since they met at that gym. It was true that Agent Lang had changed since their first encounter. As he had said, they were not as young as they used to be.

“I deduce you’ve come here with the same intention.”

“Of course,” Lang smiled ironically. “I almost forgot about you until I saw you on television. You caught Kristoph Gavin and saved three girls. Pretty impressive.”

“I didn’t do it alone,” a brief image of Phoenix flashed through his mind, then faded after a few moments. “So the credit isn’t exclusively mine.”

“I’m not here to talk about credit and achievements. I’m here to talk about facts,” Lang placed his feet on the table. "More than fifty cases have been solved in the last eight years," Lang said, reading a file. "Sex crimes, most of them involving minors. Thanks to you." 

"I already had this conversation with Andrews," Miles said, crossing his arms. "And I have already given my answer," 

"She offered you a position in the Sex Crimes unit. You refused."  

"Indeed." 

"Then, the Crimes Against Children Unit. The CAC nonetheless. And you also refused,"

"What's your point?" Miles was getting tired of so much chit-chat. If Lang wanted to say something, he wanted to go straight to it. 

Lang shrugged. "I mean... Even I know that's far away from what you want,"

"How do you know what I want?" Miles crossed his arms as a defense sign. That man didn't know him at all and was making assumptions about him and his life. "I'm very comfortable where I am." 

He didn’t seem very convinced by Miles’ words. “Let’s play a game.”

Miles took his bag, ready to leave. “I have no time for games, Agent Lang.”

“Oh, you will love this one.” Lang opened a document and read over it. “Four breaking-ins, with nothing stolen but a necklace from a fifteen-year-old’s room. And also a victim of sexual assault. All of it was in plain sight, without the alarms being triggered. Who’s the culprit?”

When Miles noticed Lang was talking about his current case, his reasons for being there thrilled him even more. “I still don’t know who’s the culprit. It’s an ongoing investigation.”

Lang smirked. “I don’t want a name, Mr. Inspector. I want a description.”

Miles didn't know what to say. He knew nothing about the culprit. He had only deduced some details thanks to the brief evidence he disposed of.

“He’s a white male,” Miles said. “He works in a security alarm company.”

“Come on,” Lang stopped him. “Think further. How do you picture him? What are his reasons? Which are his fears?”

Miles started to form an image in his mind of the culprit. He did it very often, in almost every case when the suspect was still unknown. I had read enough about criminal psychology to build a simple image but considered it as a mere conjecture. 

“His in his late forties. Probably separated or in process. His wife is thinking of leaving him because he’s trying to control too many aspects of his life.”

Lang nodded, letting him continue. 

“He’s an extreme case of OCD, and it shows in his workplace. His table is always perfectly tidy, as well as his set of tools. He’s also quiet and doesn’t share many details about his private life. But everyone at work is concerned about him because of his attitude. It has changed now that his marriage is falling apart.”

“Where does he live?”

“From where the break-ins happened, I assume his family house is in the suburbs,” Miles assured instantly. “He has a small studio or a basement to plan his robberies... And hide his trophies." 

“Why does he break into other people’s houses?”

“He’s having a breakdown… Probably finds satisfaction in tidying up people’s houses. But in the process, he has discovered that he feels sexual amusement from stalking women. That’s why he stole Nichole Dallas’ necklace and assaulted Rose Turner.”

Miles couldn’t believe how he had done that. The words came out of his mouth without thinking, as if he already had it clear from the beginning. 

Lang clapped. “Good job. Striking.”

“I’ve played your little game,” Miles said. “Are you satisfied now?”

"You don't understand, Batman," Lang stood up and walked down the stairs.  

Batman. Miles would've laughed as he found the pet name so absurd, though Lang was rather accurate. 

“I think I’m the best opportunity you have right now.”

Miles crossed his arms. “I don’t think I need an opportunity of any kind.”

"See? You don't get it," Lang said with tenancy. "I'm allowing you to join my team. As an Agent."

"Why do you think I would want to?" Miles couldn't understand why he was there. Trying to convince him of something that he had already refused to do. "I've already said no." 

"Because you are fully aware of your potential," Lang was fast with his response. By giving two steps more, he was then facing Miles. He carried the sunglasses on his head, pulling his hair back. His expression wasn't as fierce by proximity, but calm. "You’ve just made an accurate profile about a predatory stalker with obsessive-compulsive disorder tendencies. Is what we usually call an “UnSub”... You have a brilliant mind and a lot of skills. You're practically an expert on profiling without even training."

Having Lang so close made Miles feel less threatened. His words sound sincere, from the heart. And Miles didn't know how to take it. "I wouldn't consider myself as a profiler..." 

"Oh don't act humble with me, Mr. Inspector. I won't buy it," By how he said it, it seemed like Lang expected that response from him. "Think about it. You get the chance to meet the worst of the worst on this planet Earth. Analyze them, profile them, catch them..." 

"What do I get from it?"  Miles asked as the work was more tedious than it seemed. "I already do that without working for the BAU."

"The truth." 

Truth. The magical word. The only one that mattered to Miles. 

Lang was good. He knew which buttons he had to touch to have Miles completely yield.

"Answers to questions that, another way, you wouldn't be able to understand. And, overall, explore your full potential. While fighting for justice, " Lang smirked. "Isn't that what you want, Mr. Inspector?" 

The convincing sound of his words and the way he said it made a perfect combo to tickle Miles' interest. And almost convinced about it. 

He surprised himself thinking about the possibility of doing it. The possibility of saying yes. But what if that only made things worse?

He was a workaholic, an almost sick level one. That's why Miles was searching for a change. He wanted to move to a place that reminded him of his young days. A youth that he missed a lot. 

But Lang was allowing him to reinvent himself. To change. To scale in the system. To become someone he wanted to be. 

Miles stayed thoughtful for a minute, thinking about all the possible outcomes. What if he said no? What if he went with him? 

But, Lang seemed tired of the silence before Miles could say anything. 

"If you change your mind, you know where to find me," Lang said. 

Lang left a contact card on the table and then proceeded to leave. While he was approaching the door, Miles felt the rush running up to his head. It was then or never. 

"If I go with you," Miles said once Lang was close to the door. "Kay Faraday comes with me." 

Lang turned around. Miles could swear that he saw a brief smile forming on his face. 

"The girl?" He asked raising a brow. "She'll need training. But I was already aware of your possible conditions. She's a detective, right?”

Miles nodded. “But she has no advanced knowledge in criminology.”

"Your kid can continue her studies in Virginia, that won't be a problem." Lang stepped back from the door and approached his side again. “There's an academy in Quantico, she'll learn all she needs there.” 

Miles looked at him as they faced each other again. Now there was no reason for him to say no.

"So, what do you say?" Lang took the card without looking away. "Special Agent Miles Edgeworth?"

Agent Lang offered his hand, and Miles shook it firmly. 

Lang had given him what he wanted all along a decision to leave. 

Chapter Text

Alexandria, Virginia.

March 21st. 7:15 am. 2 years after Atlanta

Getting used to the routine was something Miles found simple. The change of scene, however, wasn’t as easy. 

He’d spent the past year and a half traveling around the country, learning. Lang always said that practice is better than theory. That’s why they interviewed all kinds of criminals. Understanding their behavior and exploring their minds' darkest aspects helped them develop accurate profiles. 

From time to time, his team was requested to help a police department in distress. Miles enjoyed the field job the most, though it wasn’t as often as he’d imagined. Most days, he spent time doing a desk job at the headquarters. 

That morning was like any other. He got up early for his run, got a shower, and then had breakfast. 

Before walking out and heading to work, Miles stood in front of his board. 

He had built it during his first couple of months at the Berau. Now that he had access to any kind of information, he had it easier to compile the insights from years ago. 

The pictures were connected with a red thread. Yellow notes were stuck next to some of them. It looked like in the movies, those movies that Miles had started to get bored of over time. He placed himself there almost every day, waiting for the dots to connect themselves by some sort of magic. 

There wasn’t a case he considered to be not difficult, all of them had their complexity. However, this time it was not the difficulty to solve it that was haunting him, but the difficulty to get it even started. He had a few pieces of evidence and a couple of theories. But of course, it wasn’t enough. The case itself was a whole quagmire. 

It had been haunting him for a decade. And the thought that crimes could have a statute of limitations made him more likely not to stop thinking about it.

“Mr. Edgeworth, are you sure you haven’t gone mad?” Kay asked. “You keep looking at that board every day.” 

Already prepared, Kay leaned against the door. 

Miles shrugged. “Keeps me entertained. And activates my mind in the morning.” 

Facing the board gave him a sentiment of peace. Thinking that he was a step closer to finding something new to add to the strings kept him going. It also got his mind for whatever he had to encounter during the day. 

Kay suddenly gasped. “We’re running late!”

Miles' panic lasted a few seconds, right until he took a look at his watch. They were on time. 

Upset by the joke, and turned around to Kay. “We’re not.” 

“I know…” she shrugged. “But it’s the only way I can catch your attention. This has come in the mail.”

The small package she was holding was wrapped in brown paper. Miles took it as Kay handed it. It was addressed to him. 

He scratched it, revealing what was inside. 

‘The Day I was Gone’ by Regina Berry. 

Surprised by the gift, he opened to the first page. The book came with a letter, as well as a dedication. 

‘To Mr. Edgeworth. 

With love, Regina Berry’

Miles smiled subtly. He kept the letter in his pants pocket and left the book on a table nearby. 

He already had a copy from the first print. But was glad to receive a second edition. And signed by the author nonetheless. 

“What is it?” Kay asked, approaching him.  

“A copy of Regina’s book,” Miles walked through the door. “Come on, we’re going to run late.”

Kay followed him on going down the stairs, where Ema was running around. 

“Mr. Edgeworth!” Ema called, coming from the living room. “Have you seen my glasses? I can’t find them anywhere!” 

Miles sighed. As soon as he gazed around, he saw Ema's glasses located on the kitchen table.

He also noticed that the table was not completely tidy. Ema’s plate was gone, but the remains of Kay's breakfast were still there. 

Miles looked at her with a frowned expression. But Kay seemed to ignore it. 

“I’m not discussing this right now,” Miles muttered. 

Ema was still in the living room, digging through the couch’s pillows. “I’m sure I put them here somewhere…” 

Miles handed her the glasses. “Here, Ema.”

“Oh! Thanks!” She said, happy to see her beloved glasses again. 

“You’re welcome,” Miles spoke softly. “Pick your things, we’re leaving.”

The two girls had their bags ready next to the door. 

Miles took it upon himself to finish clearing up the kitchen table. Then, got his things and was ready to walk out the door. 

What nobody tells you about being a BAU agent is the radical changes you have to make. New job, new city, new house… Even a new car. All the commodities you need are provided by the Government. Miles thought that it was a good strategy to make people want to get in. But he missed his car. Which was gathering dust inside his house garage in Portland. 

Regarding the residence, the situation wasn’t that bad. Kay, Ema, and he lived together in Alexandria, in a duplex. Right when they arrived, they used to live in the Quantico area. The house given to them was small but cozy. And was located five minutes away from the Academy. But soon they started to dislike it. 

Quantico was small, inhabited mostly by marines and their families or retired veterans. 

After a few months, Lang recommended they go live in the city. Even if it was a longer drive to the headquarters, they were closer to the civilization and the capital. 

Their new home was near Old Town. A nice townhouse on a cobbled street. With a red facade and gray tiles. 

The neighborhoods were swarming with federal government employees. But the city was full of nightlife. Ema and Kay had the opportunity to go out and have fun. Just what Miles wanted for them. To have a life outside work and socialize with people their age. 

After all, he had dragged them to that place. And what less than to reward them with a little normal life? 

Their first stop was the lab, where Ema worked as an assistant and did some research. 

“Today I’ll stay for lunch,” Ema announced. “Can you pick me up at four?”

“Sure,” Miles nodded. “Have fun with your enzyme decomposition.”

Ema giggled. “Thanks, Mr. Edgeworth.” 

She got out of the car and waved at them with a broad smile. 

The final destination was the FBI Academy. Miles drove in silence while checking up on Kay who was with her headphones on. Lately, Miles had noticed something had changed between him and Kay. But, he wasn’t so sure about what it was. 

It was clear that their relationship wasn’t the same. They didn’t work together anymore. Kay had her studies. And Miles had his classes and his trips. There had been a while since the last time they’d hung out like they used to. 

“I thought that maybe we could do something tonight,” Miles said, arriving at the academy. “We can go to the movies or order something for dinner.”

“Don’t you have a date?” Kay asked, taking off her headphones. 

“I can cancel it.”

“No, you can’t.”

Miles parked the car in his reserved parking space. It was one of the advantages he liked the most; not worrying about where to park. 

“Go on with your plans, Mr. Edgeworth. You enjoy his company anyway,” Kay got off her seatbelt. “See you at three.”

Miles let her go without saying anything else. He’d hoped she would say yes, but his proposal didn’t seem exciting to her. Maybe he’d leave Kay some space. 

He stayed in the car for a few minutes, preparing himself to start the day. It was one of the few moments of the day where he actually could have a moment of silence. Real mind silence. 

Miles took a breath in and out, letting his backrest in the soft-padded seat and caressing the wheel with his fingers. 

He suddenly remembered the note inside his pocket, which he took out. He read it. 

It was a brief letter, but enough to make him smile. Putting it inside the pocket again, Miles was ready to carry on with his day. 

- 

Lights were turned off, with only the screen lighting up the room. 

Miles could see some tired faces. It was barely ten in the morning, and his students needed that second coffee he’d recommended them to drink before coming into class. 

"When I first visited Mr. Sahwit in Pennsylvania, the first thing that came into my mind was: This guy doesn't seem like a murderer," Miles pressed the button, letting the slide pass. The picture of Frank Sahwit was shown. "He’s a regular guy. With major studies, and a corporate job. Conventionally unattractive, short, and with a passive personality... But he killed three coworkers of his, hitting them bluntly with a bat. His reasons? They rejected him." 

He looked at the screen, where the presentation he’d prepared meticulously was being projected. 

"We refer as a "stressor" any event that happened in the UnSub's life that could trigger a violent behavior. Driving them to kidnap, kill, or even commit terrorism." 

Miles already felt how he was completely immersed in his words. It was similar to diving into a case but without the stress. 

"Sahwit's stressor was the first rejection. He asked secretary Cindy Stone for a date. When she said no, he felt treasoned by her, and his hatred towards women was reinforced. That same night, he went to Cindy's apartment and murdered her. Performing the crime gave him such a liberation that he felt the need to repeat it as a form to reminisce what he did to Cindy." 

He took some air, allowing himself to continue with the end of the story. 

"Philadelphia's Police Department caught him due to the victimology as he chose women who looked similar. But, also, thanks to profiling him by studying the crime scenes. So, now it's time for me to ask... How would you diagnose him?"

The class stayed silent. Even though he had been teaching lectures to them for a few months, Miles knew that his questions were scary. Sometimes, even he doubted his conclusions. 

"You may ask questions," Miles said, expecting someone to be brave enough to raise their hand. Seconds after, a girl in the second row did. Miles pointed at her. "Yes, Miss Woods?" 

"How was his relationship with his mom?" The girl asked, lowering her hand. 

"He was raised by a single mom. First-generation immigrant. Loving, caring..."

"His father was not in the picture?" 

Miles shook his head. "Not at all." 

"Did his mother ask for the divorce?"

Miles nodded. "She brought him here from Japan when he was three." 

"Sociopath and narcissistic?" Juniper asked. 

"Justify your answer, Ms. Woods."

"As by how you talk about him, he didn't seem to have any remorse which indicates a lack of empathy. If he holds a good job position, it's because he is smart and knows how to act as a regular member of our society... The hate towards women might be caused by the feeling of not getting enough from them. Her mom probably worked more than just one job as she was an immigrant, so he felt alone most of the time." 

"Seems like somebody has good lateral thinking. Good job, Miss Woods," Miles saw a shy smile forming on her student’s lips. "Your next task is in groups. You have three murder scenes and pictures of the victims. In fifteen minutes, I want a basic profile of the three of them. Indicate if it's organized, disorganized, age, IQ, race..."

"Mr. Edgeworth... Sir." 

The voice from the back made him turn around. 

“Yes, Mr. Lee?”

"Would you talk to us about Sirhan Dogen?" He asked impatiently. "You have interviewed him, right?" 

Students at the FBI Academy have always shown a special interest in the tales of his interviews. He wasn’t very keen to share that often. But giving small details as examples was usually the flame that lit their curiosity. 

"I visited him in L.A., yes."

"How is he?"  "I mean, he murdered eight people."

Miles thought about it for a minute. "Mr. Dogen is an interesting man. Very bright, and an arduous chess player," He was complementing a criminal. Great. "He almost won me in a play, but it ended up in tables." 

"You played chess with Sirhan Dogen? The mass murderer?"

"He asked me to. How could I refuse? He's a serial killer," The class burst into a general giggling 

"I will update you all when I'm finished with my current research. Please, do the task. It will be evaluated." 

Miles sat on the table while the ambient sound transformed into murmurs while the students did the task. 

Since past September, he’d started giving lectures at the FBI Academy. Andrews had recommended him for the work as soon as he finished basic training. At first, Miles wasn’t very sure if he would be suitable for the job. He’d given a lecture once, and his ideas about profiling weren't as cooked as senior agents. But the superintendent insisted. And he ended up quite enjoying it. 

His classroom was the most crowded. And had a ninety percent passing rate. So, by rates, he assumed that he’d succeeded. 

When the class ended, just two of the groups got the answers right. Miles remained unsurprised by the results. Most of the students seemed to not understand the fact that not everyone who kills is a psychopath. It was a sign that there was still a lot of work he had to do. They were half-second term, so he’d dedicate it to the differentiation of psychopaths and psychotic behavior. 

Miles assembled his things while everyone left, some of them saying goodbye to him. Whom he considered his best student, Juniper Woods, approached his desk.

"Professor Edgeworth." She called. 

"Please, Miss Woods. I'm no professor. Just Mr. Edgeworth," Miles said. It wasn't the first time a student had called him like that. And he didn't blame them. "Tell me."

"Why are we always talking about men killing women?"

What a good question.

"By statistics, there are more male criminals than there are female criminals. So, the doctrine is based, mostly, in men's behavior," Miles explained. "However, doesn't mean that there aren't female serial killers." 

"Is there a reason for that?"

The curiosity of the cadets always gave him a strange feeling. They reminded him of himself when he was younger. Though, at their age, he was already running for a promotion to inspector. 

"More than one reason, I would say," Miles leaned on the table, resting his lower back and crossing his arms. "The way we behave is explained by how our Western society is structured. Class, race, gender... Everything has its molds, and we tend to try to fit in them. Not succeeding it's what causes most people's frustrations with their lifestyle. Sadly, men tend to hide their mental health struggles. And the use of violence is normalized within the masculine gender roles. Mix that with a little bit of conservative moral values and easy access to violent content. And there you have it: A prolific serial killer." 

Juniper nodded, listening carefully. "Men find women as an easy target. That's why the murderers often kill the husband first." She said. "So, that's why victimology is important, right? The female victims usually follow the same physical pattern because of a past event in the UnSub’s life. Like Ted Bundy, who killed those women who were similar to an ex-girlfriend of his." 

As he already knew, Juniper Woods was a brilliant student. With eloquent speech and bright ideas. 

"Miss Woods, would you like to be a profiler?" 

Her eyes broadened in surprise. "Mr. Edgeworth, I'm just a freshman." 

Miles took a moment to analyze her. Even if she seemed startled by the question, he knew by the way she talked that Juniper Woods was an ambitious woman. She used all the profiling vocabulary with excellence. And her way of asking questions pinpointed to a curiosity beyond a simple interest. 

“You have a vocation,” Miles said. “Take my advanced course next year. And think about taking summer training. Extra credits can give you an opportunity to enter the Berau. Younger agents are in demand.”

Juniper’s expression changed completely as he talked. She even blushed a bit. 

"That would be nice. Thanks, Sir." She smiled. "Have a nice weekend."

"You too." 

- 

Miles was sweaty. The feeling of his legs trembling a bit made him unstable. Seconds ago, he was confident about moving faster. It seemed easy at first, but it exhausted him more than he'd expected. 

He felt the heat in his cheeks and all his limbs, letting the tiredness take over him little by little. 

But, after a long and hard week of work, that was exactly what he needed. Felt how the steam left his body, with the stress being released with it. He loved Friday afternoons, where his brain could get in plane mode for a few hours. 

Gray hairs from his bangs started to stick to his forehead. He groaned at the feeling of his knees becoming sore, telling him to stop. But he won’t. Not yet. 

Lang's fierce gaze was on him. He was also sweating. So much than his shirt was stuck to his body, marking his muscles. 

Probably Miles looked messy, with his face completely red and his lips open while searching for some air. 

It was time to finish, but he trusted of being capable of doing two more moves. 

One, two…  

Suddenly, Lang smiled, and Miles stopped abruptly. He gave a step back. 

"Why are you laughing?" he asked, recovering some breath. 

"I'm not laughing," Lang said. "I just like seeing your face full of anger while you punch." 

Miles got his hands down. The gloves felt suddenly heavy when he left his arms dead. "Do I look angry?"

"You always look angry," Lang started to take off the flat gloves. "Let's take a break, I'm hungry." 

Did he?

Resigned, Miles took off the punching gloves. He observed his hands and moved them a bit to relieve the soreness. 

His knuckles were red due to the effort, and a new bruise had appeared on his forearm when he didn't notice. 

They'd been training for two hours, like every Thursday. 

Working in the FBI is tough, and you need to be in good shape to succeed in fieldwork. 

Miles faced criminals in interrogation rooms and prisons, and very few times he chased one. Nevertheless, he wanted to be prepared for anything. 

He'd taken the job to improve himself. In all possible aspects. 

He ran every day. Trained shooting twice a month, and Lang taught him to fight every Friday. That month the theme was boxing. 

Lang sat down outside the ring, drinking cold water from a big plastic bottle. 

Miles wept his forehead sweat with a towel before sitting next to him. 

"You've improved a lot," Lang complimented. "Your arms are already lean. And you look less weak." 

"I think I can do it better," Miles said, reaching for his aluminum bottle. Drinking after. 

"Okay, Mohammed Ali," he mocked. "What are you gonna do? Fight against an UnSub's brain?" 

"Shut up." Miles found it funny, but he would never let Lang know he won with his teases. 

Lang finished his drink and let go of sight of satisfaction. 

Miles was mesmerized by the small cut he had on one knuckle on his left hand. It burnt like hell for being such a small wound. 

“Is there anything wrong?” Lang asked. 

Miles poked his head to find his cat eyes. “No.”

“Are you sure? Because you seem to need a drink.”

Miles smirked. “You’re saying that to make up an excuse… As you always do.” 

“Maybe,” Lang shrugged. "God, I need a shower." 

They fell silent, catching their breath. 

Lang had become an important part of his routine and his life. They always shared silences like that. Both were tired from training, regulating their pulses and breathing. That made his Friday nights a little special. He could release all the anxiety, knowing that a cold alcoholic drink would be waiting for him right after, accompanied by a conversation about something related to work. 

It was a night were Miles could feel like himself. 

"By the way, Andrews called before," Lang said mysteriously. "She wanted us to discuss something with her." 

Without further explanation, Lang stood up.

Miles felt intrigued. "What is it about?"

Lang ignored him, picking up his things. Miles observed him as he did so. He would take any opportunity to challenge Miles’ patience. Lang assured once that his reason was to make him experience spontaneity from time to time. Because he didn’t have to know it all at all times. 

"Are you seriously not going to tell me?" Miles shouted as he was far away. 

"I'll tell you,” Lang said, heading to the showers. “Later. Over a drink."

Dejected, Miles got up and went after him. He needed a shower too. 

He and Lang had almost covered all the bars in Washington DC. Two years can be a long time. They often frequented typical cop bars, especially an Irish pub that used patches from police departments all over the country as wall decorations. But when they wanted to be alone, they went to Sawyer’s, a bar near Chinatown. There, they could unwind more easily, without anyone approaching them with questions.

The neighborhood had shrunk. Lang said it was due to the diaspora of immigrants to other parts of the country where business prospects were better. In Washington DC, only politicians and the occasional millionaire lived there. Barely anyone who wanted to spend their night paying ten dollars for a plate of sushi and a beer.

That's what government officials like them were already there for. Despite the good salaries, most of the agents lived like any other middle-class person. Miles and Lang weren’t much different. Besides, Miles spent most of his monthly paycheck on Kay’s education and Ema’s scientific utensils. The part he didn't devote to his savings, he spent on basic things. So, having a twelve-dollar drink every other Friday was the only fancy whim he could allow himself. 

They sat at their usual table, at the back of the establishment. Miles ordered his usual cocktail, while Lang opted for a burger and a Chinese beer. 

“You should eat something,” Lang said, taking off his jacket. “The alcohol will hit you hard on an empty stomach. I don’t want to have to take you home.”

“You won’t have to,” Miles replied. 

He glanced around. Miles had always found the dim lights of the place very pleasing, creating a peaceful environment. Being a bar, it was usually quiet. Not that there was a lack of noise. But the people talked calmly, and the music was at the perfect volume to make a conversion possible. 

That evening, the bar is a little more crowded than usual. Miles wondered if the tourists had arrived earlier in the city that year. All were urged to come in by the offer written by the entrance - a pint for three dollars and another free with a ration of curry. 

What they’d ordered arrived pretty soon. Miles took a moment to revise his phone, just in case Kay or Ema had called. But there were no messages. 

“Are you going to tell me what all this secrecy is about?”

“As impatient as ever,” Lang took a bite of his sandwich and grunted with satisfaction. Miles watched him, waiting for him to speak. “First, you need to tell me what’s bothering you.”

Miles sipped from his straw, feeling the burn of the rum and the sweetness of the mint sliding down his throat and clearing his sinuses. “Are you going to use psychological blackmail on me?”

“Quid pro quo, Miles. Quid pro quo.”

Lang always knew what to say to convince him. Miles had started thinking that both being criminal profilers was an advantage. They always knew when to ask or give the other space. Having spent just two years together, they knew each other too well. And it was no wonder. Working in the FBI bonds you a lot. Especially with what you have to deal with daily as an agent.

Miles took another sip and then sighed, smelling the menthol aroma of his own breath. “Kay and Ema... I think they’re not really happy here. Well, Ema seems happy with her research. But Kay is becoming more reserved with me.”

“So it’s about your girls, huh?” Lang said as if he partly expected it. 

“My girls?”

His girls

“I say it because you almost seem like their father. And they’re barely twenty-four…”

“They are my responsibility,” Miles clarified. “I’m the one who brought them here.”

“But they wanted to come, right?” Lang reminded him. “At least Kay did. If I remember correctly… Ema joined later because of her older sister.”

“The three of us came here running away from our problems, that’s a fact,” Miles admitted. “I don’t regret it. But maybe they do. And I don’t know how to fix it.”

“You can’t always fix everything. Not even try,” Lang finally said. “They are adults. Give them time and they’ll come to you if they have problems. In the end, they also feel they depend on you.”

Miles nodded. His conversations with Lang weren't long, but for them, it was enough. Sharing little details from time to time about their lives felt good. One could comfort the other, or at least try and give some advice. Even the simplest thing worked for Miles. In the end, he just needed somebody to talk to. 

He often wondered if he could call Lang ‘his friend’. They were colleagues, partners even. But they hung out outside work and got along despite their different personalities. 

“I think it’s your turn,” Miles said. 

Lang finished his beer and instantly called the waiter to ask for another. This time, it would come with the curry from the offer. 

Miles observed him with expectancy. Lang opened the can and poured it into his glass. He didn’t like his drinks to be served to him. Lang had to do it himself. 

It was one of a few particularities that made him seem less shallow. Miles had never asked him why, but he didn’t have the will to speculate about it. There was only one rule between the members of the team: not profile each other. 

Before Lang could speak, he received an upcoming call. He clicked his tongue and showed Miles the screen. 

They looked at each other, knowing exactly what was happening. 

When Rhoda called, it was time to go. 

- 

FBI Headquarters. BAU Office. 

March 21st. 11 pm.  

Miles had spent the whole drive fidgeting in unease. Calls in the middle of the night weren’t common unless it meant a case required their immediate participation. Or even a field job. The uncertainty of knowing what it was about always trapped him in a spiral of anxiety. 

Would it be a serial killer? Kidnapping? Terrorism? 

He wouldn't know until he got there. 

The Headquarters at DC was the big building where the big things happened. With multiple levels of offices, labs, and law enforcement facilities, the massive building reflected its importance by itself. 

On showing their credentials, they headed to the elevator. Once they were at their office floor, they crossed the glass door. 

“Teneiro. C'mon. It's Friday!” Lang complained as he walked into the conference room. 

“Trust me, Lang. No one wants to be here,” Teneiro said.

Rhoda Teneiro was their communications agent. She dedicated her time to meticulously going through possible case files, choosing which ones were apt for their intervention. Surely a rough task, taking into account how many police departments asked for help from the FBI (most of them in pretty difficult situations). Even if her position didn't seem to need as much qualification, Rhoda knew how to treat people. She was the best at doing so. 

Press, calls, families, police departments. Rhoda could handle any of them with assertiveness and care. Sometimes she had to pull off the hard love to the table when treating certain people. 

“Not that you'd have anything else to do,” Justine said. “I bet you and Miles were having a drink at a trashy bar.” 

“We were,” Miles admitted. 

She chuckled briefly after knowing she was right with her deduction. 

Justine Courtney was another member of the team. Former Lieutenant at the New Orleans Police Department, she specialized in the recreation of a crime scene and analysis of criminal behavior. Smart, with a mind as sharp as a shark's teeth. Justine was rather quiet, and not very emotion-showing. But her presence in an interrogation room could make any criminal piss their pants. 

The four of them composed the team, one of the few within the Behavioral Analysis Unit. 

Everything was already set up. The files were printed, placed inside their folders, and left on the table. 

Miles sat in his usual place as he saw Justine already opening one of the documents. 

“Portland Police Bureau contacted us this morning,” Rhoda picked up a controller for the TV they used as a board. “A guy was murdered in Portland two weeks ago. They found him in an alley, stabbed to death.”

The pictures showed a man, in his twenties. He was lying down, face up. With his clothes covered in blood. 

Since he had been working at the FBI, Miles had only set foot in his hometown to celebrate the odd holiday, like Thanksgiving or Christmas. But he had never had to travel there for a case.

He supposed there’s always a first time for everything.

“It’s not the homecoming I’d like,” Miles said. “But I don’t see the problem. It seems like a conventional murder to me.”

“The problem, Batman...” When Lang did that, Miles knew he was serious. “Is that the case we have on our hands might be related to one from eleven years ago? Specifically, one that you investigated.”

Justine closed the document, and the room fell silent.

A case he had investigated years ago? It couldn’t be...

Miles frowned. “The Brand Killer returned?”

Rhoda sighed, passing the image. “They found the dean of Arts and Science of Portland University an hour ago. Presenting the same stabbing wounds and…” she clicked the button, showing other pictures. “Both bodies show a big wound in their back. First-degree burns were made a few hours before their deaths. They were made with a hot metallic object…”

“In a “D” shape,” Miles finished the sentence. 

The victims weren't similar at all to those from years ago. But seeing the mark again gave Miles the chills. 

“Fuck…” Miles muttered.  

That made him reflect for a while. He was going to resume the case that had marked his youth. It had been a long time since he had thought about the victims in the water. But, since he had access to all the documents, he had been dreaming about them recurrently. They had become a substitute for the murders he had witnessed in recent years, especially those since he had been in the FBI.

Investigating the "Brand Killer" again excited and scared him at the same time. He had to return to the roots of many things: his first job, his first colleagues, his first major case... his first mutilated body.

"We'll travel first thing tomorrow," Rhoda announced. "Whether it's the Brand Killer or not, we have to go."

They gathered their things. Each took a copy of the case and said their goodbyes at the building's entrance.

Lang and he stayed by the door. The lights inside were still on, as the security guards worked twenty-four hours. Across the road, in the distance, the lights of the porches of the houses in Quantico created orange dots on the horizon.

Miles stayed silent, thoughtful, pondering among other things, what he was going to tell Kay and Ema.

“It seems our night is ruined,” Lang said. “I was looking forward to it.”

“Was this what you wanted to talk to me about?” Miles asked, only out of curiosity.

“No. I knew the cases were related as soon as I turned a couple of pages,” Lang replied seriously. “Andrews intended to meet with us tomorrow. He wants to make you second in command.”

Second in command?

“He wants to expand the team. Add Kay and Justine’s guy. That Sebastian.”

“I thought the intention was for them to finish their training first...”

“They are highly capable of starting before the summer ends,” Lang explained. “We’ll be six, plus Lisa and some other brainy dude they’ll add to the mix. That’s why I suggested you to be my right hand.”

“What about Justine?”

“Justine has been here longer, but I know she wants to be the head of the department next year. She’s already a supervisor, so… It’s about promotion, Edgeworth. Not ranking within the Berau.”

Miles didn’t know how to feel about that. He had too many things on his mind to express any kind of emotion or words about it. Being a supervisory special agent meant a higher salary and a full-time job as a federal investigator. No more profiling while sitting at a desk or giving lectures. Purely field work. 

“But let's not think about that now. What we have at hand is more important.” Lang added. 

He was right. What Lang wanted to tell him no longer mattered.

The case was everything for Miles now.

“I think I’ll go home,” Lang announced after a sigh. “See you tomorrow?”

It was quite late. They had to prepare for tomorrow’s trip. But Miles had another idea.

“I need you to come to my house. Now,” he demanded.

Lang looked at him with amusement. “Aren’t you going to invite me for a drink first?”

“I’m serious,” Miles said. “I need to show you something.”

Miles drove to his duplex, followed by Lang’s car. 

It was past midnight, and Miles did everything possible to open the door quietly. He had Lang go in first, closing the door behind them.

“Don’t your girls go out on Fridays?” Lang asked in a whisper.

“They usually do. But, Ema is tired, and Kay wanted to watch a movie...” Miles explained though he knew instantly that it wasn’t necessary.

He led Lang to his office, making as little noise as possible up the stairs.

“Are you not taking me to your bedroom?” Lang asked. “How bold, Mr. Edgeworth. Bringing a man home when the girls are asleep.”

Miles wanted to kick him, but his moral strength prevailed.

Deep down, he wished that was what was happening. Not with Lang, of course.

But the thought of it caused a little thrill.

He opened the door carefully and turned on the light, letting Lang enter his study.

There was his whiteboard, well organized as always.

Lang approached and touched the photos in amazement. “All these years...”

“Since I left Portland, I decided to forget about the case...” Miles explained. “But you gave me the reason to open it. Even if it was in my spare time.”

He watched Lang as he inspected the photos and his notes.

Then, Lang turned around. “Alright. Where do we start?”

Miles pulled out the documents he still had from the case. He had taken several boxes with him from Portland to Atlanta and then had moved them to Virginia.

He knew there was some legal gray area regarding possessing these files, but he didn’t care much. After all, they were his.

They didn’t have all night, as they had to travel the next day to reach Portland early. Miles was aware that he wouldn’t be able to sleep on the plane. But the lost hours of sleep could be compensated for at another, less crucial moment.

“I have everything,” he said. “From interviews with the families to the list of suspects. There’s a box in Portland. I remember exactly where I placed it when we filed the case after the FBI left.”

“I suppose we can use most of it to start from the beginning.” Lang assumed. “Assuming we’re talking about the same killer.”

“There must be some connection.” Miles deduced. “I think I still have the number of the brand supplier. He’s the only one in all of Oregon...”

“Damn, Edgeworth. You’re a genius.”

“Are you leaving?” Kay was leaning against the door, wearing her pajamas and with her arms crossed.

She glanced at Lang for a moment and then nodded.

“When?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Miles replied. “It’s a very important case.”

“I’ve already noticed,” Kay said, with a certain tone of condescension.

Was she angry? Was it because she had been woken up or because she didn’t like Lang’s presence?

“I think it’s time for me to go,” Lang said, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

“No. Wolfie, stay. I was just going to bed,” Kay assured. “Continue with what you were doing. Good night.”

When Kay left, Miles was a bit disconcerted by the interaction. He was capable of understanding the most dangerous criminals in the country. At the same time incapable of understanding his friend who he was supposed to take care of.

- 

Portland, Oregon

March 22nd. 8.30 am.

Going home is never easy. Not to Miles. And the circumstances wouldn't make it any better. 

At the plane, he distracted himself by reading the latest report again. 

Portland PB was working as hard as they could to find a culprit. But it seemed like the case had become too big for them to handle by themselves. 

He dived in his thoughts for a while, forgetting all preoccupations. 

“Any first impressions, Miles?” Justine asked. She was gazing at him from the seat in front of him. 

“Similarities with the Brand Killer are none except the mark. The wounds and the victimology… Don't fit,” Miles said. “By now, I wouldn't assume we're facing the same criminal.”

“A change of behavior could be possible if a major event occurred in our UnSub's life,” Justine discussed. “Maybe they've become more violent.”

“Stabbing is personal,” Lang pointed out. “The previous victims died of an overdose. It's a common way for killers to end the victim's suffering. An Angel of Death cannot become a sadistic psycho. Or at least it is not usual.” 

“What about a copycat?” Rhoda intervened. “Maybe our UnSub read about the Brand Killer somewhere and he became an inspiration to perform his murders.” 

“I mean… Finding a cattle brand isn't that easy,” Miles said. “We should mull over all possibilities.” 

Moments like that he felt how the team came together. Squeezing their brains altogether, trying to find answers. 

As Miles had predicted, he hadn't been able to sleep. He had to down two Americanos before leaving the hotel. He was anxious, both about his return and about the case. He even felt incapable of concentrating enough to drive.

When they arrived at the entrance of the police station, Miles had to take a deep breath. It had been years since he had been there, and he had to admit he was nervous. He was about to reunite with his colleagues, the people who had trained him as a police officer. And there he was, working for the federal government.

Lang looked at him for a moment, and Miles nodded before entering through the door.

Everything was just as he remembered it. The walls, the desks... Even the light in the right hallway was still broken.

Honestly, Miles hoped that the reason was that the fluorescent light had been changed and had broken again afterward.

They walked through the office, heading to the chief's office.

Lang knocked on the door, and Miles felt a knot in his stomach.

“Come in,” said a gruff voice from the other side of the door.

The new chief was Badd, his former sergeant.

He hadn’t changed at all. He just had a few more gray hairs. But aside from that, everything about him was the same. “The BAU, finally.”

Badd observed them for a moment. Without changing his expression, he stood up. “You must be Agent Lang.”

“That’s right.”

They shook hands, and Miles waited impatiently for his turn. He didn’t know what to say. Badd had been expecting his arrival, but they hadn’t exchanged words in years.

The chief stood in front of him and offered his hand. “Welcome back, kid.”

Miles felt immense relief upon hearing those words. “It’s great to be back, sir.”

He used to hate it when Badd called him that. “Kid.”

“Come on, everything's ready.”

They had left a couple of free desks near a corkboard, where photos of the crime had been pinned.

Lang introduced Rhoda and Justine, who had set up their documents.

Moments later, Raymond appeared.

“Miles!” he exclaimed, opening his arms. Miles would have avoided the hug, but for once, he let himself be enveloped in Raymond’s arms, which, at least, was brief. “You’ve grown...”

“It’s good to see you too, Detective Shields,” Miles said. “This is my team. Supervisory Special Agents Lang, Teneiro, and Courtney.”

“It’s nice to meet you all.”

Miles was able to breathe easily then. 

The team gathered with Chief Badd and Raymond, who took care of explaining all the case’s details. 

Manny Coachen, the dean of the Science College was found dead the previous night. He was stabbed sixteen times. They found no DNA or biological evidence that pointed out any suspect. A week before, a technology engineering student was found with the same wounds. And, of course, there was the matter of the wound.

“If I’m honest, this case is giving me a headache,” Badd said. “Law has changed and the statute of limitations for murder in Oregon is now unlimited. If we catch this motherfucker, we can charge him with the cases from eleven years ago.”

“Actually, we are not sure if this is the same criminal,” Miles pointed out. 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Raymond asked. 

All eyes were on Miles. He stood up and placed himself next to the board. “The sudden change in the profile of the victims is uncommon. We think that maybe we’re dealing with someone who is obsessed with the case and decided to perform the murders using a similar method.”

“Copycats are not that uncommon,” Justine added. “Overall if we are talking about mediatic cases.”

“We should investigate this idea,” said Rhoda. “Maybe someone who was affected by the case in some way. That’s why we’ll need to re-open the Brand Killer’s case to call the attention of our suspect.”

Badd caressed his chin. “Alright. I’ll ask the boys to find the box. It must be all dusty in some corner of the evidence room.”

As he expected, Badd had kept the things from back then. Usually, the departments make cleanings from time to time, giving back the victim’s belongings to the family or getting rid of biological evidence. 

It was a cold case. But the families kept the hope’s flame lit every day.  

“We should hit the crime scene. The techs haven't cleaned it yet.” 

They made their way to the scene alongside Badd and Raymond, who were quieter than Miles expected. But, having space to focus on the case was something he was grateful for. Catching up about life and remembering old anecdotes would be held over a drink once they were sure about what kind of case they were facing. 

Between two brick buildings in Downtown Portland, the alley remained cordoned with yellow tape.

Police cars and the officers taking guard of the scene called the attention of some pedestrians, who approached the scene intending to see something. 

Though committed the night before, the crime scene was still being combed by the forensic team. 

The alley was just a regular one. Wet from the house's pipes and with two garbage containers. 

They passed through the tape, encountering immediately the place where the body was found. 

Rhoda stayed with the officers, whom she interviewed about the night before. 

“The body was discovered here, near the dumpster,” Badd said, leading them to the scene. Irregular stains of blood, a sign of dragging. “It was hidden under some bags, but the hand called the attention of the garbage man.” 

Miles observed the dried blood as he tried to picture what happened inside his mind. At first glance, he knew two things: there was little blood for being a crime scene, and it smelled awful. 

With the passing of the years, he was able to handle (agua estancada), and rotten bodies. But trash always gave him an ick. 

“There's too little blood,” Lang said, crouching. “Coachen wasn't killed here. This is not the crime scene, but the place where the UnSub decided to dump the body.”

Just as Miles had thought. 

Justine walked around the place, observing the surroundings meticulously as they. Her sight was the sharpest of them all, seeing details sometimes they couldn’t even see. After a brief analysis of the area, Justine went back to where they were. 

“So, I'm the UnSub. I murdered Manny Coachen, and I want to dump the body,” she said and pointed at the end of the entrance of the alley. “I'm scared, so the only place I think about is the trash. I carry him in my car, drive into the alley, and dispose of the body. But, something startles me, so I have to hide the body. Quickly. That's why he covered it with the bags and did not dump it inside.” 

“Covering the body also can mean guilt,” Miles added. “Our victim might've known our UnSub.” 

“What's clear is that the murders were, somehow, premeditated,” assured Justine. “The UnSub is messy, but the mark reveals the organized behavior.” 

“He planned the murder and then regretted it?” Lang chuckled. “You do not stab someone repeatedly and then shit your pants like a baby.”

“It wouldn't be that weird,” Miles argued. “You can kill out of rage. And then be overwhelmed by the consequences of your actions.”

Miles was accustomed to contradicting Lang. Their debates about whether an UnSub was one thing or the other were recurrent during fieldwork. And not only with Lang, but also with Justine. 

Working their minds together was what made it possible to build a profile as accurate as it could be. And nobody got heated up for being right. They all fought for the same: the truth. 

Like that, Miles was never afraid of expressing his thoughts in that way. Sometimes, Lang would tease him about it later. But that was just another aspect of their companionship. 

“If that’s so, someone hated our victims… Have we found any relation between the two?” Justine asked Badd. 

He shook his head. “Coachen is the dean of the Faculty of Arts and Science. The other guy, Buddy Faith, is a PhD student at Oregon University. He came home to visit his family.”

Miles believed it impossible. The murders weren't random (or at least it didn't seem like it). There had to be some kind of connection between the victims, even the smallest. 

He looked around, looking for windows or security cameras. Anything that could give them a clue about what had happened the night before in that alley. 

Nothing. 

He started to question if it would be easier to solve a case of that kind now that he was an FBI agent. Looking back, Miles was inexperienced back then - even though he used to think he wasn't. And solving the quagmire he had in front of him felt like a great responsibility. Now, being in his thirties, with plenty of knowledge and people who would help him, Miles felt the same. 

He had to solve it. There was no other way. 

“Edgeworth and I would like to examine the body,” Lang said so suddenly that it caught Miles off guard. 

He wasn't aware that going to the morgue was in his plan for the day. They'd the autopsy report already. And he already knew the details by memory. 

“You would say that,” Badd said. “Dr. Young has kept it fresh for you.”

“She hasn’t retired?” Miles acted surprised. However, the presence of the old criminologist didn’t shock him even a bit.

“She’ll keep working until she ends up on a cold table,” Raymond assured with a smirk. 

It seemed that for Miles the reunion with people from his past would be rather more complete than he’d imagined. 

Lang approached both Justine and Rhoda. “You should start going through the old files. We’ll gather in the afternoon to share our first impressions. Hopefully, we’ll be able to build a profile by tomorrow.”

“But, Lang,” Justine stopped him. “Shouldn’t we talk with the victim’s relatives? We need to know how their environment was.”

“You’re right. Do that.” He said, bluntly. “Come on, Edgeworth. You drive.”

- 

“Well, well, well. See how’s back,” An old lady, with her purplish hair gathered in a bun and big glasses, stared at Miles from the other side of the morgue’s table. “I see that you’re not a kid anymore, Miles.”

“Hello, Mrs. Young.” He greeted. 

“What a time you choose to be back in Portland, sonny,” she said, uncovering the body. “Who’s your friend?”

Doctor Young had been the chief of the morgue for about fifty years. Miles met her during his first year as a cop. Normally, the coroners who performed the autopsies did rotating shifts. She wouldn’t show up in his cases as recurrently as others like Jules did. But, during the last years he’d spent in Portland, she was always in charge. She was already old back then. And still, she hadn’t changed a bit. 

“Supervisory Special Agent Lang, ma’am. A pleasure.” Lang introduced himself. 

They came by where the body was lying. 

Manny Coachen was a man in his fifties. He stood out for his long brunette mane, which now lifeless, left a trace of an arduous hair care. 

Stab wounds were made on his chest and abdomen as the death cause. Miles had seen the pictures. There was a ton of blood in the scene. But Manny Coachen was now bloodless and clean. Ready to get dressed up for his funeral, like a big doll. 

“I cannot say much else about his death,” Doctor Young said. “The blood tests were clean. It is obvious he died from the stabbing.”

“What about the mark?” Lang asked. “Can you show us?”

Miles tried to control his breath as Doctor Young turned the body around with the help of an assistant. His hands started sweating. Memories from back then blurred his sight. He was ready to feel his stomach clenching, ready for the vomit. 

But suddenly an image from another case hoarded the trauma. It was Penny Nichols' body. The room was cold, just like that moment. He felt sorry for the girl, who had to die so young at the hands of a psychopath. Penny remembered him of his past. And now, Manny Coachen did the same as he lay dead on the table. 

On seeing Penny Nichols, he saw Phoenix next to him. It's been a while since I thought about him and he felt... weird. Somehow, the calm arrived at that moment. And the nerves disappeared. 

When he saw the mark, he felt nothing. 

“It was made with a hot, metallic object,” she explained. “Around two hours before the death.”

“Same characteristics with the kid?” 

She nodded. “As I said, there’s nothing else I can say.”

“Edgeworth,” Lang called. 

Miles came out of his little trance to meet the gaze of Lang. 

“The mark is the same as back then?”

“I think so…”

“Look closely.”

Miles followed the demand and fixated his eyes on the scar. At first, it seemed to him like the other three he’d seen. However, something stood out to him. 

“I think it’s smaller,” Miles said. 

Lang nodded. “Is there any way this wound can be compared to the ones from back them?”

“Oh, sonny…” Doctor Young said. “We never found a brand of cattle that matched eleven years ago. I can run all the tests you want, but iron doesn't leave traces.”

“She’s right,” Miles added. “We contacted a few providers and no match.”

Lang kept a contemplative sight for a few instants. His behavior was certainly strange. More serious than usual.

“Alright. Thanks, ma’am,” Lang said finally. “Be sure his family recovers the body by the end of the day.”

“I will,” she covered the victim with the blanket again. “It’s good to see you here, sonny. You're still young, but you’ve become a man.”

Back in the car, those words repeated in his mind. Miles didn’t want to give them the importance they didn’t have, but his mind was kind of a mess at that moment. 

First Regina's Book, and then visualizing Penny’s body. 

Since Regina Berry was on TV a few weeks back, Miles had been feeling sort of distressed about going back into fieldwork. He thought Atlanta's wounds had already healed, but it seemed that they’d not. 

Maybe it was the case’s fault. Recovering old memories unburied another one. Nevertheless, he couldn’t allow himself to get distracted by it. 

“What was your propose with the exposure therapy?” Miles asked. 

“I just wanted to test if you can work with me on this without falling apart,” Lang explained. “Now you’ve proven to me that you can. And also, given us a hint.”

In truth, Miles felt relief because of Lang’s action. He was also afraid of not being able to piece himself together if he saw a corpse that reminded him of Vanessa’s. 

He frowned. “Which hint?”

“That the cattle brand was smuggled. And personalized,” When they stopped at a red traffic light, Lang looked at him still with his sunglasses on. “Think about it. There is nothing to compare them with. And, also, they look almost similar. It’s like when you order something online and when you get it looks awful as hell.”

Lang’s deduction made sense. How couldn’t he see it before? 

“That enforces my theory of a copycat.”

“Exactly,” Lang nodded. 

“But why would somebody want to copy a case but only in part?”

The traffic light turned green. Lang fixated his eyes on the road again and remained silent for a few seconds. “That is what we need to find out about.”

-

The following two days were spent going through the old files. 

Details of Many Coachen's death had not yet been revealed to the press. Rhoda thought it was best to give the killer leeway to avoid any problems that might arise. And also some peace for the families to mourn. They had planned on doing a press conference as soon as the profile was ready. But they were having some struggles with it. 

The investigation that was done in the past was not very good. All the information they could find was kind of vague. It showed that it was led by the Organized Crime Unit, not a profiling team. 

Miles was back in the hotel, in Lang’s room. Justine and Rhoda were still looking for cattle brand smugglers. That afternoon they were going to a blacksmith shop that was located south of the city. 

So, Lang and he choose to keep going with the profile. They were meant to gather as a team for dinner. 

Miles had a headache from going over the case over and over again. He squeezed the bridge of his nose, taking his glasses off. Then, he sighed out of tiredness. 

Lang was sitting in front of him, with a neutral expression difficult to decipher. Then, he glanced at Miles. “Have you told your sister that you’re here?” 

The question set aside the thoughts about the case. 

“She's still in New York, but I'll check on the house once we have this profile,” Miles said. “You can come if you want.”

Lang shrugged, making a face. “Sure, I’d love to see your preppy house.”

Miles raised a brow. That wasn’t a word he would usually use to describe his childhood home. “Preppy?”

“Yeah, your childhood mansion.”

“It’s a Victorian-style house…” Miles explained. “Definitely not a mansion.”

“Yeah, definitely.”

Miles shook his head. He wasn’t very in the mood for jokes. 

Going home seemed like a good idea. He’d been thinking about doing a general cleanse, and checking on the car as well as washing it. 

“So, how about the suspects back then? Did you establish a solid connection between any of them and the victims?” Lang asked, going back straight to the case. 

“Not really. At first, we thought the case was related to some kind of sexual trafficking ring. We interviewed a few convicted pimps. But the victims were all college students.”

Lang frowned. “College students? All of them?”

“Yeah, from UP. Is a Catholic university.”

“Edgeworth… Manny Coachen was Dean of the Arts and Science.”

“I know,” Miles assured. “The victimology is men from the science field. Just as the Brand Killer. But the focus on men instead of women could be also part of a copycat behavior. I thought that maybe it was a colleague that met them during a conference or something…”

“But what if it’s not?” Lang handed him a file. “Here are all the names of the people interviewed by the FBI at that time. Read.”

Miles read the document until he found the name Lang had highlighted with a pencil. 

Manny Coachen. 

“He was an assistant professor back then…” Miles said. “He knew the victims?”

“It’s plausible,” Lang nodded. “What did they study?”

Miles remembered it with clarity. “A pre-med, biology and medical engineering.” 

“Call the Headquarters,” Lang demanded instantly. “Ask what Manny Coachen was doing during that period.” 

He nodded, reaching for his phone. 

Any time they needed a deep dig, they called Lisa. Lisa was a technician and expert in programming and cyber research. She controlled part of the FBI’s database, helping them with their cases. 

“This is Lisa Basil,” she answered rapidly. “Is there any virus I can assist you with?”

“Lisa, I need you to research a victim. Concretely, what he was into eleven years ago…” Miles explained. “His name is Manny Coachen.”

“Concerning something specific?”

“To the Brand Killer case. It’s probably archived in the system.”

Miles heard keyboard-clicking sounds. He glanced at Lang, who waited with his arms closed. 

“Manny Coachen did give class to the three victims…” she said. “And it seems like he received a complaint from a student back then. But it was archived.” 

Miles frowned. “What kind of complaint?” 

“SA. But she retracted her testimony.” 

Miles looked at Lang again. His thoughts were ordered in his mind as if they were parts of a puzzle. He put the call on wait. 

“Let’s assume Coachen was the Brand Killer,” Miles said. “The copycat may not be a copycat but an avenger… Is there anyone who would want to take revenge for any of the girls murdered?”

Lang quickly searched around all the documents. Until he found the one. 

“Glen Elg,” Lang showed him the picture. “The third victim’s younger sibling.”

Miles went back to the call, putting her on speaker. “What can you tell us about Glen Elg?” 

“Mmm… That name rings a bell,” Lisa said, typing again. “Here I have it. Glen Elg… This is strange. There is no address listed in his name.”

“Shit, alright….” Miles said, frustrated. 

“What about the last use of his credit card?” Lang asked. 

Miles started to feel like his heart was starting to beat harder. 

"In a Thai restaurant, four days ago. I'll send you the address," Lisa finally said.

Lang's lips curled into a triumphant smile. "Thanks, Basil."

"You're welcome, sir."

Miles hung up the call, and they wasted no time running to the door.

-

The restaurant was located in the northern part of the city. Miles remembered going there a few times with his sister, especially during their teenage years. He was surprised to see that it looked the same as it did back then.

They both approached the bar, where a young woman greeted them with a smile. Both men flashed their badges.

"We're Agents Lang and Edgeworth from the FBI. Do you recognize this man?" Miles asked, showing her a photo.

The girl seemed puzzled. She took the photo in her hands. "Yes, that's Glen."

"Do you know where he lives?" Miles inquired.

She nodded. "But I don't understand... We just gave his address to another police officer."

Miles frowned. The worst-case scenario was unfolding—they had been beaten to the punch by the killer. "What was his name?" he asked.

The girl hesitated. "Now that you mention it... He didn't tell us his name."

Lang and Miles exchanged a worried glance.

"Please give us the address," Lang requested.

"Right away."

They left the restaurant as quickly as possible. Once in the car, they headed to the address.

“Who's the UnSub then?” Lang asked. “Elg or the man that 's looking for him?” 

“It wouldn’t be the first time an UnSub inserts themselves into the investigation,” Miles said. “If he wants to kill Glen Elg… He’s fucked.”

The drive was tense, both men were filled with a sense of urgency. Lang glanced at Miles, who was gripping the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white. "We need to be prepared for anything," Lang said, breaking the silence.

Miles nodded, his mind racing with possibilities. "If the killer is already there, we might be walking into a trap."

Lang checked his weapon and adjusted his holster. "We'll handle it. Just stay focused."

They arrived at the address, a small, unassuming building on a quiet street. They parked a few blocks down to avoid drawing attention and approached cautiously.

Still sitting in the car, they put on their bulletproof vests. Lang called Rhoda, informing her of their situation just in case they needed backup.

They managed to get in thanks to a neighbor who saw them arrive while taking out the garbage. They ran up the stairs, but Lang stopped him as soon as they reached the hallway. 

"I'll go in. If you don't hear from me in three minutes, come in," ordered Lang.

But Miles shook his head.

"No, let me do it," Miles said. "If there's negotiating to be done, it's better if I go."

"Alright," Lang conceded. He showed him three fingers and looked at him with seriousness. "Three minutes. Understood?"

Miles nodded. “Understood.”

After putting on his bulletproof vest, he crossed the hallway. When he reached the door, he immediately noticed it was slightly ajar. He took a deep breath and then carefully pushed it open. The lights were off, and there was no sound. He continued into the house, trying not to make any noise, though suddenly his boots squeaked slightly against the floor.

Using his flashlight, he could make out someone in what seemed to be the living room. As soon as he saw the blood, he gripped his glock firmly.

The stranger was crouched next to a body. Miles held tight his weapon, pointing it at him.

His mind clicked into a calm state, allowing him to stay composed in the situation. He even felt his face go expressionless. Could this be the supposed police officer?

"FBI," He said with a demanding voice. "Turn around."

Miles waited patiently to discover the face of his murderer. When he did, he felt his heart stopping.

Chapter Text

Phoenix remained frozen, not knowing what to say. 

His hair came down graciously over his forehead. His bright, soft grey hair. With the usual wrinkles between his brows, he looked at him with concern. 

His face looked rounder, and his cheeks less angular. And he was staring at him with those eyes. Those eyes... Not a single day had passed without Phoenix thinking about them. And even though the image of his memory was etched in Phoenix's mind, seeing him again, he looked more handsome than ever. More than he remembered.

Moreover, he was pointing a gun at him. Miles was pointing at him with a gun.

"Keep your hands up," Miles didn't raise his voice, but his tone was enough to sound threatening. "And don't move."

Phoenix was confused. Hadn't Miles recognized him?

"Miles?" He asked. "It's me... Phoenix."

He expected his expression to change. Phoenix was already familiar with his surprised expression when he would slightly widen his eyes and relax his forehead. However, this time, his face remained neutral.

"What are you doing here?" Was the first thing he asked, still not lowering the gun.

This surprised him even more. A lump formed in his throat.

He began to think quickly about what to say. After all, his situation was not very favorable. He had broken into someone's apartment, found the person dead, and was kneeling beside the corpse. And Miles probably thought he was the killer.

"No... I didn't do anything," he said nervously, looking at the inert body of Glen Elg. "I... was looking for him and found him like this."

"Why?"

His heart was racing a thousand miles an hour. His head started to ache, and he felt nausea forming in his stomach. He didn't have time to respond as a voice interrupted the silence that had formed between them.

“Hey, Batman! What's going on in there?!” someone shouted from the entrance. 

Miles put the gun away as the steps approached. 

“Here, Lang!” Miles responded. “Elg is dead,”

“Shit, now we are fucked,” The voice said. 

Miles wasn't alone. Phoenix thought he might be with Kay, but the manly voice confused him. 

A tall, almost man with Asian characteristics walked into the room. He wore an FBI bulletproof vest too. Phoenix had never seen him before. 

“For Lang Zi’s sake, Edgeworth. I told you three minutes… Who the hell is that?” He asked as soon as he saw Phoenix on the floor. 

Phoenix could've asked the same question, but he wasn't in the position to do so. 

“I found him here,” Miles said, holstering the gun.

The so-called “Lang” seemed confused. “Why are you not arresting him?” 

Miles got the handcuffs off. “I was about to,”

“Hey, hey, wait!” Phoenix said. “I didn’t do it.” 

Lang looked at him, obviously unbelieving all he said. A smile was starting to form in his mouth as he was beginning to laugh. “Not so fast, buddy. You want us to believe you just like that?” 

Phoenix started to sweat. He had to answer quickly if he didn’t want to be seen as a suspect. The strangest thing of it all was Miles’ lack of expression. 

“I'm a private detective,” Phoenix explained. “I used to be a fed.” 

The blond man was about to laugh again, but Miles stopped him. “He’s telling the truth, Lang. I met him in Atlanta.” 

Then, his face changed. 

“Wait… Is he Phoenix Wright? Damn, he looks awful,” Lang said with a mocking tone. “Either way, he has to come with us. He’s at the crime scene.” 

“I know. But I don’t think there's a need to handcuff him,” Miles said. His voice sounded calm. “He isn’t even armed,”

Phoenix felt a glimpse of hope. Miles was there to help him. He was going to get out of this thanks to him. 

“You’re right…” Agent Lang sounded convinced “But you can’t deny that this is suspicious as fuck.”

“You know that I am here, right?” Phoenix said as they seemed to ignore him. 

They both looked at him. Maybe it wasn’t the time to be confident, but he had to act as the ex-agent he was. 

Phoenix exchanged a glance with Miles, who looked away immediately. 

The other agent grabbed Miles by the shoulder, pushing him away up to a couple of meters away. Phoenix observed them as they whispered something, wondering about what they’d do with him. 

As their conversation seemed to have finished, Miles took out his cell phone and gave two steps away to make a call. The agent Lang approached him. 

“Come on, Mr. Detective,” Lang said. “Get up.”

“Chief Badd, we need a patrol and the forensic team to our location. There’s been a murder…” Miles said, heading to the door. 

He followed the instructions, willing to collaborate in all ways possible. 

“Listen, Mr. Wright. I don’t know what the heck you’re doing here, but right now you’re a suspect of murder,” he explained. “I’m not going to handcuff you because Agent Edgeworth insisted on it. But that doesn’t mean you’re going to get any special treatment from now on. Understood?”

Phoenix nodded. 

The police patrols arrived around ten minutes later. And as soon as they got there, Phoenix was accompanied by a cop car. He saw two women getting out of another vehicle and instantly heading to the entrance, where Agent Lang was. Some neighbors had come down to the street to ask about what happened. 

That’s all Phoenix could witness before the officer drove away, living behind the red and blue police lights. 

- 

Less than what Phoenix had assumed to be an hour, he was sitting in an interrogation room. 

They'd left him there alone for no reason. He wasn't handcuffed as Lang had promised.  Hopefully, that would mean he won't be treated as a criminal. Though, keeping him wasn't a good signal. 

FBI agents look for pressuring suspects by isolation, making them think they already know you are guilty. 

Phoenix already knew the old tricks. And he wasn't falling. 

On the other hand, he couldn't stop thinking about Miles. 

They had reunited after quite a long time, although it wasn't the kind of reunion Phoenix was expecting. 

He'd have liked a meet-cute kind of scenery. Where they would've talked properly. With no guns – And no cadaver. But, after all, they had met again

For Phoenix, Miles had always been difficult to decipher. Overall when he looked at him with neutrality. 

The first time they met, Miles didn't look at him with good eyes. Phoenix thought they expressed disliking and superb. But with time he discovered it wasn't what he initially thought. 

Phoenix didn't want to think wrongfully. Miles was probably frustrated by finding him there, angry still for what happened two years ago. 

Even if his words didn't express empathy, Miles had defended him. And that was something if not everything for Phoenix. 

He took a moment to inspect himself. His pants had traces of blood in the knee part, and he felt a slight sweat smell coming from his sweater, probably a mix of nerves and lack of air conditioner inside the interrogation room. So, he took it off, staying in a short-sleeve shirt. 

Most likely, he didn't look very good. Though, what mattered was for him to stay calm. 

Minutes after, the door opened, but who came in wasn't the one he was expecting. 

Agent Lang entered alone, carrying some documents under his arm. He sat down after glancing at Phoenix. "Do you want to call someone, Mr. Wright? I assume you know your rights."

"Are you planning to detain me?"

"Should I?" Agent Lang asked with a certain ironic tone. 

"I don't think so," he said confidently. "I'm willing to cooperate."

Lang smiled wryly. "Do as you wish. But talking might benefit you."

This agent was good. Phoenix could tell by his tone of voice and his expressions. Despite his appearance, he seemed quite qualified.

"I didn't do it," he said. "I've already told you. I'm a private detective. I came here looking for the daughter of the woman who hired me. The clues led me to Glen Elg's apartment. Several people can confirm this."

"You work as a security guard in a mall," Lang reiterated. "You have no jurisdiction to break into a suspect's residence."

"I have a license to operate as a detective," Phoenix countered.

"Your license is not valid in the state of Oregon," Lang laid a document on the table proving that Phoenix was a private detective. "And a federal court will not accept this as evidence."

Lang was very good. So much so that Phoenix started to fear continuing the interrogation. Even though he knew psychological pressure techniques, he wasn't in the right state to resist suggestions. Still, he maintained a firm posture.

"I'll be clear, Mr. Wright," Lang said, leaning over the table. "A woman saw you enter the building suspiciously around the time of the victim's death. And we found you at the crime scene."

Phoenix clearly remembered that moment. The testimony of the girl could be decisive.

"If I were the killer, why didn't I flee?"

"Shock is normal after committing murder," Lang explained. "I must confess, I don't believe you're guilty. But I want to know what you were doing there and why."

His arguments didn't seem to be getting him anywhere. Phoenix had already told him, but Agent Lang kept pressing. Maybe it was time to play another card.

"I want to talk to Miles," he interrupted. "I'll only speak with him."

His words didn't seem to surprise Lang, who sat back down.

"Agent Edgeworth is not here," he said, intending to correct him.

Phoenix didn't believe him.

"The woman from the Thai restaurant gave you the address, right?"

Lang frowned slightly.

"Let me guess... Glen Elg spent forty dollars at the place last Thursday. He was seen with a dark-haired girl," Phoenix had to contain his smile. "The girl is Vera Misham. I can tell you all the information I have about her because I'm looking for her. You know perfectly well I'm not guilty, but you want to suggest otherwise for some unknown reason. I've thought maybe you're doing it just to mess with me because I found the victim long before you did. Which, now that I think about it, seems strange that the FBI is looking for a twenty-two-year-old engineer. But I assume we're both looking for the same thing, right? The culprit of a crime."

The words flowed from his mouth with a fluency he hadn't felt in years.

Lang didn't move a muscle. And when Phoenix finished speaking, he laughed.

"Well, Mr. Detective. You want to talk to Edgeworth?" he said, gathering his things. "Then you'll talk to him. But I hope you brought a change of pants."

His sarcastic tone left Phoenix a bit bewildered. But at least he had gotten what he wanted.

Not even a minute passed before the door opened again. There was Miles, who closed the door carefully behind him. He was carrying some documents, perhaps the same ones Lang had.

Phoenix looked at him expectantly as he approached the table.

Earlier, in the light of the police cars, he had thought Miles looked handsome. But now, under the reflective light of the interrogation room's fluorescent lamp, he looked even more so.

He could see the dark circles under his eyes, as well as the slight pinkish tone of his cheeks.

"Now you work with the FBI?" Phoenix asked.

But Miles didn't respond, instead busying himself with arranging the documents on the table. The truth was, Phoenix was curious about how Miles had ended up there.

Two years ago, they had talked about it, but Miles didn't seem to desire the life of a federal agent. And somehow, he had ended up living it.

Seeing Miles felt like a dream, but he couldn't ignore that a part of the situation irritated him a bit. He wanted to know the reason behind the change of heart, as well as other explanations he wanted to ask for. Such as Miles' great efforts not to stay in contact with him.

"What a surprise that…"

" Mr. Wright, are you aware that impersonating a law enforcement officer is a federal crime?"

His words cut Phoenix's voice like a sharp kitchen knife.

Phoenix fell silent.

" Mrs. Athan and her daughter confirmed that you pretended to be a police officer to get information about the victim. Additionally, we obtained a warrant to search your hotel room," Miles pulled out a bag containing his fake badge. Phoenix's throat went dry. "Unfortunately, I can't arrest you for possessing a toy badge. Though I must say it's very well made... I could argue you acquired it with the intent to commit a crime, but, if I do that, you'll be sentenced to four years in federal prison. Seven, considering your record. And I deduce you don't want that. You'd lose your job, they'd take custody of your daughter..."

Phoenix didn't know who he was talking to. This person was Miles, but he didn't speak or act like him.

"Undesirable consequences I'd like to avoid," Miles paused to put the bag away. "Are you willing to cooperate without the presence of an attorney?"

Phoenix nodded. The fear of ending up in jail for a mistake he had made terrified him immensely. He couldn't afford to lose Trucy over this.

"Can you confirm where you were between five and six this afternoon?"

"I took the subway, from Downtown to North Portland. I was at the restaurant until eight."

Miles jotted down a few things in his notebook. "Did you know Mr. Elg beforehand?"

"I had never seen him. I went to his apartment because..."

"I'm not interested in your little mystery. I just want to know if you had a relationship with the victim," Miles cut him off.

"I didn't."

Phoenix continued to keep his eyes on Miles, trying to sort out his thoughts.

"I think the most logical thing would be to make a deal," Miles said, handing him a form with his personal information. "Sign this."

"Miles, I..."

"I'm Agent Edgeworth to you, Mr. Wright," he said coldly. "Look, I don't want to drag this out. I have a case to investigate. We'll do the following: you promise to step away from your investigation, and I'll let you go. Sign your statement and we'll be done."

Phoenix took the pen and signed without saying a word.

He was angry. They were pulling him away from his case, and Miles didn't seem willing to help him as Phoenix had initially thought.

When he handed the form back to Miles, he sighed. "I've been tasked with finding a girl. And... And she could be in grave danger..."

"Let us handle that, Mr. Wright," Miles gathered the documents and stood up. "I'm going to release you, and I want you to be out of Portland and away from this case by tomorrow morning. Or I'll arrest you and you'll spend the night in jail... Goodnight, Mr. Wright."

With firm steps, Miles left the room, leaving Phoenix completely in shock. He still didn't quite understand what had happened moments earlier.

Miles had left him speechless with his agility and firmness. It was clear he had become an expert in interrogations. Not even Phoenix in his best days could have done better.

An officer came in to have him sign some routine paperwork and then escorted him to the exit. He briefly saw Miles approaching to talk to Agent Lang and two other people he didn't recognize.

The empty streets of Portland greeted him with a fresh breeze, which made him put his sweatshirt back on. He walked aimlessly. He felt dizzy, and not just from being hungry.

He still had many things to process. The first being that he had found Miles, although not in the circumstances he had expected. And that Miles was now an FBI agent.

Phoenix laughed. Anyone who saw him would have thought he was crazy. But the truth was, he was on the edge of the abyss.

He didn't understand how it had happened. And, honestly, he didn't want to know. At that moment, he felt like a complete idiot.

He had thought Miles would treat him with leniency. But the opposite had happened.

Miles had been ruthless, even a bit cruel.

Phoenix didn't understand it. At first, it seemed he was going to defend and support him. And even though he believed him innocent, he had subjected him to great stress to confess something Miles already knew. Otherwise, he wouldn't have let him go so easily.

He sat on a bench, reflecting on what to do next. He had signed the agreement, which meant he was obligated to leave the case. He had to call Vera's parents to explain the situation.

He turned on his phone, hoping to find a call from Franziska. Nothing.

The next morning he would try contacting her again. He also had to call Maya. He needed to talk about everything that had happened with someone who could understand.

When he started to feel cold, he stood by the road, looking for a passing taxi to take him back to his hotel. About five minutes later, one appeared.

Once at his hotel, he headed to the bar, where he ordered a glass of whiskey. He drank it in one go, hoping the alcohol would soon take effect and allow him to sleep as quickly as possible.

His room was a mess due to the search, but he didn't care much. He just wanted to sleep.

Laying on the bed, contemplating the darkness of the ceiling for a few moments, he touched the scar on the back of his head. It had been months since the last time he’d felt the pain. But as he saw Glen Elg’s body, he experienced it just as in his worse episodes. But it had suddenly stopped, without him even noticing. 

“What am I gonna do now?” he asked himself in a whisper. 

Well, the question would be answered the next morning as Phoenix fell asleep with the image of Miles still lingering in his mind. 

-

On the next morning, he woke up with a pounding headache. He hadn't rested at all, and the hangover was showing its worst effects.

It was noon. Despite having slept for almost ten hours, he didn't feel rested. It was as if he hadn't slept at all.

The first thing he did was drink water. A lot of it. And then he took a dose of tranquilizers and painkillers. He hadn't eaten anything in advance, but he didn't care. He just wanted the pain to go away. He still had on last night's clothes, with the blood now dried. He took everything off and had a cold shower, trying to activate his body. 

With new clothes on, he lay back down, contemplating the different ideas he had in his head. Phoenix was obliged to leave Portland, leaving the case as Miles had said. 

The image of Miles questioning him was still latent in his brain. He couldn’t even start to believe he had found him. How Miles treated him… It reminded Phoenix of the old times. Those moments where he misjudged Miles for how he expressed himself. But this time, there wasn’t even a bit of warmness in his tone. Phoenix could’ve frozen solely with his words. And still, Phoenix found his heart beating at the thought of his voice. 

After brushing off his love fool daydreaming, he finally decided to Maya.

“Hey, Nick! What’s up? Trucy and I are about to watch a movie.”

“Hey, Maya…” he said, finding his voice sounded a bit sore. He cleared his throat. “Can I speak to Trucy for a minute?”

“Sure! Trucy, it’s your daddy…”

“Hi, Dad,” Trucy said. “How are you?”

Phoenix sighed with serenity. Hearing Trucy’s voice always cheers him up, even in the worst moments. “I’m fine, honey. I’m about to come back. Are you having fun with Aunt Maya?”

“Yep. We’re about to watch a horror movie. That one about the children with allergy to the light.”

“A pretty scary one,” Phoenix said. “Well, I’m happy to hear you’re okay. Pass me to your aunt again, I want to discuss something with her.”

“Okay… Love you, Dad.”

“Love you, too sweetheart.”

Phoenix waited a moment until Maya put on to the speaker again. She’d probably gone to another instance to talk to him. 

“How’s the case going?” Maya asked. 

“Maya, you won’t believe it…” Phoenix let go a sigh. “But I found Miles.”

He then proceeded to tell Maya everything that had happened in detail. 

“Wow…” said Maya. “That was unexpected for sure.”

“I know!” Phoenix replied. 

“I mean… It surprises me that Mr. Edgeworth is doing fieldwork. He always stays at the BAU office.”

The BAU… So, Miles worked with the Behavioral Analysis Unit. For Phoenix it made sense. Human behavior was totally Miles’ thing. On thinking about it, soon he realized that Maya was aware of it before he was. 

“Wait a minute… You knew!?” he asked, partially offended by the fact that Maya never mentioned it before. 

“Of course, I knew Nick. I’m dating his sister. She wouldn’t keep any secrets from me. Besides, I had dinner with him on Christmas.” 

Phoenix had found doubts about part of that statement. But he kept silent. 

“I’m sorry for not telling you…” Maya apologized.  “I didn’t mean to hurt you. You’ve suffering from what happened for two years. I wanted you to heal properly.”

“It’s okay, Maya. I understand.” Phoenix assured. 

Indeed he wanted to recruit Miles back in the day. After all, he had all that was required for the job. However, he understood his refusal. It wasn’t the kind of life he wanted for himself. And Phoenix couldn’t blame him for it. As well as he couldn’t get angry at the fact that he’d changed his mind. The reasons intrigued him for sure. He assumed the agent Lang had something to do with it. 

But, overall, he would’ve liked to find out in another kind of situation. 

“So what are you going to do now? You’re coming back?”

Phoenix sighed. “I think so. My only lead is a dead man. And it seems that I’m interfering with a federal investigation.”

“Wise decision.”

Since when Maya had become so rational about things? Back in the day, she would've told him to not let anything or anyone stop him. 

But realistically speaking, they weren't in that position anymore. As much as he’d like it, he had no power in the situation. Agent Lang had left it clear after confirming his PI license wasn’t valid in Oregon. Now and then, he has no other but to follow the law. 

“By the way. Where’s Franziska?” Phoenix asked as she hadn’t called him back yet.

“Franny is busy with a case,” Maya explained “Do you need her for something?”

“Yeah, she was helping me with the case… I wanted to thank her for helping me.” He lied. 

“Oh! Then I’ll tell her to call you right away,” Maya said with excitement. “You know, she sends all the calls to voicemail automatically while she’s focused on work. She must be on break soon… I’ll make sure she calls you back.”

“Thanks, Maya.”

“And Nick,”

“Mmh?”

“Thanks for giving her a chance.”

“You don’t have to thank me for it, Maya,” Phoenix said. “She’s… Nice.”

He couldn't tell the truth to Maya, at least not yet. His relationship with Franziska was purely business; mutual help. 

At that moment, Phoenix remembered what he’d promised her. After all, she was willing to help him in exchange for something: Maya's suspension to be over. 

If he surrendered, he wouldn't be able to achieve his promise. 

Besides, there was a chance for him to restore his relationship with Miles (though he knew it would be difficult). But Phoenix had to try this time. 

“Maya, I actually might not be going back that soon…” He confessed. 

“Why did you change your mind?”

“There's something I still have to do… Regarding Miles.”

Maya stayed silent, then released a sigh. 

“I know you think I'm going to get hurt…” 

“Y’know Nick? I think this time you should follow your heart,” Maya said. “I just want you to be happy. I wish Mr. Edgeworth all the happiness in the world.” 

“You're… Not stopping me?” 

“I'm afraid I cannot… You're on the other side of the country after all.” 

Phoenix senses a slight disappointment in Maya’s voice. And again, she was absolutely right to feel upset with him. But if he continued with the case, all the times he’d made her feel bad would be compensated. 

“Franny will call you right away… But don't do anything crazy, Nick.” 

“I won't… I promise.”

Phoenix hung up, knowing that he had again lied to his best friend. But, difficult situations need difficult decisions. 

He decided to wait for Franziska's call as he gathered all the facts he had. 

Vera had stayed at some point with Glen. But, where was she now? 

Maybe she was kidnapped by the ones who murdered Glen. Though, he wasn't even sure if that man was truly Glen Elg. 

The cult issue was among the possibilities too. But, how do you find a cult? Was that what the FBI was behind? 

The history of cults in the US was mostly made up. While learning about the FBI's mission through the years, it stood up to the fact that there wasn't a cult problem back then. A mix of media misinformation, people's paranoia, and the rise of conspiracy theories had made up an entire story about cult phobia during the mid-eighties. The phenomenon was later called "Satanic Phobia". There were a few cults, for sure. But nothing related to satanism. That kind of group is commonly related to spirituality of some form. They function in plain sight but don't stand out. 

If only he could remember the categories for cults… It had been such a long time since the last occasion he had to use his FBI training knowledge. So now, all he had was the internet. 

Phoenix decided to search for the group online. Nowadays, publicity is almost (if not entirely) online. If you want to recruit young people, you must call their attention in some way. He tapped on his phone “The Darkling '', but he only found a movie of the same name. To his disappointment, it wasn't going to be that easy. Then, he decided to search for articles about cults or groups in Oregon. After finding out there was a Portland-based band with the name ‘cults’, Phoenix ended up in a discussion forum about the topic. 

Most people talked about a famous religious community during the eighties, whose members tried to assassinate the United States’s Attorney for the District of Oregon in the eighty-five. Pretty heavy stuff. 

Scrolling down a bit, he found what he was looking for. ‘Oregon-based groups considered as cults’. Megachurches, new religious movements, neofascists… And bigfoot cults. Nothing that could interest young girls. Disappointed, Phoenix spent some time learning about local folklore. Lake monsters, UFOs, and wolfmen seemed to be very present in popular culture. As well as haunted places and urban legends. But nothing would help him find Vera. 

He threw himself on the bed again. Once more, Franziska was the only source he had left. 

Phoenix was almost asleep when his cell phone vibrated for the upcoming call. It was Franziska. 

Phoenix perked up, answering instantly. “Franziska.”

“Phoenix Wright… Maya said you wanted to contact me,” she said. “I have a few lost calls from you. Did something happen?”

“I found Glen Elg’s address, and when I arrived there, I found a body…” Phoenix grimaced, knowing how messed up sounded. “So, I was taken as a suspect by the FBI… By your brother.” 

Franziska didn't answer right away. Phoenix even got a bit scared about what she would say. Then, he heard a lighter clicking, followed by a breath release. He guessed she was smoking. 

“Of course, he's there… He and his BAU friends,” Franziska said, unsurprised as always. “How impolite of him to arrest you. But, given the circumstances, it was a logical move. I assume he released you.” 

“Yeah… We made a deal,” Phoenix remembered himself signing that document. “I'm supposed to not interfere with his case.” 

Franziska released her breath again. “In which circumstances are you right now, exactly?”

“I should've left the city this morning. But I remembered our conversation. And I don’t want to surrender. I want to keep going… For Maya.”

Franziska went silent again. 

“I never thought I would say this to you. But, sometimes, the rules aren't made to be followed,” Franziska finally said. “Ask yourself how much you want to pursue our deal, Phoenix Wright. I'm helping you through your path to fixing your life… And it seems that destiny is on our side.” 

Maya is logical, and Franziska believes in destiny. Phoenix was starting to believe that the world was going crazy. 

“Do you mean… Regarding Miles?” he asked, confused. 

“Interpret it as you may,” Franziska said and Phoenix heard a door creaking in the background. “I have to go back. Call me if you need a legal representative if they arrest you again. I'm not afraid of lecturing my brother if necessary.” 

“Thanks Franziska… By the way, do you know why is it the FBI in Portland?” 

“I think that the TV can give you better answers,” she said. “Mind you, if my brother is there, it’s not something pretty.” 

The call ended with her punching line, leaving Phoenix alone with his thoughts. He decided to follow her advice and turn the hotel room TV on. Luckily, an answer was being broadcast on the local report channel. 

‘The Brand Killer strikes again’  

“Now we connect with Nicole Swift, who is right at yesterday’s murder scene,” said the host. 

“The building is still cordoned off as the CSI has not yet ended the investigation. Both the FBI and the local police are trying to bring light to what happened here last night. We don’t have much details about the victim, but we know that a suspect was arrested at the crime scene…”

As the young reporter spoke, Phoenix sat down at the edge of the bed. The Brand Killer. He had never heard of such a thing. 

“This is what Supervisory Special Agent Rhoda Teneiro said to us this morning.”

“Our unit is still investigating the previous murders. Building a profile takes time, and we are rushing ourselves as much as we can,” said a woman that Phoenix recognized from the night before. She was in Miles’ team. “We cannot confirm this death is related to the Brand Killer. We’ll give a press conference as soon as we have clear answers. Have a good day.”

The reporters wanted to ask her more questions, but she walked away followed by two police officers, avoiding the cameras. 

Phoenix didn’t pay much attention to the rest of the program. He already discovered the reason for Miles' presence in Portland. However, how did a serial killer connect with Glen Elg’s death? Both he and the FBI were struggling to find the answer. 

He went back to looking at online information, this time about the Brand Killer. Instantly, thousands of articles appeared. Phoenix wasn’t sure where to start, so he just clicked on the first one. 

In a matter of minutes, he discovered that the case went back eleven years. He saw pictures of the three murdered girls, found in strange circumstances near water places. 

At the time, Miles was probably already working for Portland police. Maybe it was one of his first cases. Even if they punctually talked about past cases, Miles had never mentioned anything about it. 

The Brand Killer had quite a remarkable signature – A scar in a “D” shape. It seemed like the case shocked the city during that time, and the FBI took over the case after the third body was found. 

“The murders suddenly stopped?” Phoenix read out loud. “Eleven years later, two bodies have been found with the same scars… But this time they were brutally butchered.”

A sudden change of behavior in a serial killer is unusual. Once they have their rituals perfected, it’s difficult for them to stop. Rarely had Phoenix found a criminal who changed its methods, even after a long period of time. The Brand Killer was surely a headache for the BAU. And it probably was for Miles too. 

Phoenix tried to arrange his thoughts for a moment. Nothing made sense. A cult named The Darkling, a serial killer who uses a “D” shaped cattle brand… No, it couldn’t be. 

If you believe in coincidence, this might sound like a perfect example of one. But not for Phoenix. After all the years he worked for the FBI, and after all that happened in Atlanta two years back, he never once thought something was a mere coincidence. 

He smiled to himself. He finally had a lead. Unfortunately, he had no evidence to back it up or present it to the police. 

Phoenix had nothing. Again. 

He’d spent the whole day in his room, going through all his possibilities. Phoenix realized that he hadn’t called Iryna Misham yet, so maybe he would need to ask her for more details. 

Suddenly, while thinking about eating something, his cell phone rang. He picked up, thinking it was either Maya or Franziska, but an unknown number was called. 

“This is Phoenix Wright…”

“Mr. Wright?” a girl’s voice asked. “It’s me, I’m… Vera Misham.”

Even when he thought that nothing more unexpected could happen, it happened. 

Phoenix jumped from the bed. “Vera! You’re parents are looking for you… I’m looking for you.”

“I know, I’m sorry…” she said and then paused. She sounded alarmed. “I’ve just made myself with a phone. My mom gave me your number…”

“It’s okay, Vera…” Phoenix tried to calm her down. “Where are you? Are you hurt?”

“I don’t have much time…” she whispered. “And I don’t know where am I…”

Phoenix started to hear her sobbing. “It’s fine, Vera. Everything is going to be alright. Send me the location and erase the chat. I’ll get there as soon as I can. Okay?”

“Okay…” she said. Then, her breathing got quicker. “He’s coming… I have to go.”

“Vera…”

When the call ended, Phoenix stood at the screen for a few seconds. Then, he received the location. 

- 

Phoenix knew there was a high chance he was putting himself in danger. But something inside him wouldn't let him turn around and take that plane to New York. Not now that he was a step closer to finding Vera. 

The abandoned building was located near where he found Glen Elg. He tried to walk casually as a few police cars were patrolling the area. Phoenix found himself at the entrance, looking around for any suspicious person. Nobody was there. 

Once Phoenix was in, he started to rethink his decision. How did he know how to find Vera? What would happen if the ones who took her found him there? He wasn’t even armed…

Moments later, he heard steps approaching. He’d screwed up badly. 

Through all the rubble, he spotted an old vandalized wardrobe near a corned. Phoenix carefully headed there and crouched behind him. 

Eventually, what seemed to be two men walked through the abandoned hall, exchanging a conversation Phoenix wasn’t able to hear well. When the voices exited the building, he took out his phone, thinking what his next move would be. 

But, at that point, he’d run out of ideas. The only thing he could do was call the police. 

New steps echoed, and Phoenix stood still, trying to not make a single noise. He even held up his breath. But the walking approached as his heart started racing. 

Someone pointed at him with a flashlight.

“You have to be kidding me…” Miles said. 

Phoenix looked up. Calling the police wasn’t necessary anymore. 

Chapter Text

He felt his hands tighten around the gun, going into a state of shock. That could not be possible. He had Phoenix there, right in front of him. And there was a corpse next to him. 

For a moment he was scared, thinking that Phoenix could also be injured. But his thoughts changed instantly. From worry, he passed to confusion. And then to anger. It had been a long time, and meeting like this was not what Miles would have liked. 

That man was at his crime scene and his words came out of his mouth without thinking. "What are you doing here?" 

"No... I didn't do anything," Phoenix said with a trembling voice. "I... was looking for him and found him like this."

"Why?" 

Miles didn’t even know what he was speaking to him like that. It was obvious that Phoenix had nothing to do with the murder. But, still, he kept the frown. 

When Lang came in, he was finally able to relax his arms and put the gun down. 

“For Lang Zi’s sake, Edgeworth. I told you three minutes… Who the hell is that?” Lang said.

“I found him here,” Miles explained as he kept the gun in the holster. 

Lang raised a brow. “Why are you not arresting him?” 

Almost instinctively, he got the handcuffs, though doubted he would use them. “I was about to,”

“Hey, hey, wait!” Phoenix said. “I didn’t do it.”

Miles glanced at him again. Phoenix wasn’t in a good situation, and there were few things he could do to help him without getting himself in trouble. 

He decided to start by clarifying to Lang who Phoenix was. Supporting Phoenix’s statements would ease things up. Though, it was natural for Lang to still have distrust. 

Right when his eyes met with Phoenix’s, warming up his heart, Lang pulled him away to the corner. 

“You don’t want me to handcuff him?” Lang mumbled. 

“No,” Miles insisted. “Good grief, look at him… Do you think he’s a murderer?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

Miles comprehended Lang’s doubts. If you find someone next to a dead person, it is logical to assume that they can be a plausible suspect. But it was Phoenix who they were talking about. 

There had to be something Miles could do to convince Lang of his argument. 

“We can interrogate him and register his hotel room,” he suggested. “Evidence will prove my point.”

Lang seemed to think about it for a few seconds as he glanced briefly at Phoenix. 

“Sounds fair,” he finally concluded. “Call Badd. We need the CSI to come immediately.”

Miles nodded, satisfied. Luckily, Phoenix would only go through a round of questioning and then he’d be freed. He looked at Phoenix one last time before calling Chief Badd. 

In approximately fifteen minutes, a police patrol and the local CSI team were at the scene. Rhoda and Justine were there too. They were proportioned with gloves and bags for their shoes, to keep the scene as clean as possible from now on. 

Phoenix had been taken to the station, and Miles hoped he would be okay.

“So, if I understood it correctly…” Justine said. “You believe that the victim was the copycat and the Brand Killer was Manny Coachen?”

“We’re not so sure anymore,” Miles confessed. “We came in here intending to talk to him. He was siblings with one of the victims from eleven years ago. Manny Coachen was accused of sexual assault back then, we thought that maybe there was something deeper into that.”

“There’s no need for justification, Edgeworth,” Lang intervened. “We were mistaken. Is that what you want to hear, Justine?”

She chuckled. “I just wanted to make sure that we are all in the same boat.”

“Enough,” said Rhoda, crossing her arms. “What do we tell to the reporters? Is this even related to our case?”

“That’s what we should find out,” Lang seemed frustrated as if the twist to the case wasn’t pleasing for him. Miles sympathized with him in that aspect. Complicated cases were a pain in the ass. “Justine, examine the scene and gather as much information as you can from the scientific. Edgeworth and Teneiro, you two interview the neighbors. Let’s find out if someone can give us a useful testimony.”

“What are you going to do?” Justine asked.

“Getting a registration warrant,” He said. “See you later at the station.”

Just like that, Lang left, leaving them there to proceed as ordered. 

- 

Driving back, Miles wondered if Phoenix would be already allowed to go. Lang had gotten the warrant in record time thanks to his contacts in DC. He wished Phoenix hadn’t done it any stupidly and nothing among his things was incriminatory. 

Over the table, there was a box, full of Phoenix’s belongings. Lang was waiting for them as he finished assembling a pile of documents.  

“This is all they found. Nothing related to a murder. However…” Lang said. "We found these two pictures."

Miles observed the two pieces of photographic paper. In one picture there was Glen Elg, in the other an unknown girl. "Who's the girl?"

"We don't know. But, there's something more interesting here..." Lang put his hand inside the box and got a plastic bag that contained a police badge. “We also found this inside his pocket. As the woman from the restaurant said, he impersonated a police officer.”

Of course, Phoenix had done something like that. He loved to be undercover, and not being a cop anymore didn’t stop him from it. Miles knew he could be in a big mess if Lang decided to process him for impersonation. 

“It’s a toy,” Miles shrugged. “Doesn’t prove anything.”

Lang smiled slyly. “We’ll see what he says about it.”

That confirmed his suspicions. Phoenix was still under custody, and Lang hadn’t interrogated him yet. 

Isolation was a common technique they used with UnSubs. And Miles couldn’t accept it. There had to be a way to get Phoenix out of there as soon as possible. 

"I'll handle the interrogation," Lang said. "Your relationship with the suspect..."

Interrogation? Suspect? Phoenix was a suspect now?

"...might affect your ability to interrogate him."

Miles couldn't believe Lang had detained him for so long. Even so, he wasn't about to accept that. Whatever had happened years ago didn't have to affect him now.

"It won't affect me," he assured. "Mr. Wright and I..."

"Allow me to insist," Lang interrupted. "You stay out. I'll do the job."

Miles couldn't protest again. Lang was still his boss after all. So, as ordered, he stayed on the other side of the one-way mirror, observing the interrogation. More accurately, observing Phoenix.

He had changed a lot. He wore casual clothes, including a beanie that covered his hair. The stubble on his face stood out, along with the dark circles under his eyes from exhaustion. But despite it all, he was still Phoenix.

Miles hadn't heard from him in over two years. Seeing him again was a strange sensation.

But above all, Miles was angry; and frustrated by the situation. Phoenix had exposed himself to something very dangerous. Miles had no idea what he was doing there or why. What he did know was that Phoenix needed to leave. Phoenix had to get out of the city. That way, Miles could continue his investigation without worries.

His surprise came when Phoenix asked for him. His heart pounded.

"Do you know him?" Rhoda asked, surprised.

"I knew him when I worked in Atlanta," Miles explained, keeping firm. "He was an agent in a small unit within the CAC."

"FBI?" Justine doubted, with a hint of sarcasm. "He doesn't look like an ex-agent."

It was true that, objectively, Phoenix didn't look very good. He seemed tired, probably due to the shock and the suggestion he was being subjected to. But from the way he spoke, Miles knew he still had his attitude.

He waited expectantly for Lang's response, who surprisingly gave in easily to what Phoenix asked.

Miles went out to meet him.

"This isn't the usual procedure..." Lang said, clearly irritated.

"I have no relationship with him," Miles insisted. "I can handle it."

Lang's look conveyed doubt. But Miles was sure of himself. His 'relationship' with Phoenix didn't have to interfere with the investigation. Not if he managed to get him to leave, which was exactly what he intended to do.

With a slightly furrowed brow, Lang handed him the documents. "Prove it to me."

Miles devised a plan in just a few seconds, right when he opened the door. He couldn't risk being taken off the case. For that reason, he had to do it quickly. He had to remain neutral.

He didn't feel proud of what he said, and he knew he would regret it later. But that was the only way to keep Phoenix out of it.

Miles was cold. Treating him as 'Mr. Wright' to appear impartial and show total detachment. However, he couldn't help but wish him a good night at the end, just like they used to in the old days.

Miles left the interrogation room. He'd what he wanted, so he could let the witness leave. 

He approached Lang, who was waiting with Badd and Raymond. Miles left the documents by the table. 

"Edgeworth..." Lang called. 

"We made a deal. I freed him in exchange for him leaving Portland and staying away from the case," Miles explained. "We cannot allow a civilian to get involved."

Lang went through the document for a moment. But it seemed like what he said sounded right to him. "You got the signed declaration?"

Miles handed it, and Lang took the document without further questions. 

“So, we can assume he isn’t involved?” Badd asked as he opened a new lollipop. 

“I doubt it,” Miles assured. “He doesn’t fit the profile of a violent killer.”

He avoided eye contact with Lang, who was aware that something with him was off. Miles didn’t want to talk about it. Not right then, not right there. 

"Justine, you've been at the crime scene. First impressions?" 

"The victim was attacked from the back. Someone broke in, probably using a crowbar. It isn't the usual way to go into someone's house with the objective of killing them," Justine explained. "There was a fight, for sure. Basing ourselves in the marks and the messiness of the house, Glen Elg was murdered by someone who didn't expect him to be there."

"We are trying to get in contact with his relatives. If something has been stolen, maybe they'll know," Rhoda intervened. "Thought, by now, nobody answered." 

“Have we found any additional clues?”

"Alright," Lang said. "Tomorrow we will continue with the profile as we wait for the forensic results. We took a few things from Mr. Wright as evidence, like his registered calls and we need to revise the security cameras to back up his testimony. But, I think we can wrap it up by tomorrow." 

Upon arriving at the hotel, they decided to put off the reunion until breakfast. The team expressed how tired they were, which made it impossible to stay focused on the case without a long night of sleep first. 

Miles bid farewell to Justine before entering his room. He slid his card and opened the door, stepping inside and closing the thick wooden door behind him. The room was pitch dark. And the gloominess gave him enough comfort to breathe. 

Leaning against the door, his eyes burned from the unshed tears, and he slowly slid down, his back against the cold wood.

Unbidden, the sob he had been holding back for hours broke free. He felt immense pressure in his chest as if he hadn't breathed in a long time. On top of that, he felt nauseous.

Seeing Phoenix had stirred up so many emotions. He hadn’t allowed himself to express any of them. Above all, he had to fulfill his duty as an agent. He had prioritized pleasing Lang over treating Phoenix well. But it was the right thing to do.

He allowed himself to cry that night, letting the tears stream down his cheeks and wiping them away instantly. He did it in silence, aware of the thin walls of the room. It had been a long time since the last time he cried over his feelings. 

This would be the last time he cried over Phoenix Wright.

-  

He woke up feeling dizzy, with his pajamas a bit sweaty. He had had a nightmare but didn’t remember a single piece of it. There had been a while since the last time he recalled what he had dreamt about. Back in the day, his dreams were as vivid as movies, which made the bad ones frightening and almost real. But the good ones… The good ones used to help him go through his days, even if they weren’t recurrent. Now, he had nothing. And all in black screen in his memory. Maybe it was time to change sleeping pills as the usual ones might wear off naturally. 

In less than ten minutes, he was already showered and dressed. As he came out to the hallway, Justine was already waiting. 

“Good morning,” she said. “Lang is waiting downstairs.”

Miles nodded, following her to the elevator. He kept trying to remember what his dream had been about, but still without success. 

“He told me they’re making you supervisor,” Justine said, trying to initiate a chat. “And second in command.”

“He thinks I’m ready,” Miles explained. “As well as Andrews.”

“I know… But are you?” Justine's question confounded him. “I mean, you seem quite comfortable with your research stuff. Field job is another world. Work becomes your entire life, you cannot commit to another thing besides it.”

Miles understood what she was trying to say. However, little did she know about Miles’ work addiction. His work had been his life for twelve years. And, even if he had doubted putting it aside and prioritizing other things, he found himself incapable of it. 

“If Lang is sure, so am I.” 

Justine smirked, and didn't say anything else. She was in her right to try and give him advice. Justine knew better than anyone how it is to leave everything behind to become an SSA. 

But Miles had it pretty clear. 

At the restaurant, Lang and Rhoda were already sitting at their table drinking coffee. 

When all the time had their breakfasts on the table, Lang spoke. 

“As I said yesterday, today will consist of trying to conclude our profile as we wait for the first results from the scientific investigation of the scene,” he explained. “Seems that our profile is becoming more difficult to build. Any ideas? Thoughts?”

“After thinking about it, I think I agree with Miles,” Justine said, and Miles gazed at her in surprise. “I think someone is targeting people related to the case from eleven years ago. As for the UnSub, it wouldn't be surprising if we're facing a criminal organization. However, I would like to add that my conclusions, based on the difference between the scenes and the murders, lead me to suggest an action of two UnSubs.”

“Wait, I don’t get it,” Rhoda stopped her. “It makes sense that there are two UnSubs. But do we agree on following what the Organized Crime Unit concluded years ago? Hadn’t we concluded that Manny Coachen was the Brand Killer?”

“It was a rash conclusion,” Miles admitted. “But it cannot be a coincidence that Glen Elg is dead. If what Justine says is true, we can assume that the victims knew what happened to Vanessa, Cristina, and Ava.”

“Do we have evidence to back that up?” Lang asked. 

“Chief Badd mentioned that Buddy Faith called the police station a week previous to his death,” Rhoda said. “He wanted to talk with him about the case eleven years ago.”

Lang shook his head. “It isn’t enough to connect the victims…”

“We can call Lisa,” Miles suggested. “Maybe the victims received some kind of threat before dying…”

“Do that,” Lang said. “Tell her to call as soon as she can.”

- 

Miles hoped Phoenix was already gone by then. Since the night before, he had been trying to convince himself that what he had done was the right choice. And he was close to it. Miles just had to focus on the case, and his worries would be gone. 

The team was reunited in Badd's office, as they waited for a video call from Lisa. Miles had reached her during the drive, asking if she could dig as much as possible in the two first victims' emails and digital data. 

“Lisa Basil to the computer,” she said when her image appeared on the screen. 

“What have you found, cyberlady?” Lang asked. 

“At first I checked both Manny Coachen and Buddy Faith’s emails, but I didn't find anything out of the ordinary. However…” she paused, searching for something in her computer. “I was able to recover their erased stuff. Both received an auto-destructive message a week before their respective deaths.”

“What does the message say?” Rhoda asked. 

“That’s the thing. There’s no way possible to know,” Lisa explained. “As I said. It was auto-destructive. It erases itself one minute after opening it. This technology is not seen often. Only in cybercrime or high-skilled criminals. But, I can tell you the subject.”

“What is it?” Lang asked, impatient. 

“You’re a dead snitch. ”

The team looked at each other. Chief Badd remained in the back, caressing his chin. 

“Alright. Thanks, Basil,” Lang said. “Keep updating us if you find anything juicy.”

“Roger, bug!”

The video call ended, followed by silence. After Lang closed the laptop, he turned around. 

“Edgeworth,” Lang called. “Would you be able to classify both assassins?”

Miles was caught off guard but then nodded. “Absolutely.”

“Then, we finally have our profile.”

-

“We believe that we’re working with an elite criminal organization,” Justine said, facing the officers who worked on the investigation. The team had gathered all of them, as well as Chief Badd and Raymond to explain the profile to them. That way, they were able to be more certain about what they were looking for. “Probably the same one responsible for the deaths of three college students eleven years ago.”

“They are targeting people related to the case, who seem to have intentions to disclose details about the Brand Killer case to the police,” Lang followed. “This means we’re facing high-skilled assassins.”

“So, there are multiple murderers?” Raymond asked. 

“The murders were performed by two different people,” affirmed Lang. “That would explain the sudden change of behavior.”

“In criminal organizations is quite common to count with more than one person who performs ‘dirty jobs’,” added Justine. “We can assume this is a hierarchical-structured organization, where the subordinates carry out the boss’ orders.”

“Can we assume this is about sex trafficking too?” Another officer asked. 

“We shall have in mind all hypotheses from back then,” clarified Lang. “There must be a relation between a science club all victims, from now and then, attended. What evidence says, it’s that a substance trafficking ring would be more possible. Taking into account the drug addiction of the three girls from eleven years ago.”

Everyone wrote notes on small notebooks as Miles waited for his turn. His teammates were more generic. His explanation was often the technical part, which most common cops would have it difficult to fully understand. Terms such as ‘organized’ and ‘disorganized’ were easy. But a full classification of a specific kind of criminal was deeper than that. 

He took a step forward. When everyone had their eyes on him, Miles pictured he was in class, imparting a lesson. 

“This kind of unsub can be called ‘executioner’. More commonly known as ‘hitman’ or ‘assassins’. In this particular case, we can spot two different personalities. The first one is an Angel of Death. He kills the victims intending to free them from the suffering. Overdosing and dumping the bodies suggest an organized behavior, as well as sadistic tendencies. All these characteristics show maturity and experience. He is white, probably already in his late forties,” Miles waited a few seconds, just in case anyone was confused. His eyes met with Badd’s, who nodded in approbation. “The second one is more violent, a full-fledged psychopath. Plans his killings, but then has trouble performing them. This can suggest he’s younger and inexperienced. Around his early thirties. Probably also white. They commonly share the mark in a ‘D’ form as a signature, so we can confidently say that the second one is apprenticed to the other. And there's a high chance both are alive.”

“So, who are we looking for?” an officer asked. “Two assassins or a whole criminal organization?”

“Chief Badd, you know where criminals move within Portland,” said Miles. “This profile can help us to find them if we give the description to someone who might know them. If we interview people who it’s involved in organized crime, we find the criminals.”

“Count on it, kid,” Badd said. 

“We should also investigate the science club,” Lang added. “There must be a connection between the college and the organization we’re looking for.”

“An institution engaging with organized crime? We haven’t seen that since…” But Raymond shut. And Miles silently thanked him for it. It wasn’t the moment to reveal details from the past. “I’ll get to it.”

“This information cannot be out here. We usually inform the public about our conclusions, but revealing Portland Police Bureau is chasing a criminal organization won’t bring anything good,” explained Rhoda. “By now, what we’ve talked about here must remain confidential. If anything, keep discretion. For your own safety.”

The officers seemed to have it clear as they nodded vigorously. 

Badd gave two claps. “Okay, guys. Time to get your assessment up and start to work.”

The room was cleared at the moment with everyone back to their desks. Miles saw Raymond going back to his seat. He excused himself from the team and decided to head there. 

Since he was back, there hadn’t been any opportunity to have a conversation with either Raymond or Badd. Because, honestly, Miles felt he had plenty of things to tell them. He wanted to talk about his time in Atlanta, as well as he wanted to know how they sorted things out there in Portland. 

When Miles left, Badd had been suspended, and Raymond had to move districts. Who would’ve told them that digging about your corrupt boss would bring such consequences? However, the previous chief ended up in jail just two years prior thanks to them as they kept the investigation in the shadows. Miles read it in the newspaper back in the day. And the urge to call them overcame him. It was the only time he did. At that moment, Badd asked him if he wanted to go back. But Miles said it wasn’t the moment. Two years later, there he was, with both his new team and his old one. 

“Mr. Shields…” 

“Miles! You seem to be a high-skilled federal agent by now,” Raymond said. “I know someone who would be proud.” 

Miles attempted to smile, but he only frowned his lips. “Thanks for not mentioning that case. ” 

“It wasn’t the moment nor the place to mention it,” he smiled. “Anyway. Now that you're here, I have to show you something.”

Changing topics comforted him. That way, Miles could save himself an uncomfortable conversation. 

“I've received the phone call register of the guy you attested yesterday,” Raymond said as he searched for something among his things. “He called someone before entering the building. He has had several calls in the past few days to the same number."

"We agreed on releasing him," Miles argued. 

"I know," Raymond handed him the yellowish paper. "But I think you should check this." 

Miles picked the file in disguise. Instantly, he recognized his sister's number on it. 

He looked at Raymond, who turned around in his seat to keep working as if nothing was happening. 

Miles walked away, trying to find an empty office. He noticed there was nobody in the coffee room, so he locked himself inside of it. 

Getting out of his cell, he instantly dialed his sister’s number. It took a bit, but she answered. 

“Brother… What a surprise.” 

“Please, don't tell me you're somehow helping Phoenix Wright.” He said, almost begging. 

“Ten points to Ravenclaw,” she joked, confirming his suspicions. 

Miles lay back, half-sitting on a table while pinching his nose bridge. “May I know the reason for that?”

“Business, little brother,” Franziska said. “Purely business.” 

“So, you're not telling me?”

“You should've asked Phoenix. After all, you subjected him to an interrogation.”

Miles rubbed his forehead. Franziska was sometimes unbelievable. But this time she had surpassed all the expectations. “He told you?”

“I've just talked to him,” Franziska quietly chuckled. “How unsightly, Miles Edgeworth. Treating a loved one like that.”

“I…” Miles sighed, trying to talk calmly. “I do not love him.”

“Who said that? Because I didn't.” 

Franziska was clearly not going to be of any help. 

Miles started to think there was a major conspiracy against him, which objective was to fuck him up. 

“He's still in Portland, isn't he?” he asked, though he already knew the answer. 

“Phoenix Wright is accomplishing his mission of finding a missing girl. A hard labor for a PI, but he's doing his best,” Franziska said grandiloquently. “And you are doing what, exactly?” 

“I'm trying to catch a murderer,” Miles looked around, just in case someone had the intention to come in. But nobody was around. “The Brand Killer is back.” 

Franziska stayed silence. The news must’ve surprised her. It was normal, as she probably remembered the case quite well. 

“I have no time for this, Miles Edgeworth…” her tone changed completely. 

“Franziska, listen to me,” he said bluntly. “There is someone killing people who are connected to that case from eleven years ago… And we concluded this is a matter of organized crime. So please, don't encourage him to stay.” 

Franziska sighed. “You're such a fool, brother… I bet you're hiding your feelings to push him away. Did you know? Self-harm manifests in other ways rather than physical,” Miles looked down and didn't argue. Franziska knew him all too well. “If you are so worried, help him. And stop lying to yourself. I’m sorry, but I have to go. Good luck with your case.” 

Ended the phone call, Miles thought about his possibilities. He could try and reach Phoenix, but he brushed off the idea immediately. They got a deal, and it was already in the district judge's hands. If Miles saw Phoenix again, he had the obligation to arrest him. 

Suddenly, the idea of using that kind of circumstance in his favor came to his mind. If he could know where Phoenix was, he could help him. The problem was that nobody could know. Not even Lang. 

“Lisa Basil to the speaker,” she said. “What's up, Edgeworth?”

“Lisa, I need you to track a phone device…” Miles couldn't believe what he was doing. “And I need you to be discreet about it.” 

“Oh! A secret mission!” Lisa sounded excited. “I'm on boat.” 

Miles went back to the table he and Lang had assigned. Lisa had promised to update him with any weird movements, so he could follow with the investigation. 

Lang was revisiting a few files from the old case. Miles would've joined him, but he felt like needing a moment alone. 

“I'm going back to the crime scene,” Miles announced, though it sounded more like a request. “Alone.” 

Lang poked his head up, raising a brow. But, then shrugged. “Alright. Just be careful with the reporters. And keep the communicator on, understood?” 

He nodded. Lang would usually grumble about his endeavors to investigate alone or go with a different plan. So, Miles found it easier than he thought.

Driving alone in his home city felt therapeutic. With the window slightly down, the cool breeze caressed his hair and forehead. As the sun went down, the sky turned orange and then white clouds turned into a pinky tone. 

The spring rain was right around the corner, and he expected to still be there and be able to experience it. He remembered the smell of his wet garden, and the comfort came to him. 

He parked a street down from the crime scene. Late March meant cold nights, so he put on a jacket on top of his shirt. 

The reporter's vans were still piled up in the street in front of the building, waiting for any police activity. Miles walked discretely, entering through the main entrance without being noticed. Upstairs, the apartment’s door was cordoned, with a white sign restraining the pass stuck on. Miles put on a pair of rubber gloves and came in after showing his badge to the officer who was in charge of the vigilance. 

The sunlight came in through the windows, illuminating the whole place. It had been meticulously inspected by the scientific police for twelve hours, but still, Miles wanted to check if any suspicious-looking nook and cranny remained. 

He rambled around. House interiors often would give him more details about who Glen Elg was and why he was murdered. In that particular case, what ousted was missing pictures. There was none. It seemed strange to him as everyone has pictures in their houses, even young adults. Of family, a pet, or a partner. People always have someone they want to remember. 

Miles inspected the drawers, though they all had been emptied by the CSI. After, he went back to the living room, where the blood, now dry, still remained. The cleaning team will be there by tomorrow at the first hour. 

He remembered how he'd pointed at Phoenix with a gun the previous night. That was probably what Miles regretted most. His words could be justified, but the way he held the weapon so firmly without being able to put it down… It was unforgivable. He blamed the fear and the accumulated hatred for his actions. Though, Miles couldn’t even start to understand why he reacted that way. He wasn’t like that. At least until then. 

Buzzing in his pocket, the phone indicated an upcoming call from Lisa. Miles picked it up, expecting there would be news about Phoenix. 

“Edgeworth! The phone you gave me is less than a mile away from you,” Lisa said. “Do you want me to send you the location?”

“Yes, please. Thank you.”

Phoenix was that close to the scene?

The location brought him to an old building. As far as he could remember, it had been abandoned for his whole life. Back in the day, a real state agency had tried to transform it into a hotel, but it went bankrupt in less than a year. It was a place usually frequented by teens and homeless people. What could Phoenix possibly be doing there?

He walked in and instantly knew where he could possibly be. He rolled his eyes and turned on the flashlight. Miles prepared himself to act again. 

Behind the wardrobe, Phoenix was sitting. 

“You have to be kidding me…” Miles said as soon as he saw him. “Mr. Wright, what are you…?”

“Shh,” Phoenix put his pointing finger to his lips, telling Miles to shut. “I’ve received a call from the girl I’m looking for. She’s inside this building. I’m hidden because two suspicious men are walking around.”

His explanation didn’t make the situation any better. Miles looked around, trying to listen carefully. But he didn’t see nor hear anything that outstanded. It was a regular-looking abandoned building. 

“Are they armed?” He asked. 

Phoenix shrugged. “I don’t know… Maybe.”

Miles sighed, unbelieving what he was about to do. 

He stepped up, getting himself behind the wardrobe. Phoenix looked at him confused, but he moved to leave him some space. Miles sat down, getting the tiny stones away to avoid hurting himself. 

“What are you doing?” Phoenix asked.

“Waiting,” he said. “If those men you saw are kidnappers, I must arrest them. Also, I’m making sure you don’t go anywhere.”

So, he crossed his arms and waited. 

The situation was nearly ridiculous. He had bumped into Phoenix in an abandoned building, where he heard a group of kidnappers were keeping a girl hostage. That building was near the patrolled area, if someone was there, officers would’ve probably already seen them. However, and as much as irrational it seemed, Miles believed in what Phoenix was saying. Someone had brought him there, and he was willing to discover who. 

“Would you be able to describe those men?” Miles asked while thinking about his possibilities. 

“What?” Phoenix seemed confused. Miles had probably caught him off guard. “Eh… I didn’t see them. Just heard their voices.”

“And the call… You said you received it from here?”

“Yeah… She sent me the location,” he explained. “How did you know I was here?”

“I saw the light of your screen,” Miles said. “And I tracked your phone to make sure you followed our deal.”

“Isn’t that… Illegal?” 

“Not if you’re a federal agent and have legitimate reasons to do so.”

Miles started sensing that something was off about the whole Phoenix circumstance. Kidnapping victims are rarely provided with objects that could allow any communication with the outside. Usually, they are tied, if not watched at all times.  How did she have time to call him and send him the location without being caught? It didn’t sound very plausible. 

Phoenix's breathing took him out of his thoughts. From the corner of his eye, Miles noticed that their shoulders were almost touching. The proximity started to make him feel weird. Maybe it had been a bad idea after all. Phoenix smelled good, and although he looked messy, Miles could sense a certain maturity in his attitude. Without expecting it, his heart accelerated. And before Miles could notice, his face was getting warmer. 

“So, the BAU, huh?” Phoenix asked suddenly. “I thought the life of an FBI agent wasn’t for you. But this totally suits you.”

Miles had concluded that there was a certain security in keeping silence. Saving the words to himself could make the scenario more bearable. But, he owed Phoenix a conversation after how stubborn he had been the previous day. “How so?”

Phoenix shrugged. “You've always been smarter than everyone else… With an extraordinary ability to see what others can't.”

Miles expected him to be upset due to the circumstances. But, instead, Phoenix could talk to him like nothing had happened. And Miles didn't like it. Somehow, he wanted Phoenix to despise him. That way, it all would be easier. 

“You’re a private detective. An investigator on the sidelines of law reinforcement…” Miles turned his head to gaze at Phoenix. “It suits you too. Though, you also work for a security company, don’t you?”

“Yeah… It kinda sucks,” Phoenix smiled, obviously ironically. “Being a PI isn’t a proper full-time job. I help people, but it isn't enough to pay the bills. But being a security guard does.”

Miles felt bad for him, wondering if he had been struggling with money. He also seemed to have a busy life.

“Then, leave it,” Miles said. “If it sucks that much, maybe you should look for something profitable.”

He didn’t know why suddenly was trying to give him advice. Though, for Miles, it made total sense. But Phoenix didn’t seem to like his reasoning much. 

“I don’t think it’s for you to decide what is and isn’t profitable for me,” Phoenix said, seemingly upset. “Besides, you’ve been acting rude and mean to me since yesterday. I know we didn't end up on good terms and you're in your right to still hate me. But, if you’re also going to judge me, keep it to yourself.”

“I was just trying to understand…”

“Shut up,” Phoenix interrupted him. 

Miles frowned, not understanding his attitude. “You called me rude, and now you’re telling me to shut up? I think you should be more consistent with-”

Phoenix had suddenly covered his mouth with his palm, and the distance between them was significantly reduced. Miles held his breath for a moment. Phoenix’s hand was warm and emitted an aroma of sweat, cheap soap, and men’s cologne. Miles’ heart was beating faster, so much that probably Phoenix could hear it. 

“I told you to shut up,” Phoenix whispered. “Someone’s coming.”

At that moment, Miles tried to sharpen his ears, trying to perceive any sound from the surroundings. He heard steps coming into the building, and two young voices exchanging a conversation. Phoenix was trying to look above the wardrobe, still covering Miles’ mouth. 

Miles found it ridiculous. He freed himself from Phoenix’s hand, putting it away by force. Then, he slowly stood up.

“Miles, wait!” Phoenix tried to warn him, but it was unnecessary. 

“FBI,” he said. “Stop right there.”

Miles was then looking at two teenagers, who looked at him back with shocked expressions. They were carrying two bottles of soda, as well as one big crystal bottle of Jagermeister. The two boys were around the age of sixteen. 

“Don’t run,” Miles gave one step, letting them see that he was unarmed. 

“We weren’t doing anything!” one of them shouted as the other was frozen in his place. “This is… For a friend.”

“I’m not going to arrest you,” Miles said with a calming voice. He approached them with slow steps, trying to not be perceived as threatening.  “You come partying here often?”

They looked at each other. Miles sensed that one was older than the other, or at least had more experience in buying drinks. You need to have a sharp technique to fool the lady from the convenience store.

“Yes, we do…” the kid confessed. “We were getting things ready for our friends.”

“A-are we in trouble?” the other asked, slightly stuttering for the fear. 

“No. You’re not,” Miles reassured. “But I need you to leave this building, the local police are holding an investigation around here. You might get caught. And I’m sure you do not want your parents to be aware of this situation. So, choose another place for your party, alright?”

“Yes, sir,” both said nodding. 

Miles let them go without further conversation. Those were probably the people Phoenix had heard before. 

He sighed and went back to where Phoenix was. 

“They were teenagers,” Miles said. “Come on, I doubt there’s anyone else here.”

“Those weren’t the kind of steps I heard before,” Phoenix shook his head. “They were two men… And they said something about John Doe.”

“John Doe? That doesn’t make any sense.” Miles said.  

“But I swear! Also, Vera called me from here…”

“Have you considered that maybe it was a joke? Or a trap?” Miles sighed, visibily upset. “What if someone wanted to convince you that the girl was here when she’s not? Maybe she discovered you were looking for her and wanted to fool you.”

“I’m not that stupid,” Phoenix insisted. “She sounded genuinely in trouble.”

Miles was getting tired of the conversation as it was taking them nowhere. 

“Get up.”

“What? No.” Phoenix groaned. 

“You have to come with me, Mr. Wright,” Miles said, icy. “Don’t make it more difficult.”

Begrudgingly, Phoenix stood up, brushing the dust off his pants. “This time I'll be calling my lawyer.” 

“You don't need one.”

“Well, your sister told me she would come if you arrested me again,” Phoenix explained. 

“I'm not…” Miles sighed, pinching his nose bridge. He wasn't arresting Phoenix, he was just taking him out of there. “Wait. My sister has offered you legal assistance?” 

Since when Franziska liked Phoenix so much? 

“Yep,” Phoenix said. “She would gladly lecture you.” 

“Tsk… You two are acting like children.” 

“At least she's helping me.” Phoenix's words were expressed with meanness. 

Miles had to pretend it didn't hurt. He hoped nothing but for Phoenix to understand that what he was doing was the right thing. And he would. Some day. 

Miles turned around, reaching his communicator to contact Lang. 

“Lang, this is Edgeworth. I request an update on the patrolling car position. Do you copy?”

No response. Miles tried repeating the message. “Lang, this is Edgeworth…” 

“Aren’t you going to handcuff me?” Phoenix asked.

“No,” Miles said. The radio didn't communicate. He thought that the signal was probably awful inside the building. “Follow me.”

He walked out to the street when the sun was almost gone on the horizon. Street lights were already lightened up, enhancing the orange-colored panorama. There was nobody around, and the kids were hopefully blocks away already. 

Phoenix walked unwillingly, until reaching the outside, where he stood next to Miles. 

“Lang, do you copy?” Miles tried again. 

What happened next occurred at an abnormally high speed. However, to Miles' perception, it was like the world had suddenly gone slow-motion. 

A black car raced on the road. Miles saw the red hood, and the gun with a silencer, and then heard the shots. One almost gazed by his right ear, impacting the wall behind him. Miles pulled out his Glock instinctively. But using it made no sense, as the car fared in a matter of seconds. 

The eardrum started to ring, and he covered his ear in anguish. The end of the shooting was followed by silence. An absolute, angsty silence. 

Finally able to process what just had happened, Miles holstered the gun. Someone had unsuccessfully tried to shoot at them. Or at least that was what he initially thought. 

By the corner of his eye, he could see that Phoenix wasn’t standing by him. Miles, evaded by terror, refused to look down for fear of seeing what had actually happened. But he had to. 

He saw Phoenix there, lying and tightly holding his leg while moaning in pain. He’d been shot. 

“Miles…” Phoenix cried. 

Miles crouched next to him, nearly falling to his knees. None of it was real; it had to be a nightmare. 

Miles shook his head in disbelief. The bullet had impacted the thigh, hitting the muscle for sure and probably the femoral artery. That kind of wound could be lethal, as well as painful. 

For a moment, Miles didn’t know what to do or how to react. But, soon he realized that he couldn’t allow himself to be in shock. He had to help Phoenix. 

“Phoenix…” he said in a choked mutter. “Don’t worry… I’m calling backup. We need… to stop the bleeding with something.”

Phoenix didn’t moan anymore, but his eyes were full of tears and his face was grim of suffering. 

Miles was about to panic. He looked around, seeing if he could find something to cover the wound with. As he saw nothing, decided to take off his jacket. And with the cloth, he covered the wound. 

“You must… press…” Miles reached Phoenix's hands, but his muscles were weaker as he was approaching unconsciousness. “No, no, no… Fuck… Fuck, fuck!… Don’t fall asleep. Come on! Phoenix you have to stay awake!”

They had already been in that situation two years prior. But this time, felt worse. 

Nobody was around and Miles was finding it difficult to not feel hopeless. His breathing was accelerating, knowing that a panic attack was coming. He was also feeling the burning of his tears threatening to come out. 

But instead of letting himself down, he pressed the wound with one hand, and with the other pressed the communicator. 

“Lang, do you fucking copy!?” he asked full of rage. If Lang didn’t answer, Phoenix was about to bleed to death in front of his eyes. Miles couldn’t allow that to happen. Not right now that they have found each other. Not when so many things remain unsaid. 

Miles started to cry, with his throat closing and the hyperventilation starting to get faster. He swallowed, trying to desperately search for air inside his lungs. 

“Lang! Lang!” He screamed again. 

Seconds of uncertainty passed, with his tears silently running down his cheeks. Phoenix was not awake anymore, and the jacket was already covered in blood. 

Finally, the radio communicated. “This is Lang… Edgeworth, what the heck is going on?”

He sighed with relief, with his breathing slowly going back to normality. Phoenix was going to be okay. 

“I need an ambulance to my position. Now!”

Chapter Text

Phoenix kept his eyes closed, as the sleep abandoned him and he started to hear a constant beep by his side. His body felt heavy, and his right leg was wrapped up with something, but he didn’t feel any pain. Instead, he felt amazingly comfortable by being covered up by a cotton sheet and wearing soft pajamas. However, that wasn’t his hotel room or his home. He must be in the hospital. 

Trying to recall how he got there, Phoenix remembered Vera’s call, the building, and Miles suddenly showing up there. He had hide with him behind the wardrobe and… Phoenix tried to shut him up by covering his mouth. Why had he done that? He didn’t know.

Phoenix had acted on an impulse, intending to keep them both safe. But, during those instances, he saw Miles’ surprised expression, the one he’d been expecting to see for so long. It confirmed that the Miles he knew years ago was still there. 

The proximity also made his heartbeat. And, if the circumstances had been different, Phoenix would’ve kissed him right there. 

He decided to maintain that image in his mind for a few more minutes, forgetting what had brought him there. 

Phoenix fell asleep again, though he felt how someone came into the room to check him up, and then leave. Moments later, he woke up again to the sound of people coming in. He opened his eyes a bit and saw both Miles and Agent Lang following a nurse. Phoenix then closed his eyes and pretended to be still sleeping. 

“He hasn’t woken up yet,” said a feminine voice. 

“Thanks, Karin,” said Miles. 

Then, the door closed again. 

“We placed protection at the entrance,” Agent Lang said. “But you know he can’t stay here for much longer.”

“I know,” Miles sighed. “Shi-Long… Do you have to go?”

“There’s no other option,” 

What were they talking about? And since when has Miles addressed other people informally?

“We made our profile, now we leave and allow Organized Crime to take care of it. Andrews would not be very satisfied with our investigation. But, our work here is done."

"I get that part. But, why do I have to stay here? Alone." 

"To gather information for us. Help your friends in Portland PB." Agent Lang explained. "I'm sorry that it implies taking care of a protected witness." 

Was that what he was now? Protected witness? 

"Besides, your implication with him is a bit concerning," Lang said. 

Even if he wasn't looking, Phoenix could see Miles crossing his arms. 

"Take this... As a challenge." 

"Fuck off," Miles replied. "Don't start with your... games and exposure therapy. I don't want to be a babysitter." 

"That's not my problem," Lang said. "Miles... Stay here for two weeks. I'll figure out how to solve this. Besides, if there's another murder…”

"I can keep investigating and then inform you. I get it," Miles finished the phrase. "But I have a life too." 

"You were the one who insisted on protecting him," Lang pointed out. "It's time you face the consequences." 

Phoenix would've never imagined his case would end up in attempted murder. 

Unable to ignore the conversation anymore, he faked a big gasp, just to call their attention.

“Wait, he’s awake,” Lang noticed first. 

He was the first to approach the bed, followed by Miles, who kept the distance. 

“What happened?” Phoenix asked.

“I’m afraid you’ve been shot, Mr. Detective,” Lang said. 

At that moment, images of the event came to Phoenix’s mind. He recalled feeling something trespassing his flesh, followed by a gut-gripping agonizing pain. Falling to the ground, with his back resting on the cold concrete, he’d cried in pain. And then… Miles had saved him. He had blurred memories due to the sickness and the posterior fainting. But, he could remember Miles telling him to press, and desperately calling for help. 

He remembered flashing lights in a long hallway and people talking to him. Phoenix was lying down as the doctors carried him to the operating room. After that, he was probably sedated, and that’s why he had been asleep for so long. He also remembered Miles’ face, him being by his side while he was carried on a stretcher. 

Phoenix glanced at Miles, looking for their eyes to meet. However, the opportunity was missed as Miles gazed away. 

“But, you’ve been lucky,” Lang continued with a smirk. “You’ll be walking in a couple of days, and having a nice vacation in the best place in town.”

“I don’t understand…” Phoenix was confused but smelled what was coming. 

“You’re a protected witness now, Mr. Detective,” Lang confirmed. “And Agent Edgeworth would take care of you for some time.”

That’s exactly what they’d been talking about before he’d opened his eyes. Still, he didn’t understand the reasoning. “Why?”

“Who shot you did it for a reason,” Miles intervened. “You might’ve put yourself into a big mess without noticing by looking for Glen Elg.”

“Details aren’t relevant,” Lang stopped him. 

Phoenix had it clear. But, he needed to know how things would work out. He'd never seen himself involved in the witness protection program while working at the FBI. 

As far as he knew, it implied to make people 'dissapear' by giving them a new identity, a new life. But Phoenix didn't want any of it. And, by how they talked about it, it seemed like his situation would be something temporary. 

“So… Can I contact someone? I need to let my family know that I’m fine.”

Lang shook his head. “That isn’t how this works, Mr. Detective. I have the whole Portland PB watching every entrance of this hospital, and monitoring the entire security system. Only we and a nurse of our trust are allowed to come in here. As you may imagine by now, contact with the outside isn’t allowed.”

Phoenix couldn’t believe it. How would Trucy or Maya know he was okay? He’d promised to call every day, and they were surely already worried. “But…”

“Complaints and requests would be delivered to Agent Edgeworth,” Lang interrupted. “He's your guardian now.”

Phoenix was stunned. When he started with the case, he didn't imagine he'd end up like that. Limited physically. In both health and freedom sense. 

Miles had his arms crossed. For Phoenix, he didn't seem to enjoy what was happening either. 

“Keep me informed,” Agent Lang said, putting on his sunglasses. “I have to take a flight to Washington DC in less than an hour. So, do me a favor, Mr. Private Detective, follow what it’s said and you’ll be safe. And Edgeworth… Enjoy your time at home.” 

Agent Lang left without much else to say. Miles observed him as he did so, and then sighed when the door closed. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, approaching Phoenix. “They'd to operate on you. The bullet made an in-and-out hole, so there were no remains in your leg. It didn't hit the bone, but your muscles would need time to recover. The doctor has prescribed antibiotics you must take every day. And painkillers just in case.” 

Phoenix tried to let the information sink in. He was dealing with different feelings at that time, and knowing about his prescribed meds was the least of his worries. 

“Who shot me?” 

“We don't know, but it might be related to the case we were investigating,” Miles explained. “It's an organized crime issue… That's why the FBI has put you under witness protection temporarily.” 

“Why are you staying with me?” Phoenix was uncertain about what kind of response he expected. 

“Agent Lang assigned the mission,” what Miles said, was the obvious response. “Besides, he thought it would be a good idea to use my place as a safe house. It's secure and easy to keep an eye on.”

“Wait… Your place?” 

“My childhood house,” Miles cleared up. “It is located in a private suburban area. Twenty-four-hour security.”

Phoenix didn't know if it was medication or the latent shock, but he felt confused. “I still don't understand…”

“Look, I'm not indicated to question Lang's plans. He and Superintendent Andrews know what they’re doing,” Miles said, calmly. “The only thing I can assure you is that we're leaving in two days.”

Phoenix tried to take in the information during that moment. 

“Miles… Are you okay with this?”

“What alternative do we have?”

-

As Miles had said, two days later five police officers showed up to his room. His nurse, Karin Young, brought a wheelchair and helped Phoenix to get on it. He had tried to walk in the hallway the previous morning. And, though it hurt, he was able to limp without difficulties. 

After almost four days there, going out seemed to be a relief. However, the circumstances that would follow weren’t so easing. 

Phoenix had the sensation that they were displacing him with certain secrecy. They took the empty hallways and used an exclusive elevator for the hospital’s personnel. He was followed at all times until they got to the basement parking, where Miles was waiting by a black car with blinded windows. 

“Mr. Wright, do you need help to stand up?” Karin asked with the sweetest of tones. 

“No, no... I can do it,” Phoenix said as he got on his feet helping himself with the wheelchair’s arms. 

Miles opened the door for him, and Phoenix hopped in the back seat. 

“You may leave now,” Miles addressed to the officers. “Thanks for your service, deputy.”

“Yessir!” One of them said. “Do you need a patrol car to follow you until the safe place, sir?”

“That won’t be necessary,” he said. “Miss Young, stay for a minute.”

He waited for them to walk away and get to the exit door. Then, he got a credential out of his jacket’s pocket and handed it to the nurse. 

“Use this to get yourself access to my house,” Miles explained. “The zone will be guarded by undercover FBI agents.”

“Alright,” she said. Then, she waived at Phoenix. “See you soon, Mr. Wright.”

Phoenix could briefly wave at her back before Miles closed the door. Seconds after, Miles got the car started and got them out of the basement parking. Phoenix looked through the window, which had a black filter. He could see the outside, but no matter what he did, nobody would ever know he was inside. 

“Put your seatbelt on,” Miles said. 

On turning around to hook it, he soon noticed his backpack was next to him, as well as a crutch. Phoenix rumbled through his belongings, discovering everything was in there, except for his phone. 

“I made sure you got all your things with you,” Miles said. “You’ll need more clothes. So, I was thinking about…”

“Where’s my phone?” Phoenix asked, interrupting him.

Miles looked through the rare-view mirror, and their eyes met at the reflection. “I took it.”

“Are you going serious about the no-contact thing?”

“Yes.”

Phoenix regretted the question right after. Agent Lang had explained the rules, and expecting Miles to not follow them was stupid. But, would he be able to be isolated for god knows how much? No, probably not. He understood it was for his safety. Though making sure Trucy and Maya were aware of what was happening was more important to him than hiding from gangsters. He was keen to find a way to get in contact with them. 

The rest of the drive was spent in silence. Phoenix thought about breaking it a couple of times. He would’ve done it if he knew what to say. Memories from when he was shot were still foggy and unclear, and asking Miles about it seemed like a way to understand what happened. He also wanted more details about the case, overall if it was related to Vera’s vanishing. He had started to believe it was a kidnapping. 

Miles stopped the car, and Phoenix heard how he rolled the window down. Peaking a bit, he saw an automatic barrier. Miles exchanged a brief conversation with someone he wasn’t able to see. And, in a matter of seconds, the barrier went up, allowing the car to come in. 

Through the window, Phoenix noticed they were in a quite fancy area. Houses were individual properties, with beautiful gardens and iron fences. It seemed he had entered another world twenty minutes away from the city. 

The vehicle stopped again, and Miles got a small remote control, where he pressed one of the buttons. Phoenix assumed they had arrived at the house.

“We’re here,” Miles announced after parking. He got out of the car, and instantly opened Phoenix’s door. “Would you be able to walk?”

Phoenix doubted for a moment, looking at the crutch. “Yeah… I think so.”

“Give me your backpack,” he said, and Phoenix did so. “Follow me.”

Phoenix got out of the car and helped himself to stand with the crutch. Standing up still felt weird. After staying in bed for half a week, it was like his muscles had already lost their strength. He closed the car’s door and then took a moment to admire the house. 

The garden was stunning, with bright green grass and tall bushes surrounding the area. Vibrant flowers, in hues of red, yellow, and purple, provided splashes of color against the rich green backdrop. Carefully arranged in symmetrical patterns, they were gathered in the inner circle surrounded by a grey stone path. Closer to the mansion, a row of perfectly pruned bushes lined the path leading to the front steps. Each bush was a testament to careful maintenance, their rounded forms creating a sense of order and precision.

Phoenix asked himself who was taking care of all that flora if neither Miles nor Franziska lived there regularly. 

But, the garden was nothing compared to the building. Miles had described his childhood house to him at some point, but what Phoenix had imagined wasn’t even close to reality. The mansion loomed before him, with its Victorian architecture casting an imposing silhouette against the gloomy sky. Tall, narrow windows lined the exterior, and a porch surrounded the ground floor. The patterned shingles on the steeply pitched roof, each one different from the other, finished giving an old vibe to the whole thing. 

He gave a step closer, amazed by the contrast between that house and the others from the neighborhood. It almost looked like it was taken from a horror movie. 

Miles opened the big wooden door, letting him get in first. If the outside had left him speechless, the interior was even better. 

The space extended a few meters to a transparent door that led to the backyard, with the stairs beside it. To the right, there was a hallway with a piece of furniture in the middle and several photographs hanging on the wall. On the opposite side was the living room, decorated in brown tones that reminded her of Miles' apartment in Atlanta. She could even swear that the couch was exactly the same.

"Come with me," Miles said after closing the door.

But now that they were there, Phoenix felt it was the moment to talk.

"Miles..." Phoenix murmured but doubted that he had heard it. 

"You'll stay here for your safety. If my theory is correct, the man who shot you works for someone who would never come around this house." Miles said, turning the lights on and checking on things like he was looking for something. "Until my team gets back, I'll proceed with my usual routine. I have class on Mondays, Thursdays and Fridays from eight to twelve. So, you may hear me in the living room quite early in the morning." 

Phoenix followed him through the hallway as he noticed Miles was willing to show him where the room was. Even if Miles was talking to him about his perfectly structured daily schedule, Phoenix took a minute to admire the house. 

They arrived at the door near the stairs. Miles opened, showing a medium-sized room with a pretty big bed. The decoration matched the rest of the house, but there were no pictures. 

"This is the guests' room. You may use the private bathroom. Regarding the use of the shower..." 

"You shower in the mornings. I'll shower at night. I remember." Phoenix said, softly smiling. 

“Right…” Miles didn't give it much attention. “Miss Young said showering won’t be a problem, but if you struggle with it, she’ll come here to help you.”

Phoenix couldn’t even start to picture the idea of a nurse helping him in the bathroom. He'd already showered while injured. So, as soon as he wasn't terribly sick, he would be able to shower by himself. 

"Get yourself comfortable," Miles left the backpack on the bed. “I have to contact the headquarters to update them on our situation... The kitchen it’s at the end of the hallway next to the entrance. I'll get dinner ready after I finish the call.”

Phoenix stayed by the door. It seemed like he had all perfectly organized already. Typical of Miles. 

“Miles,” Phoenix stopped him before he was gone again. “Can we talk?” 

Miles toed in the spot, crossing his arms. “About?”

Phoenix took some air, encouraging himself. “What happened when they shot me?” 

Miles looked down with a frowned expression.

“While I tried to contact Lang, a car came out of nowhere. The shooter had a silencer, so I didn't have enough time to react. Soon I noticed you were on the floor, bleeding, at the edge of fainting…” he paused. “I tried to stop the blood with my jacket. Luckily, Lang alerted dispatch and an ambulance was there minutes later. You were in surgery for five hours.” 

Phoenix finally understood the reason he had a bad time remembering things. As by how Miles had described it, everything seemed to have happened quickly. 

“You said that you know who did it,” Phoenix affirmed. 

“We're chasing a criminal organization,” Miles seemed to doubt if continuing with the conversation or not. “Who shot you may also be responsible for killing Glen Elg and two more men. That's why you need protection…” 

His suspicions were confirmed by that statement. It was all related to Vera's case. 

“I'm afraid I cannot share any further details with you. It's a current FBI investigation.” 

“I understand,” Phoenix nodded. 

Phoenix managed to get to the bed and sit down there. At that moment, he noticed that walking exhausted him.

“You should rest,” Miles said. “Miss Young will come tomorrow to change your bandage. The painkillers are in the drawer next to you, just if you need them.”

The whole situation still seemed strange to him. He couldn't believe that taking a risk for a case had led him to be in the witness protection program. And least of all that it was Miles who had to watch over him.

He wondered at that moment if Miles had volunteered for the job, or if he was just following orders. The only clear thing was that bringing a witness into your home wasn't usually standard procedure.

-

Phoenix stayed in the room for the rest of the afternoon. He kept himself busy organizing the few clothes he had in the empty closet. Among his things were photos of Vera and Glen, as well as his fake badge. Reflecting, he realized that those objects were the cause of the situation he found himself in.

Maybe he never would have gotten Glen Elg's address without that badge, or he would have arrived after the police, and his encounter with Miles would have been different. But that no longer mattered. He was locked within those walls. With Miles.

He didn't know whether to take it as a good or bad thing. On one hand, he couldn't contact his daughter, and the uncertainty of not knowing if she was okay made a knot form in his stomach. On the other hand, he had the opportunity to fix things with Miles. It might take a great effort, but at least Miles could no longer run away from him.

When it began to get dark, his stomach started to growl. The idea of eating something decent after living on hospital food was what made him get up from the bed.

Limping, he crossed the hallway to the living room and then turned towards the kitchen. Phoenix stopped for a moment in front of the photos hanging and displayed on the shelf. He recognized Franziska's graduation photo, which used to be on Miles' refrigerator back in Atlanta.

The rest of the photos were of both Miles and Franziska as children. Especially one where they were at Disneyland, both wearing Mickey Mouse ears. Phoenix couldn't help but laugh at the tenderness.

Then he noticed a photo where only Miles appeared. It looked like a university graduation photo, although he seemed too young. He had graduated at nineteen. Phoenix realized that they had lived different lives, and despite that, they had ended up in the same place. 

As Trucy was being born, Miles had already finished college. Fifteen years back. Phoenix surprised himself by the number as time to him had passed like a soft breeze. 

Lastly, he noticed a photo where a man and a woman appeared. Both had graying hair and were dressed in extravagant clothes. Could those be Miles' parents?

Phoenix heard noises in the kitchen, so he decided to continue his path.

Under the warm light of the lamps hanging from the ceiling to a couple of meters above the kitchen island, Miles was stirring a pan. He had a cloth on his shoulder and a blue apron. Phoenix was glad to discover that he still enjoyed cooking.

"I've already told you," Miles said. "I can't go back to Virginia."

Phoenix thought he was talking to him, but he soon discovered that he was in the middle of a call.

"No, Kay. You and Ema can't come here. What part of the 'witness protection program' don't you understand?" he continued while putting several things in the refrigerator. "Just because Apollo works for the Defense Department doesn't mean he can access that information... and is less likely to give it to you just because you're his friend."

Then, Miles stood still. He put one hand on his hip and sighed. "Are you mad at me?" He paused. "Look, I'll try to do something, okay? For now, don't fight and organize the tasks like last time... Yes, I know..."

Miles turned around and finally realized that Phoenix was at the door. "I have to go. Good luck with your exam tomorrow. Tell Ema that her new microscope will arrive in a couple of days... Okay, bye."

He hung up the phone and put it inside his apron. "You can sit down if you want."

Phoenix noticed the table nearby. With little difficulty, he approached and sat down, which gave him great relief. He had been so drugged with medication that he had barely felt the consequences of his wound. But a sudden twinge ran through his leg, causing him to grimace slightly in pain.

Just at that moment, Miles approached with a plate. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah..." Phoenix said, trying not to worry him. "Just a cramp." 

"I made you pasta," Miles placed a bowl of delicious-smelling food in front of him. "I hope it is of your liking."

Phoenix noticed that there was no second glass or extra cutlery on the table. "Aren't you eating with me?"

"No... I'll be in the living room if you need anything."

"Wait," Phoenix stopped him. "Eat with me."

"I already ate."

"Then sit with me," he insisted. "You don't have to follow the protocol..."

Miles hesitated but finally sat down.

Phoenix hid his satisfaction, directing his attention to the plate in front of him. He stirred it, watching the cheese melt. Home-cooked food from Miles - one of the many things he missed from the time they were together. 

"How's Kay?" Phoenix asked to break the ice.

"She's fine," Miles replied. "Studying to join the BAU."

"Do you live together in Quantico?"

"She, Ema, and I," Miles explained. Then he crossed his arms, lying back in his seat. "We live in Alexandria."

"Wow, you live close to DC," Phoenix said, taking the first bite.

"Quantico is a bit boring. The girls didn't like it," Miles seemed to follow the conversation instead of shutting it down, which gave Phoenix some hope of reducing the tension between them. "There's more nightlife in Alexandria. And people they can meet and have fun with. Also, I'm closer to the office in case there's a case. Lang also lives there."

Phoenix nodded. "Do you also teach?"

"Behavioral sciences and criminal profiling," Miles explained.

For how he spoke. Phoenix was able to tell that Miles seemed to have found a place that he was happy to be at. Living with Kay and Ema, who had always been like little sisters to him, and having a job related to his interests and skills. 

Another thing that wandered around his head was the mention of Apollo. Phoenix had to ask. "I also heard you talking about Apollo..."

"He works for the Department of National Security," Miles said as if he already knew what Phoenix was going to question about it. "He lives with Klavier in DC. They're both fine. Klavier owns a restaurant, and they have a beautiful house. I've been there just a couple of times, but Ema and Kay meet with him regularly."

Phoenix nodded again, taking another bite. He was happy for Apollo, with whom he hadn't spoken since he was suspended. He knew he had received a commendation for his work in Atlanta, and he had decided to take Klavier with him to get away from all the chaos related to his brother.

The last time he saw him was at the evidence theft trial, where Apollo was one of the witnesses. Phoenix didn't blame him for telling the truth. On the contrary, he would have liked to keep in touch even though Phoenix no longer worked at the bureau.

"I'm glad to hear that," he assured. "Did he tell you what happened when I was suspended?"

"No. We haven't talked about it," Miles responded firmly. "But I know perfectly well what happened."

Phoenix had imagined it. Miles worked at the FBI now. It was only a matter of time before he found out or someone talked about it. Not many agents are judged for evidence theft. "Do you still hate me?"

"Hate you for what?" Miles sounded genuinely confused. 

"For investigating you, stealing evidence... For not trusting Lana," Phoenix paused. "For not trusting you."

Phoenix still felt guilty for what had happened back then. He needed to know if Miles' behavior was due to resentment for all his mistakes. He needed to know if he wanted to fix it.

Miles sighed. "You had a reason to investigate me. After all, there was corruption within the Prosecutor's Office, and I was involved without knowing it. You stole evidence about Mr. Amano, and we tried to protect him. I think we're tied."

Miles' response wasn't what he expected. "Then..."

"I don't hate you," he concluded. "I don't even think about it anymore."

"You don't think about the past?" Phoenix felt a small twinge of disappointment.

"It's always there anyway," Miles said. "I'm too busy to think about it."

Phoenix didn't know how to take that. Miles had never been as sentimental as him; he was more logical and rational. But he also knew that Miles tended to bury his feelings, ignoring them to avoid the pain of expressing them. That was reason enough for Phoenix not to give up yet.

"What made you join the BAU?" Phoenix had been wondering since they reunited. He was curious about Miles' reasons for changing his mind.

"Lang," he replied. "He wanted to recruit me when I was still young, but I went to Georgia. He saw me on TV again during the Kristoph Gavin case, and then he came looking for me. It didn't take much; he knew how to convince me."

"I’d have to congratulate him," Phoenix said, saddened. "I didn't know how to do it."

"With you, it's different..."

Phoenix looked up, meeting Miles' soft gaze. He didn't want to join the FBI because he feared it would interfere with their relationship. But Phoenix was no longer an agent. Were things different now?

"In what way?" he dared to ask

Unfortunately, just as Miles was about to answer, his phone started ringing. He pulled it out almost immediately. 

"Lang." He answered.

He got up to talk on the other side of the kitchen. Meanwhile, Phoenix took the opportunity to finish his dinner. The question lingered in his mind for a few minutes, thinking that the answer could have led to an honest conversation between them. But, of course, they had to be interrupted. It seemed that since they had known each other, they could never maintain anything consistent. There was always someone or something else in the equation.

With his plate empty and Miles back at the table, Phoenix decided to change the subject. "Why do you have communication with the outside world?"

"Because this isn't a regular phone," Miles showed him the device, which to Phoenix looked like an ordinary one. "It works with advanced software that makes satellite tracking impossible. They can't tap my calls or introduce any viruses. It also disables chips and allows me to track bugs. Courtesy of our cyber tech."

"Do you get involved in situations that require all that?"

"Actually, no," Miles said in an almost anticlimactic way. "I'ma lways in the office or at the Academy. This is the first time I'm using it... The truth is my job isn't that exciting."

"And can you call anyone?"

"Of course."

Phoenix looked at the phone, thoughtful. If he could get hold of it, he would have the chance to talk to Trucy.

-

Phoenix drifted into a doze, feeling a sharp pain in his leg. He wasn't sure if he was dreaming or if his wound genuinely hurt. It reminded him of the headaches he used to get. But that wasn't real.

It wasn’t the first time he had been shot either. Years ago, during a mission, he had been shot in the arm, where he still bore a scar from the difficult extraction of the bullet fragments. That had been one of his turning points within the FBI. But Phoenix was young then, and an injury like that couldn't stop him.

What happened with Kristoph was different. Phoenix had processed it as trauma, with evident symptoms of PTSD. The most recurrent being the headaches.

Now, he felt uncertainty. They had tried to kill him, and he didn’t know how his body would react this time. The psychological consequences could be numerous. And he was already anxious about being isolated. However, in some way, being with Miles made everything more bearable, even though they hadn't fixed things yet.

When he opened his eyes slightly, he saw Nurse Karin next to the bed. She smiled at him sweetly.

"Good morning, Mr. Wright," she said in a low voice. The light in the room was dim, making it obvious it was quite early. "I've almost finished changing your bandage. I'll give you the antibiotic, and then you can go back to sleep."

Phoenix nodded, closing his eyes again. He felt a small prick in his arm and instantly fell back asleep.

When he woke up again, Karin was gone, and the light coming through the window was much warmer.

He got up in search of his crutch, which he used to get out of bed. He didn't know what time it was, but he guessed it was past nine. He opened the curtains and, to his surprise, saw Miles outside next to his distinctive red car. He seemed to be washing it, rubbing the surface with a wet cloth.

Miles didn’t seem to notice him, so Phoenix left the room and headed to the kitchen. A sweet smell of cinnamon mixed with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the house. Phoenix found the table set with a note.

'I'm cleaning the car. Serve yourself. 

Miles.’

Phoenix smiled slightly and proceeded to make himself breakfast.

Using the toaster was harder than he expected. He had to lean on the crutch while trying to open the package, insert the slice, and press the button.

When he finally sat down, he was exhausted. Simple tasks shouldn't require so much effort, but Phoenix had nearly sweated just trying to open the fridge. It would take some time to get used to doing things for himself while still needing support.

While eating, he realized he had nothing to do. He could stay in bed all day, but he was physically incapable of such a feat. Right now, when he was at his weakest, resting was the last thing he wanted to do.

Then he remembered Miles's phone. If Phoenix found it, he could call Trucy and see how she was. The problem was figuring out where he kept it.

Miles was outside, and Phoenix knew he was too cautious to carry it with him while washing the car. Therefore, it had to be in the house.

Phoenix finished his breakfast, leaving everything as tidy as possible so Miles would only have to wash the dishes later. Then he headed to the living room. The medication Nurse Young had given him seemed to be working, as the pain he had felt that morning had completely dissipated.

The living room was adjacent to the dining room. It had a large, elongated table with at least twelve chairs. A rather elegant chandelier hung above it, with a centerpiece of white flowers. Miles had mentioned he had quite an extense family, and they all usually gathered to celebrate holidays at his house or an aunt’s.

There didn't seem to be any sign of the phone around there. Phoenix peeked out the window and saw that Miles was still busy cleaning the car. He hadn't noticed earlier, but Miles was wearing a short-sleeved shirt and basketball shorts, showing off his toned limbs.

Miles didn't use to be very fit. He liked to run occasionally but, he wasn't a big fan of the gym. Things seemed to have changed now. Phoenix knew he shouldn't be spying on him like that, but he couldn't help but blush at the thought of whether Miles's skin was still as soft as it used to be.

He looked away and decided to continue his mission to find the phone. In the hallway, he realized the only room he hadn't checked was upstairs. And knowing Miles, it was very likely the device was in his bedroom. But to get there, Phoenix had to climb the stairs.

He observed the steps from below. There weren’t many, but the climb was certainly steep. At that moment, he reconsidered his ‘brilliant’ plan. He could wait and talk to Miles. But by doing so, he risked getting a no as an answer.

Phoenix took a breath, placed his left foot on the first step, and began to climb. It must have taken him a minute or two to reach the top, but sweat was pouring down his forehead as if he had just climbed a mountain.

The upstairs was equally large, with several doors around the wide square. Fortunately, all were open except one. He passed by each of them, from a full bathroom to a library and an office. He knew he was in front of Miles's bedroom when he saw a chess set decorating one of the shelves.

Phoenix looked around. The phone didn’t seem to be there either. He approached the nightstand and opened the drawer, but there he only found a gun along with several boxes of sleeping pills and medications for insomnia.

“What are you doing?”

Miles’s voice startled him. Phoenix turned, finding Miles leaning against the doorframe. “I was just… I thought you were washing the car…”

“I got oil on my hands,” Miles explained. But his expression suddenly changed. “You’re bleeding.”

Phoenix looked down, realizing his pants were stained red. He had ignored the pain so much that he hadn't even noticed. Miles approached and helped him up. He felt ashamed. Unintentionally, he had rummaged through Miles’s things, and he had caught him.

“Can’t you stay still for a moment?” Miles asked as he helped him back down the stairs.

“I’m sorry…” Phoenix said.

Back in bed, Phoenix watched as Miles returned with a first aid kit and sat beside him. Carefully, he removed the stained bandage and cleaned the wound with a cotton ball soaked in a soapy substance.

“It just opened a bit,” Miles commented. “Now it will take longer to heal. You should have stayed in bed.”

Phoenix sighed. “I just wanted to call Trucy…”

Miles remained silent, focused on applying some iodine to the wound. Phoenix observed him. Seeing Miles taking care of him felt good. He even thought he didn’t need a nurse. He wanted Miles to be the one to treat him every day.

“You should’ve told me,” Miles said calmly, wrapping a clean bandage around his thigh. “I’ll let you use the phone later. But you have to promise me you won’t go up the stairs without help again. Nor do anything reckless. Do you know what could happen if your wound opens up?”

Miles was right. He had taken a big risk climbing the stairs. And all because he hadn’t trusted that Miles would help him.

“Alright… I’m sorry,” he said, swallowing his pride. “I didn’t think you’d help me.”

“I brought you into my home to keep a criminal group from killing you,” Miles put the items back in the first aid kit. “Why wouldn’t I let you talk to your daughter?”

“Because you’ve changed,” Phoenix said. “You’re cold and unfriendly… After how you’ve treated me, it’s normal that I don’t trust you.”

Phoenix regretted his words instantly. Because, although true, they were hurtful.

Miles stood up from the chair without a word. Phoenix waited for his response if there was one. Though silence from Miles was worth a thousand words.

“I think I’ve always been like this,” he finally said, breaking the silence. “I’m not a good person.”

“No,” Phoenix interrupted him. “No, this isn’t you… You’re acting how you think you should, but it’s not true.”

Miles briefly smiled. “You know, it’s one of the things I relate to with the people I analyze every day. If I weren't like them, I wouldn’t be able to understand them.”

“What you’re saying isn’t true,” Phoenix couldn’t allow Miles to say such things about himself. He was different. He didn’t express his feelings like everyone else. And maybe most people misunderstood him most of the time. But Miles was nothing like a murderer. He was good and had great empathy, sometimes too much.

“I don’t know who convinced you otherwise. But we can fix this,” Phoenix insisted. “If you have any reason for doing all this, tell me. I want to understand you…”

But Miles said nothing more on the matter. He removed the chair from beside the bed and took the first aid kit, along with the stained bandage. “I’ll be in the garden. I’ll let you know for lunch and give you the phone to talk to your daughter. Now you should rest.”

“But, I…”

Miles left the room, leaving Phoenix with words stuck in his throat.

He sighed, accepting that he had failed once again in trying to fix things. But it wasn’t a reason to stop trying.

Chapter Text

Covered in blood, Miles' hands hung in the air as he observed them in the waiting room. He'd just arrived at the hospital, accompanying Phoenix at the back of the ambulance. Horrifying images of the scene were still repeating in his memory. Miles couldn’t even begin to process what had just happened. 

After reaching Lang, the medical support lasted around ten minutes to arrive. During those, Phoenix completely lost consciousness, and Miles only could see a forming pool of blood on the floor as he pressed the wound unsuccessfully. Since then, he’d been in a state of shock. His body moved, but his mind didn’t work. He was there, and at the same time he wasn’t. 

Miles remembered vaguely the doctor’s words, who said Phoenix would need an immediate blood transfusion and surgery to stop the bleeding and repair the damaged muscle. He probably answered something but didn’t know what. 

For don’t-know-how-long, he’d been waiting outside, expecting someone to bring him news at any time. How much had passed? two hours? five minutes? 

Suddenly, Miles heard steps approaching, and a pair of black shoes stopped in front of him. “You look like a mess.” 

Miles' mind decided to reactivate then. He blinked a few times and breathed like never. Then, he poked his head up, meeting his eyes with Lang’s. 

“Lang…”

“You owe me an explanation,” Lang said. “A pretty big one I must say.”

Miles didn’t know where to start. He’d exceeded his jurisdiction, stalking and following a civilian (and ex-suspect) around. Also, Phoenix had an agreement with the police, and Miles had the duty to arrest him. Instead, he was going to help him hide. His actions couldn’t be justified by any means, and he knew that it could cost him losing his badge. 

“I asked Lisa to track his phone, just to be sure he was out of town,” Miles explained. 

“I already know that,” Lang interrupted. “I want reasonings, not facts.”

Miles nodded, taking some breath. 

“My sister is helping him with his case. She confirmed he was still in Portland and wouldn’t stop with the investigation. Then, I decided to localize Mr. Wright because I thought I could make some sense of him.” Now, he was telling Lang the truth. “But arresting him again didn’t seem fair to me. So when I left the building, I expected to reach my car without anyone finding out.”

“What happened next?”

“A black car came out of nowhere. There were two people inside. One was wearing a red hood. The other was driving and I didn't see them well... The one in red carried a gun with a silencer. He shot twice,” Miles swallowed hard, feeling how his throat closed as he remembered what happened. “One almost reached my head, but he failed. When I pulled my gun out, they were already gone.”

Miles held back the tears, feeling a knot forming in his neck and stomach. He could’ve died, and Phoenix was at the edge of it. 

Lang sat down next to him. Miles didn’t know what to expect from him, but there couldn’t be anything worse than putting Phoenix in jeopardy. 

“What’s your relationship with Phoenix Wright? Be honest.” Lang said. 

Miles sighed. Keeping it a secret wouldn't change anything from then on. 

“I used to… have feelings for him,” Miles admitted. It was a subtle way to say it, but it was the truth. “Back in Atlanta. When we met.”

Lang didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Miles feared his reaction for a moment. He'd just proven a close relationship with someone implicated in a case, which could end in him being torn apart from the investigation. 

“Not anymore?” Lang asked. 

“Not anymore.”

Those words felt a bit empty. There had come a time when Miles didn't know if he was denying reality or he was being honest. Franziska had been accurate when she said that he was too used to bury his feelings. But Miles wasn’t in the moment nor time to come to terms with that. 

“I won’t suspend you if that’s what you’re worried about,” Lang affirmed. “But I would consider setting you aside from the investigation.”

Miles turned around quickly. He wouldn't allow that to happen. “You can't-”

“I can, Edgeworth,” Lang wouldn't let him continue with the arguing. “Which doesn't mean I will. I just need to rethink our investigation. Things are more complicated now that we have an ex-federal agent wounded by an UnSub.” 

There were more than a few reasons to think that whoever shot Phoenix, did it because he was related to the case. 

Phoenix probably knew significant information about Glen Elg. And, whatever he knew, was enough reasoning for someone to try to kill him. 

“What should we do now?” Miles asked. 

Lang chuckled. “What you should do is go to the hotel, shower, and get some sleep. Trust me, you look like a real mess.”

He was right. Miles was covered in blood, sweaty, and exhausted. But there was no way he'd leave. Not until Phoenix got out of the OR. 

“I shall wait for the surgeon to come out,” Miles insisted. 

“I understand your past affection for him is deciding your actions,” Lang said, followed by a sight.  “But you should also consider your well-being.”

Past affection. That is another petty way to say it. 

“Just an hour,” Miles begged. “An hour and I'll leave.” 

Lang sighed. “Alright. An hour. Mind you, when the time’s up, I'll drag your ass out of here and get you in the shower myself if I need to.”

Miles sat back, glad for Lang to allow him to stay. “Alright. Deal.” 

As they waited, hospital personnel kept passing by. By checking the wall clock, Miles realized he'd spent almost three hours there. Where was Lang at the time he called? 

Just at the time Miles was going to start the conversation, a female doctor approached them. 

“Agent Miles Edgeworth?” she asked and Miles stood up instantly. 

“Yes?”

“I'm here to tell you that Mr. Wright is stable. His heart is working fine, and the blood transfusion was a success,” she explained. Miles felt the air coming out of his lungs in relief. “He will be in surgery for two more hours, then sent to recovery. Could you sign the hospitalization documents?”

“Of course,” he said. 

The doctor handed him a clipboard and a pen. He filled it up, thinking that it would usually be the responsibility of a family member to do so. But Phoenix had nobody there besides Miles. 

“In which room would he be?” Lang asked. “We will be sending two officers to take custody of it.” 

“Er… 506, fifth floor,” she answered, checking it on the documents. “Are there any family members we should contact?”

“The FBI will take care of the fees,” Lang said with seriousness. “By now we need secrecy. Mr. Wright is involved in a federal case; his protection is a must. I have to ask you to assign the care tasks to a single person and keep it private.” 

Miles didn’t know what Lang was planning to do, but protecting Phoenix was his number one priority at the moment.

“I know a nurse,” Miles said. “Her name is Karin Jenson-Young. Assign her to Mr. Wright’s room.”

She nodded, writing something on the paper. 

“Take my card,” Lang gave her a small business card with the FBI logo on it. “And keep us updated.”

“We’ll do our best to take care of him.” the doctor said before walking away. 

Miles sighed, comforted by the idea of Phoenix being safe and taken care of. With that in mind, he allowed himself to stand up. He became conscious of how of a mess he must look like. The blood in his hands was already dried and smelled pretty bad. He definitely needed a shower. 

Lang walked out with him, both exiting the hospital and arriving at the parking lot. Miles’ car was left in the street near where he found Phoenix, so Lang was driving on his. 

It was late, past midnight. Portland’s streets were empty, except for a few dogwalkers and people gathering around nightclubs. As he observed the panorama, Miles started to feel the tiredness flooding him, with his head and shoulder feeling heavier and heavier. With luck, that night he wouldn’t need any sleeping pills. 

“How is that you know that nurse?” Lang asked, with his voice taking Miles out of his thoughts. 

“She’s coroner Young’s granddaughter,” Miles responded, fighting against the sleepy tone. “And she went to high school with my sister. We can trust her.”

“Were they friends?”

“Not really,” Miles got away from the window, getting comfortable in the back of his seat. “But she came to my house regularly to spend the afternoon and eat pie.”

“Coroner Young seemed to know you well,” Lang pointed out. 

“I met her when I was a kid,” Miles remembered those days when he was already surrounded by the law enforcement world at a young age. “My father took me to the morgue once. She was already old back then.”

“Your first corpse?”

Miles nodded. 

“How old were you?”

“Eleven,” Miles briefly smiled at the memories, closing his eyes. “It was a man who had been shot in the head. But, I didn’t feel horrified or sad. No feelings at all… I just remember thinking he was incredibly clean to be dead.”

“Why did he take you there?”

“He wanted me to be like him,” Miles opened his eyes a bit, letting the images of his father blur at the view of the city lights. “But things turned out different.”

-

As soon as he got to his room, he headed straight to the bathroom. When he turned on the light, he saw his reflection in the mirror. His shirt was covered in blood, with a small red stain on his cheek. His dark circles were prominent, and his eyes were swollen from crying. At first, he didn’t recognize himself. He blamed it on exhaustion, but it was true that lately, whenever he looked at his reflection, he didn’t know who was staring back at him.

Miles calmly took off his clothes while waiting for the water to heat up. Once inside the shower, he watched as the water turned red at his feet. He scrubbed the blood off vigorously, not wanting to leave any trace of it, even though it irritated his skin in the process. He also washed his hair thoroughly, as it had become greasy from sweat. Almost automatically, he dried himself off with a towel when he was done.

He had tried to relax in the car, thinking that the shower would be the determining factor in making his body feel tired. But when he got to bed, the opposite happened.

All the stress he had felt started to surface as he remembered the scene of the shooting and felt a sharp pain in his stomach. He sat on the edge of the bed and opened the drawer of the nightstand, where he found his gun and several boxes of pills. He grabbed the one that was already half-empty. Before taking one out, he reconsidered whether it was a good idea to keep relying on those medications. He didn’t want to become addicted to them, although, in a way, he already was. That thought left him quickly, as he convinced himself that this time he needed it. When the sun rose, a long day awaited him, and the least he could do was get a few hours of sleep to function properly.

He placed the white pill in his mouth and tasted its unpleasant flavor before swallowing it. He knew swallowing it without water wasn’t ideal, but he didn’t give it much thought.

With the lights off, he lay down on his back. He stared at the ceiling for a while, reminding himself that Phoenix was going to be okay. But he still couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t fair.

Miles should have saved him; he shouldn’t have let him leave the building without confirming the patrol’s position. Sometimes, he even wished he had acted sooner, or that it had been him who got shot.

-

He woke up later than he had wanted, finding a message from Lang saying they were expecting him at the police station.

His head ached, so much so that it felt like his brain was throbbing. He dressed as best as he could and left the hotel to catch a taxi.

The first thing on his mind was whether Lang had received any updates on Phoenix, and if he would be able to visit him. He desperately hoped that would be the case.

Phoenix must be in a lot of pain. Miles still didn’t know if the bullet wound was severe enough to have fractured the bone. If that were the case, he wouldn’t be able to walk for some time.

Miles could still see the blood as if what had happened had turned into a nightmare he relived over and over again. But unfortunately, he was pretty much awake.

Right when he arrived, he headed to his desk, where Lang and the team were waiting for him. They all seemed to be discussing something until he approached, and the conversation abruptly stopped.

“You're here,” Rhoda said with slight concern. “Lang told us what happened. Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” Miles affirmed. 

But the hoarse tone of his voice rattled him. Miles saw Justin chuckling and rolling her eyes at him. 

“A word?” Lang said. Not looking happy at all. 

Lang barely smiled, only ironically or when he mocked others. But Miles had learned to distinguish real anger from his straight face. He’d arrived at the realization that they were similar in that aspect, which helped him a lot when tearing up one from the other. 

Lang then guided Miles to the empty coffee room, closing the door afterward. 

“Did something happen?” Miles asked, uneased for the secrecy.

“You’re going back to Virginia,” Lang announced sharply.

Miles couldn’t believe it. Lang said he would consider the possibility, but Miles would’ve never imagined that he was going to be serious about it. Because Lang knew him well. And acknowledged that setting him aside from a case would encourage Miles to keep investigating by his own. 

“But I saw the suspects,” Miles frowned. “I’m fine. I can work”

“Always fussing…” Lang sighed and lay on the door. “You’re going back, and so are we. I talked to Andrews yesterday and Organized Crime is taking over the case.”

He felt more eased to know the thing was not about his competence, but orders from the headquarters. Nevertheless, Miles was not keen to leave Portland so soon. “What about Mr. Wright? Is he… better?”

“The operation was a success, he’s resting,” Lang’s words made Mile’s body loosen up, feeling grateful. “But his situation isn’t any better. He’s more endangered than we thought.”

More endangered? As Miles had feared, there was a greater possibility of Phoenix being hurt again. “What do you mean?”

Lang tightened his jaw. Miles had seen that expression before when he didn’t know where to start. And usually, it is followed by something Miles would be concerned about. 

“When you tried to reach me, I was at the laboratory…” he started. “The man we found dead is not Glen Elg. The family identified him, confirming that the body couldn’t possibly be their son as he has a tattoo on his left arm. And our victim doesn’t.”

Miles wasn’t very sure how to react to that information. Mistaking a victim for another person wasn’t a thing he’d encountered before. What was clear was that Glen Elg was most likely alive, and Phoenix needed to hear about it. “Who is it then?”

“We don’t know,” Lang shrugged. “But it’s someone who spent a lot of money to look like the real Glen Elg. The laboratory examined the skin, and there are signs of healed cosmetic surgery scars.”

Those details were even more concerning. Why would someone pay to look like another person? Miles' first thought was that the victim didn’t do it by himself, but someone paid him to do so. Perhaps Glen Elg by himself. After all, the victim was living in his house. 

“So what's the plan?” 

Lang smiled slyly. “Plan? There’s no plan, Batman. Mr. Wright’s going to be sent to another place, a safe place. At least until he’s out of danger.”

Miles thought about Phoenix’s family. His daughter Trucy; and Maya. Phoenix had a significant bond with both of them, and Miles was sure that he wouldn’t be able to be split from them for an unknown amount of time. He’d never worked in witness protection, but from what Miles heard, the supervisory agents isolated the witnesses as much as they could. They gived them a new life, a new story to tell. There were cases of entire families going under the program. But Miles doubted that was the plan Lang had in mind.

“Sent where?” Miles asked. 

“I don’t know. Alaska maybe,” Lang expressed with indifference. “What? Do you want to take care of him yourself?”

“Me?” Miles was startled by the question and didn’t know if Lang was going serious. 

“Yeah, as you seem so concerned by his security. I can assign you the mission,” his words confirmed Lang was not joking. “Didn’t your father hide witnesses at your house?”

Miles pinched his nose bridge, moving the glasses to his forehead. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. “Have you gone insane?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t want to stay here and help with the case.”

Lang knowing him to his core felt like a curse. He was lucky that at least, they promised to not profile each other. 

“And what do you want me to do?” Miles asked. “Taking him to my house and informing you of everything that happens?”

“That would be ideal. Great plan.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Miles scoffed. “What about Kay and Ema? What about my research? My classes?”

“Phones and laptops exist,” Lang replied as it was obvious. “I’m sure Basil can hide your IP and all that stuff.”

Miles didn’t have much else to reproach about. Lang seemed to have it perfectly planned. He had no other than following orders. 

“Alright, I’ll do it,” Miles acceded. “But I’ll be calling you every day. I won’t care if you’re chasing Charles Manson himself or fucking around somewhere.”

“Don’t worry, Batman,” Lang smirked. “I’m always available for you.”

Without the energy to follow the joke, Miles just rolled his eyes and shook his head. Now he was in charge of taking care of Phoenix. A sensation of uncertainty about how he would be coping with it took over him. He had been avoiding Phoenix for so long and knew they were going to share the same space. 

- 

A day later, the team was ready to leave for DC. Miles also gathered his things, ready to move into his childhood home again. Andrews had surprisingly accepted Lang’s plan, even though it wasn’t the desirable procedure. 

Before leaving for the airport, Lang drove him to the hospital. Phoenix was expected to be awake by then so they could explain how things would work from now on. Miles feared his reaction. He wouldn’t like it, that was for sure. 

The building was surrounded by undercover cops, whose mission was to ensure that no one slightly suspicious dared to enter the hospital. The fifth floor was flanked as well by a few agents. Taking into account who Phoenix was, it surprised Miles that the bureau was so involved in protecting him. Nevertheless, an ex-agent was an ex-agent, no matter what they’ve done in the past. 

“I left you a car in the lot,” Lang said, handing him the keys. “A black jeep, with the back glasses dyed. In the glove compartment, there’s a phone. Use it.”

“Why can I use mine?”

“It’s safer,” Lang clarified. “But don’t worry, Basil has hacked it for you. The instructions are in the box.”

“Would I be able to call anyone?”

“Sure,” he turned to Miles. “But don’t let him use it under any circumstance. If he tries to reach people who are involved in the case, we might have a problem.”

They both had families who should be aware of the situation, but only Miles would be able to contact those who he cared about. It didn’t seem fair. But, he nodded. “Roger that.”

On approaching the room, they bumped into Karin, who was carrying medical stuff around. Miles hadn't seen her in years, but her angelic face remained just as when she was a child. 

“Mr. Edgeworth!” she greeted in surprise. “You're truly back. And with the FBI nonetheless.” 

“It surprises me too,” he replied nicely. “This is Supervisory Agent Lang. We're here to see Phoenix Wright.” 

“Sure! Follow me.” 

They walked through the polished hallway, which squeaked a bit at his and Lang’s steps. 

“Grandma told me you were in town,” she said. “But I would've never imagined I would be collaborating with federal agents.”

“We need people of trust right now,” Miles pointed out. “I truly appreciate your collaboration.” 

“Of course,” she beamed. “I'll do whatever is in my hands to be sure that Mr. Wright is properly taken care of.” 

Karin opened the door with summon care, trying not to make a sound.

“He's still asleep…” She muttered. 

When Miles saw him lying there, with an IV in his arm and his leg bandaged, his heart sank. He wondered again why this had to happen to Phoenix. He remembered the first time he had seen him like this, two years ago when Kristoph had struck him on the head. Back then, Miles had stayed by his bedside for two days. His recovery had been swift. But from what he knew, this time would be different.

Phoenix wouldn't be able to walk properly for months. Maybe he'd be able to stand in a few days, but using his leg would exhaust him, even with support.

Miles took the chance to try and put some sense in Lang. Even if he had agreed to the plan, for Miles it seemed unhinged what they were about to do. Besides, Lang had no excuse not to stay with him. Though, as usual, his complaints were brushed away with Lang's teasings. 

When Phoenix finally woke up, he looked confused and distressed. Miles felt an overwhelming urge to hug him, but he held it back, maintaining a distance between them.

“You’re a protected witness now, Mr. Detective,” Lang explained. “And Agent Edgeworth would take care of you for some time.”

“Why?” Phoenix muttered. 

“Who shot you did it for a reason,” Miles couldn’t resist. He wanted to explain everything to him. “You might’ve put yourself into a big mess without noticing by looking for Glen Elg.”

“Details aren’t relevant.”

Lang had stopped him. He’d already told Miles to not reveal Phoenix any details, assuring it would be best for his protection. 

“So… Can I contact someone? I need to let my family know that I’m fine.”

As Miles had imagined, Phoenix was more worried about his family than he was about his situation. He could see the deception and sadness in his eyes as Lang told him contact with the outside would be prohibited. 

“But…”

“Complaints and requests would be delivered to Agent Edgeworth,” Lang interrupted. “He's your guardian now.”

Guardian. Miles would have a hard time acknowledging that. 

“Keep me informed,” Lang said to Miles as he put on his sunglasses, ready to go. “I have to take a flight to Washington DC in less than an hour. So, do me a favor, Mr. Private Detective, follow what it’s said and you’ll be safe. And Edgeworth… Enjoy your time at home.” 

Miles ignored the tease and waited for Lang to leave. Because, once they were alone, he could approach Phoenix's bed. 

“Are you okay?” Miles asked. “They'd to operate on you. The bullet made an in-and-out hole, so there were no remains in your leg. It didn't hit the bone, but your muscles would need time to recover. The doctor has prescribed antibiotics you must take every day. And painkillers just in case.” 

Phoenix seemed confused due to the medication. “Who shot me?” 

“We don't know, but it might be related to the case we were investigating,” Miles explained. “It's an organized crime issue… That's why the FBI has put you under witness protection temporarily.” 

“Why are you staying with me?” 

Miles wasn’t sure how to answer. Did he have another option? Even if it was Lang’s idea, he’d agreed to it. But, the real answer was the other. He wanted to take care of Phoenix, though admitting so implied bringing to light a feeling he hadn’t figured out about yet. 

“Agent Lang assigned the mission,” Miles finally said. “Besides, he thought it would be a good idea to use my place as a safe house. It's secure and easy to keep an eye on.

”Phoenix shook his head. “Wait… Your place?” 

“My childhood house,” Miles cleared up. “It is located in a private suburban area. Twenty-four-hour security.”

“I still don't understand…”

“Look, I'm not indicated to question Lang's plans. He and Superintendent Andrews know what they’re doing,” Miles said, trying not to worry him much more. “The only thing I can assure you is that we're leaving in two days.”

Miles didn’t want to overwhelm him with details. He wanted to wait until Phoenix was a bit more recovered to then explain everything with clarity. 

“Miles… Are you okay with this?”

He surely was. “What alternative do we have?”

Phoenix stayed with his eyes fixated on his leg, probably thinking about something. Maybe Lang had been too abrupt by telling him everything at once.

Miles kept it quiet and sat down next to the bed. He felt like there were a million things they could talk about, but at the same time, there was nothing to say. Before he could notice, Phoenix had fallen asleep again. 

- 

The first thing he did after exiting the hospital was heading home. He needed everything to be ready for when Phoenix arrived. 

Only a few months had passed since the last time he was there when he celebrated Christmas with Franziska, Maya, and the girls. However, a strange feeling rumbled in his mind. As if this time things were different. After all, he’d met with people from the past, who revived old memories. It almost resembled his days as a detective in Portland PB; a time in which his life wasn’t at the greatest point. 

He greeted the security guard at the entrance and drove through the pavement road. Miles noticed the other houses' gardens. They were greener than ever, and the flowers had started to bloom due to the early arrival of the spring. 

Upon his arrival, he was surprised by the stunningly cared plot. Franziska had hired a gardener months ago, and their work was certainly deserving of admiration. Miles had never seen the garden so beautiful since he was a kid. 

The house had never been the prettiest in the neighborhood. It didn’t have the bright colors, garden gnomes, fountains, or the carefully cut fence. With the asymmetrical shingles, the tall windows, and the characteristical brown tones, from the outside, it made it look cheerless and dark. Even the kids used to say it was haunted and inhabited by vampires. Miles smiled at the memories of how they used to take advantage of those stories during Halloween and scare out the children who bravely tried to trick or treat at their door. 

Aside from the good and the bad memories, Miles loved that house. It was the place where he was raised and spent most of his life living in. 

Before getting out of the car, he opened the glove box, where he found a white box. Just as Lang had told him, inside there was a cell device. Thicker than usual phones, it looked less impressive than Miles had thought. As long as it was useful, details wouldn’t matter. 

With the keys in one hand and the suitcase in the other, he approached the entrance with determination. When he put a foot inside, a sweet smell of lavender filled up his nostrils. Franziska lived there most of the time, and she (as well as him) cared for the cleanliness of the house. He left his baggage aside and decided to open all the curtains to let some light get inside. 

He was able to see the dust dots flying in the air, visible to the warm light. The sun uncovered his old couch, the bookshelf, and the When he decided to follow Lang, he drove from Georgia to Oregon, taking most of his things with him. As if leaving it all behind would make building a new life easier. However, he couldn’t stop himself from comparing his new pieces of furniture with those that he was already used to. 

Miles sat down and released a long sigh as he placed a hand on his forehead. He had so many things running around his mind. Between the mistaken body, Phoenix’s injury, and Lang leaving, he could almost feel the upcoming headache.

Looking around, he tried to think about something to distract himself for a few hours instead of sitting there and drowning in self-pity. The first thing that came to his mind was to clean. Franziska had been away for almost two weeks, so the house could serve some go-over. And even if it didn’t, he would do it anyway. 

Miles carried his suitcase upstairs. A feeling of being home overcame him when he saw that his room remained the same as he had left it. He then undid his luggage, carefully arranged all the clothes in the wardrobe, and left some things in the bathroom next door. Lang had allowed him to keep the gun, which he safely kept in a drawer. Finally, his meds belonged to the nightstand. 

He decided to open the windows and let the air come inside, letting the spring breeze get rid of any accumulated humidity. But, when he was about to unenclose all the doors, he found himself facing one he never dared to open - his father’s office. 

Fears are irrational, but fearing a door almost reaches absurdity. Miles placed the hand on the knob. Without even blinking, he opened it. 

Inside, things were the same as he remembered. A large desk in the middle, surrounded by bookshelves filled to the top and red carpet garnishing the wooden floor. Over the table, there were still pictures, a pile of documents, and a large ink pen. In the dim light, Miles could almost see the shadow of him there, sitting and writing. 

He gave a step back and closed the door again. That would be the only room Miles wasn’t going to clean that day. 

Downstairs again, he took out every item he found in the laundry room. He swept, washed, and cleaned every corner of the house until his mind was turned off enough to not feel the tiredness of his arms. He washed his clothes, changed the sheets, and even rearranged the entire kitchen. 

To finish up, he got the guest's room ready for Phoenix. Miles emptied the wardrobe, where he kept the blankets for the winter and a few extra pajamas and shirts. He was doubtful about how many clothes Phoenix had. A very small amount for sure. Miles pondered the idea of buying him a few items during the week. That way, he could be dressing more comfortably. 

Exhausted enough to stop, he sat down on the kitchen floor. He looked up from his cell phone in his pocket. Finally aware that three hours had passed, Miles took off the headphones and took a breath. 

He'd finished cleaning everything, and there was nothing else he could do. The idea of washing the car passed through his mind, though he decided to put the task aside for when Phoenix was there. He would search for things to do once they'd be cohabiting, and cleaning every day didn't seem appealing. 

At that moment, Miles realized he hadn't called his sister yet. He wondered if she was planning to come home soon. If this was the case, she had to be aware of the situation. 

Lang hadn't mentioned anything about receiving guests. For Miles, it made sense that anyone could come or go to the house as long as nobody revealed to an unknown criminal group that Phoenix Wright was sleeping at Judge Von Karma's house. He didn't know anyone who could make such a thing, but at the same time risked being set aside for the case. Or worse - being suspended. 

He then recalled the cell Lang had given him and decided to bring it to the kitchen. 

Sitting at the table, he read the instructions, which were written in Lisa's handwriting. Its usage was quite simple. He only had to turn it on and type a code. Gadgets were limited to phone calls and a special camera to detect microphones or cameras. 

Miles thought perhaps Lisa had exceeded herself a bit. He wouldn't be needing that much of a device. As long as he could talk to Kay, Ema, Franziska, or Lang, Miles was fine with it. 

Once it was turned on, it was supposedly linked to his phone. In the calling list, his few contacts showed up, so Miles decided to try it. 

Before pressing the button, Miles quickly planned what he was going to tell her. The situation was complicated, and he’s sister could react in many different ways. Franziska wasn’t the type to be mad about those kinds of things, though she would for sure be curious about how their home had ended up being a safe house. 

Ready to talk, he pressed ‘call’. He waited a few beepings. It was a weird time to be calling Franziska, and he doubted whether she would respond. 

“It’s not a good time, brother,” she answered. “Couldn't you send a text for once?”

Miles heard city sounds in the back. He assumed that Franziska was probably walking. 

“Are you planning on coming back home soon?” Miles asked right away. 

“Not right now. Why?”

With her response, Miles was a bit more settled. “Are you with Miss Fey?” 

“I'm heading to her apartment. What is it?”

He pressed his lips. His mind was blocked and the words wouldn’t come out of his mouth. Suddenly, the tears started to accumulate in his eyes. 

“Miles, what is it?” Franziska insisted. 

“Phoenix was shot.” 

Admitting such a thing made it all feel more real, while Miles had tried to convince himself that none of it was. For him, all of it was a bad nightmare. Though it wasn’t. 

He breathed three times, trying to calm down himself. Franziska had seen (and heard) him like this, as well as he had seen her. But, Miles knew that Franziska was more reactive, and he didn’t want to worry her more than he should. 

Franziska kept silence. Miles heard a car door shutting, and the street noises shutting down suddenly. 

“What happened?” she asked with serenity. 

Miles took a moment to order his thoughts. He breathed deeply again until he was ready to tell her. 

On narrating the circumstances, flash images of the happening passed through Miles’ mind. He even could smell the blood. But, at that moment, he realized that he could only see the scene from the outside. He could see himself crying and calling for Lang, riding in the ambulance, waiting in the hospital… Miles had become a secondary character of his own memory. 

Years had passed since the last time he felt like that. It used to be more recurring when he was still working for Portland PB, during the time the situation with his father was fresh. 

“And now I just finished cleaning all the house,” Miles said, finding it funny. “Because, honestly, I don’t know what to do.”

Franziska listened to him quietly, without making any comments. When Franziska was silent for that long it meant that she was concerned. 

“So… You've decided that the best place to keep him safe is our house,” Franziska concluded. 

Miles couldn’t believe that his sister had missed the point. “It wasn't my idea.”

“But you agreed,” Franziska replied. “Therefore, you decided it.” 

Her reasoning made sense. But again, admitting it meant a lot of things he couldn’t even start to phrase. 

“Miles, we've already talked about this…”

“I want to help him, is that what you want to hear? I…” Miles felt how his throat started to squeak. He had to hold back a sob. “I almost saw him die, Franziska. Again .” 

“But he didn't,” she cut him. “He didn't die, Miles. You saved him. Again.”

Miles didn’t want to save Phoenix. If he could choose, Phoenix wouldn’t even be in any danger in the first place. He wished Phoenix wouldn’t have come to Portland, then wouldn't have been in the building, and he wouldn’t be the one who was shot. 

“Right now you’re blaming yourself for it, and I get it…” Franziska sighed. “But don’t be such a fool, Miles Edgeworth. What’s done, it's done. Now, take good care of him and you’ll see that he doesn’t hate you.”

Miles had talked to Phoenix in awful manners, treated him like a stranger, and obliged him to leave. And just when Miles had attempted to help him, instead he put Phoenix in danger. So, after all he had done, Phoenix hating him was what to expect. 

He deserved it. All the hate and despite. 

“I've pushed him away, Franziska…” Miles shook his head, thinking that there was no way he could fix it at that point. 

She chuckled briefly. “I'm sure he's still standing, no matter how much you push.”

For Miles, expecting things to be like his sister described felt selfish. It had been a long time, and no matter how much he wanted to pretend otherwise, he had changed. The work had molded him into a different person. In his core, he was still the same Miles who solved mysteries in small southern towns – The Miles Phoenix had fallen in love with. But there was no trace of that person on the outside. That, combined with time and distance, made him doubt that Phoenix's feelings would remain. 

“I have to go,” Franziska said. 

“Tell Miss Fey that he’s alright,” Communication was limited, but Miles wanted to make sure Maya was aware of the situation. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to call either of you in some time.”

“I’ll tell her that Phoenix’s in good hands.”

“Thank you, Franziska.”

“Take care, brother.”

-

3 days later

The sun hadn’t risen yet, but Miles was already awake. Karin promised she would be there early every day to administer Phoenix his meds and change the bandage, so Miles had to be ready to receive her. 

Still in bed, he remembered the previous night. He had sat down with Phoenix at the table, making him company as he ate. They had a proper conversation, and it wasn't uncomfortable at all. Intimate, if most. But things got a bit gloomy for Miles when Phoenix asked about the past. And Miles had lied. Lately, he was getting too used to it, and he regretted it instantly. 

He thought about what happened in Atlanta, during the last few days more than ever. Regina’s letter had started everything, and Phoenix showing up had been the last straw. Nevertheless, he would deny it. Pretending he’d already overcome it. 

‘With you it’s different’. A trace of truth came out of his lips without thinking it twice. If it weren’t for Lang calling to ask how he was doing and to also brag a little about a new case, Miles would have answered Phoenix's questions. Deep down, he was glad for the interruption. Because, if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t know how to put it in words. Lang was Lang. And Phoenix was… Phoenix. There could be no comparison at all. 

Having regretted his actions enough that morning, he headed to the shower. Under the water, while his hair got wet, Miles tried to keep his mind busy with other things. In two days he’d be holding a class, and he still had not picked a topic. 

Discussing Angels of Death seemed like a proper theme, given the case he was investigating. And, also, it was a great opportunity to add women to the equation. Juniper Woods was interested in the matter, so there was a possibility that others did too. 

Already dressed, he waited for Karin on the porch, holding a cup of warm tea. The sky was clear and the sun peeked in the east, but the overnight cool temperatures remained. There was to be a bright sunny day. However, Miles knew that an empty sky was followed by a storm the next day. So, he thought, it would be an ideal day to wash the car. 

Miles recognized Karin’s blue beetle car at the other side of the fence. He pressed the remote and waited for her as she entered with her vehicle. 

“Good morning, Mr. Edgeworth,” she greeted keeping her voice low. “Aren’t you cold out here?”

She was wearing a blue feather coat on top of her uniform. Miles on his side wore long sweatpants and a short-sleeve top. “Maybe I got too used to the southern weather.”

“That must be the reason,” she followed the joke as Miles opened the door for her. 

“May I offer you a coffee?”

“No, thanks. I’m leaving for my shift right after and picking an order for my colleagues on the way,” Karin declined with a soft smile and walked in carrying a bag. “Where can I find Mr. Wright?”

“At the end of the hallway, the door at the left.” Miles indicated. 

He followed Karin anyway and waited outside while she came in. Miles knew there was no reason to be worried about Phoenix, but still feared he could get complications during his healing process. He had observed him. Phoenix struggled a lot while trying to walk. Doctors said it was completely normal, and, even if Phoenix had been lucky, resting was a must. The problem resided in Phoenix being a restless man, and a terrible patient.

When the door opened, Miles stepped away from the wall. “How is he?”

“He’s doing great,” Karin said. “I’ve administered him painkillers for the day. I would recommend he take a five-minute walk approximately, just to keep the muscles strong. But, other than that, he mustn't make any effort.”

“He displaces himself freely from the bed to the kitchen,” Miles pointed out, hoping it would be no problem. 

“Mmh… I guess that could count as a proper movement,” she shrugged, giving Miles a bit of relief. “However, if you see him struggle or express any pain, he has to return to his bed.”

“I will keep it in mind,” Miles expressed, meaning it to be a promise. Not only to Karin but to himself. 

Karin left right after, leaving Miles alone with his thoughts. He went to the kitchen to make some breakfast for himself and finished planning the tasks for the day. 

Miles hesitated on doing something for Phoenix too, but he was uncertain about what time he’d be waking up. Bringing the food to his room was an option, though it implied bothering him in his sleep. Miles finally decided to leave a note to him on the table, just in case Phoenix happened to arrive there and he wasn’t around. 

The morning had come through a bit more, and with it came the warming sunlight. As Miles had imagined, there was not a single cloud up there. 

In the garage a flickering orange fluorescent lit the instance. There was a storage cupboard full of cages, as well as his beloved car, which was placed next to Franziska’s. 

Miles released a sight and realized how much dust had accumulated there. He first checked the long freezer, placed behind the entrance. It was empty and dirty as a cause of lack of usage. Since Mother was gone, the custom of giving use to the secondary fridge got lost. Miles even questioned if it would still work. Nevertheless, he would be cleaning it afterward. 

Miles got in the car, ready to take it out. He felt a sort of pleasure about sitting on the fluffy, padded seats and touching the wheel. 

Moving it to the front yard, He felt glad to hear the engine sounded good despite the time it had been saved inside.

He had parked the FBI car on the other side of the garden to leave more space. Once it was in a good position, he got out and went to get the supplies. The sun was shining brightly, so he decided to change into some shorts along the way. He grabbed various cleaning products and a bucket, which he filled with water in the garden.

The car wasn’t particularly dirty, but washing it had always been a therapeutic activity for Miles. It made him feel good, and it was a moment when he could completely escape from the world.

With a wet sponge, he began to gently scrub the surface, taking his time. He enjoyed watching the dust disappear, giving way to the bubbly soap.

Moments like these helped him think clearly. Maybe he should talk to Phoenix about the case, and ask him what exactly he knew about Glen Elg. The sooner they discovered why someone had tried to kill him, the better. Besides, any relevant details could be useful to the police. Miles wasn’t going to give up on finding the Brand Killer (or rather, killers). And he hoped Chief Badd wouldn’t either.

When he finished with the front part, he went to get a toolbox from the garage. He wanted to check the battery and the engine, so he opened the hood and leaned over the tangle of wires and components. Everything seemed to be in order, so he closed the hood again.

He wanted to push his hair out of his face, but he quickly realized his hands were covered in grease, as was his shirt. Miles clicked his tongue in annoyance, realizing he had nothing to wipe his hands with.

He entered the house to wash his hands and change his shirt. He went up to his room quietly, thinking that Phoenix was probably still asleep.

To his surprise, he found Phoenix kneeling on the floor in his room.

“What are you doing?” Miles asked, confused.

“I thought you were washing the car…” Phoenix replied, equally surprised.

“I got oil on me,” said Miles, now annoyed.

Then he noticed Phoenix had blood on his leg.

“You’re bleeding…” he pointed out. Although the invasion of his privacy had irritated him, the fear that Phoenix might be hurt overrode any other emotion.

The first thing he did was rush over to him and, with extreme care, help him up. Phoenix didn’t complain or say anything. Miles didn’t know if that was better or worse.

They went down the stairs together, with Phoenix leaning on his shoulder so he wouldn’t have to put weight on his leg.

“Can’t you stay still for even a moment?” Miles asked, visibly concerned.

“I’m sorry…” Phoenix replied.

Miles already knew that Phoenix wouldn’t be able to stay put for long and not move freely around the house. But it annoyed him that Phoenix wasn’t prudent enough about his health to stay still, or at least to wait and ask for help. However, the way Phoenix apologized made him feel bad.

He helped Phoenix lie back down on the bed and then went to get a medical kit from the kitchen. He sat down next to him, with Phoenix still silent. As he removed Phoenix’s pants and took off the bandage, he saw that one of the stitches, still not fully healed, had come undone.

He had seen these kinds of wounds before, so he knew what to do.

“It’s only opened a little,” he said, cleaning the area with a soapy gauze. “You should have stayed in bed.”

“I just wanted to call Trucy…”

Miles realized he should have thought about that earlier. He had been so focused on other things that he hadn’t considered how much Phoenix would miss his daughter.

“You should’ve told me,” Miles said. “I’ll let you use the phone later. But you have to promise me you won’t go up the stairs without help again. Nor do anything reckless. Do you know what could happen if your wound opens up?”

He needed Phoenix to understand the danger he was putting himself through by doing such things. Miles couldn’t stand seeing him hurt because of his stupid actions. 

“I didn’t think you’d help me.”

Those words could’ve broken Miles’ heart, but it was already crushed enough. It felt more like a firm step on the tiny glass pieces that remained of it. 

Miles shouldn’t have asked much further, because Phoenix's words didn’t end up there. The firm steps became stamps, and Miles only could think of how much he deserved it. He wasn’t worthy to be receiving Phoenix's trust. Miles had hurt him, and it was his turn to be hurt back. 

“We can fix this.”

Fix things… Saying it was easy, but doing it was a completely different thing. 

Miles felt blocked at that very moment. He was aware of how much of an asshole he was for wanting to flee from there, but the fear had unexpectedly overcome him. He wasn’t sure what was that he feared so much. Emotions usually overwhelmed him in those situations. There was not much he could do other than leave and put himself together. 

As soon as he closed the door, he felt like a coward. Something inside him, though, made Miles turn around. He couldn’t be running away forever, overall because it hurt Phoenix even more. 

Miles came into the room again and Phoenix turned around in surprise. 

“I’m a dick, and I know. I didn’t mean those things. I…” He’d opened the gate, and now there was no step back. 

Phoenix helped himself with his arms to sit in the bed. Not saying anything, he glanced at Miles. 

Miles took a deep breath, rearranging the words on his head. “I just want to protect you.”

“You’re already protecting me,” Phoenix said. “But you don’t have to act like a BAU agent with me to do so. I want… I want the Miles that I know.”

Miles shook his head slowly. “I don’t think he exists anymore.”

And he meant it. 

“I’m pretty sure he does,” Phoenix insisted, with that lovely smirk on his lips. “I see him in your eyes.”

As always, the things Phoenix did to Miles had no name. It was unbelievable to him how simple words and a gesture could make his heart beat roughly against his chest. 

“The conversation you’re looking for… I’m not ready for it,” Miles wanted to be sincere with his feelings, even if it meant to make Phoenix feel bad. “Your situation, this house… Is it too much if I ask you to wait?”

Asking that question could have two possible outcomes. Phoenix’s silence gave Miles time to imagine both of them and expect with closed fists the worst of both. 

“I can wait,” Phoenix answered finally. "I didn't mean to put pressure on you."

He shrugged. "It's fine."

Miles felt the pressure dissipating within his body. In the end, communicating with each other hadn’t been as awful as he’d imagined. 

Phoenix smirked. “Are we good, then?” 

Miles crossed his arms. “As far as you don’t do anything silly.”

“I know, I know… I have to rest,” Phoenix sounded bothered by the statement, but it seemed he had started to accept it. 

“I’ll bring you lunch in a bit,” Miles announced, leaving right after with his hands feeling shaky. 

He had asked Phoenix to wait. But Miles knew had to make an effort to establish a wait as short as possible.

Chapter Text

Like every other morning, Phoenix walked to the kitchen. His leg felt less heavy that day, and struggling with the movement seemed to have become easier for him. Miles was already there. Next to the gas cooker, he gave a few stirs to a pan. Phoenix inhaled the delicious smell of freshly made pancakes.  

“Good morning,” he greeted as he approached the fridge.  

“Good morning,” Miles replied, focused on cooking. “Did you sleep well?”  

“Wonderfully,” Phoenix grabbed a carton of milk and placed it on the counter. Then he walked over to Miles, who looked back at him with a slight smile.  

“I hope you like the frittata. And pancakes,” Miles showed him both pans. The aroma they emitted was indescribable. He felt the warmth of the stove on his face, heating him. In that moment, a feeling of comfort spread through his entire body.  

“I love them,” he replied. He didn’t know why, but it felt very natural to him. Overnight, all the tension between them had disappeared.  

“Can I have more pancakes, Mr. Edgeworth?” asked a voice from afar that Phoenix recognized within seconds.  

“Of course, as many as you want,” Miles replied.  

Then Phoenix turned around. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. There at the table, spreading jam all over her pancakes, was Trucy.  

“Trucy… What are you doing here?” Phoenix asked, stunned by the presence of his daughter.  

“I’m here so you won’t feel lonely, Dad,” she said.  

Miles turned off the stove and approached the table with the pan in hand. He served breakfast on two plates and even offered Trucy more juice. Could it be that Miles had let his daughter come over?  

Phoenix observed this ordinary scene, feeling his lips curve into a smile. He had dreamed for years that something like this would happen. The three of them, together like a family.  

Suddenly, he felt a strong deep pain in his leg. He grimaced, and squeezed the thigh in response. The same sensation showed up in his left arm. An uncertainty of what was happening started to make him panic. 

"Miles..." he choked. 

Miles and Trucy looked at him from the table, without any reaction.  

“You’re bleeding, Dad,” Trucy pointed out.  

When Phoenix looked down, he saw that both his arm and leg were bleeding. The two bullet wounds he had suffered had reopened simultaneously as if he had been shot again.  

A pressure crushed his chest. It was as if he were suffocating. Phoenix tried to breathe but realized he couldn’t.  

He fell to the floor, hitting his head in the process. Sitting there, the pressure in his chest kept increasing more and more. 

“You’re always hurt, Dad,” Trucy said, continuing to eat pancakes.  

Miles crossed his arms and shook his head with disappointment. “You should have stayed in bed.”

Somehow, at that moment, Phoenix knew he was going to die.  

With a deep gasp, Phoenix woke up. He was hyperventilating, and his pajamas were soaked with sweat.  

Sitting up, he quickly removed the sheet to discover that his bandage was clean. He sighed in relief, realizing it had all just been a nightmare. He rubbed his forehead, and his breathing soon returned to normal.  

It had been a long time since last time he’d a nightmare, or at least one as vivid as the one he'd just experienced. He used to have dreams where he relived the night Kristoph had hit him on the head. But thanks to therapy, those dreams gradually disappeared until they no longer occurred. It had taken him a few months to overcome it, and he didn’t want to have to go through it again.  

Maybe it was a one-off thing, a result of the wound he had sustained two days ago. He decided that he would call Trucy again that day, hoping that hearing her voice would greatly reduce his anxiety.  

As soon as he got up, he took a shower. He was aware that he and Miles had an established schedule. But given the time, Miles would have already showered.  

Miles had left him clean clothes in the closet, though it was the same outfit he had worn the day before. Phoenix hadn’t anticipated such a long stay in Portland, so he hadn’t packed much. He wondered if it would be possible for Maya to send him some clothes, though he figured it might be complicated.  

In the kitchen, Miles waited patiently by the stove, watching the Italian coffee maker. He seemed to hear Phoenix approaching and turned toward the door.  

“You’re up early,” he noted.  

“Is this a dream?” Phoenix asked, just to make sure he wasn’t trapped in a nightmare again.  

“I don’t think so,” Miles said. “Do you often dream of me making you breakfast?”  

Although the answer was yes, Phoenix simply smiled. Without saying anything more, he hobbled over to the table. It was still difficult for him to walk, but he continued to refuse to stay in bed all day.  

Nurse Karin had recommended that he walk for five minutes a day, increasing the time every five days. Only that way could he improve without needing rehabilitation. He also had to find some distractions, like reading a book or watching a show, in addition to doing daily stretches.  

But for Phoenix, the idea of building a routine around his leg still seemed complicated. He supposed he’d have to get used to it eventually.  

Miles arrived at the table with a plate of toast and placed it in front of Phoenix. He had also added some pieces of fruit and scrambled eggs.  

“Thanks,” Phoenix said.  

Then Miles brought the coffee maker, which he set on a woven wicker mat. Finally, he sat across from Phoenix.  

Since he had known him, Miles always ate the same breakfast: yogurt with fruit and cereal. On cold days, he leaned more toward porridge (something Phoenix never quite understood). For Miles it was something ritualistic, custom of years and years since he was a kid. 

“Do you have class today?”  

“Mmh,” Miles replied, nodding. “Have you thought about how you’ll keep yourself entertained?”  

Phoenix sighed, fearing boredom would start to kick in soon if he didn't find anything to do. “Honestly, no.”  

“I could lend you a book,” Miles suggested, pouring coffee for both of them. “There’s a very comfortable chair on the back porch. You should take advantage of the sun while it lasts.”  

Miles had spent the weekend insisting that it would rain soon. Now and then, he’d look out the window and say: ‘There will be a storm soon.’  

His theory was based on the fact that the sky was too clear for that time of year. But Phoenix had seen the weather forecast several times on TV, and sunshine was expected for at least another week.  

Besides that, what Miles was suggesting didn’t sound like a bad plan. Reading in the shade, surrounded by beautiful flowers, and breathing in the sweet spring breeze. It sounded very romantic.  

“Besides, the sun is good for the joints and mood,” Miles pointed out. “I’m sure you’ll feel better if you go outside for a while.”  

“The sun?” Phoenix made a puzzled face. “Who says that?”  

“Franziska used to have terrible knee pain when she was little. She’d spend entire days at home, and sometimes she’d go outside to get some sun. She always said she felt better after,” Miles explained. “Our aunt recommended it.”  

“I’ve never heard that before,” Phoenix said. “But I don’t think the sun will magically take away the pain.”  

“The sun isn’t magical,” Miles denied with seriousness. “But staying within four walls all day doesn’t help you recover either.”  

Phoenix began to understand what Miles was getting at. It was true that between the hospital and the house, he had spent more than a week without going outside. Maybe his mind needed a break from his thoughts, especially those involving suffering due to his wound.  

“Then I think it’s a good idea,” Phoenix agreed.  

“I’ll find a book for you then,” Miles said.  

Phoenix smiled before making his joke. “A book on chess strategies?”  

He looked at Miles then, waiting for his reaction.  

Miles looked back at him with a serious expression. “I read other things, you know.”  

“I know, I know…” Phoenix held back his laughter. It had been a long time since he had the chance to tease Miles. And it felt good. Extremely good. “You could teach me how to play, tho.”  

Miles raised his eyebrows slightly. “You want me to teach you how to play chess?”  

Phoenix shrugged. “I don’t have much else to do. It could be fun.”  

Since they had had their conversation a few days ago, they hadn’t spent much time together since then. They saw each other at meals and when Miles came into the room to bring him clean clothes.  

The day before, Miles had gone to change the towels in the bathroom, and Phoenix had thought to ask how often he changed them. The result was an approximately five-minute lecture in which Miles explained why it was most hygienic to change towels and sheets once a week, including his personal rotation system.  

Phoenix was a bit stunned since, if he was lucky, he changed them once a month. But listening to and watching Miles talk like that, focused on the subject and not knowing when to stop, he liked it. Because that was the real Miles. It gave Phoenix hope that they could get closer to each other soon.  

As for learning to play chess, he wanted to take it as an opportunity to spend time together.

Miles seemed to doubt for a moment. With his eyes in the almost empty bowl, he gave a few stirs to the remaining yogurt. “I guess I could teach you.”

Phoenix grinned before raising the mug to his mouth and giving a sip of the warm coffee. The liquid came down his throat, waking his senses a bit more. Bitter yet sweet, a flavor that couldn’t even be mocked in the best dreams.

As a person who drinks machine coffee or from shops, enjoying homemade stuff made Phoenix the luckiest man. If he thought about it, perhaps that was one of the reasons he fell in love with Miles. He was a person who always found the time to make things, and he succeeded each and every time. 

“What about this afternoon?” Phoenix asked as a suggestion. 

“Sure,” Miles said before finishing his drink. Then, he stood up, pulling the chair back. “I have to prepare for my class. Come to the living room once you’re finished and I’ll lend you a book.”

Phoenix only nodded in response, glancing at Miles as he gathered the things in the sink, not without passing them through a bit of water first. He smirked at the image of him being in a rush, even though it was barely seven-thirty. 

Left alone, Phoenix delighted himself peacefully with the rest of his meal. He’d liked to take it as a moment of empty-mindedness, where he only focused on chewing the toast. But, suddenly Vera slipped through his thoughts.

Phoenix couldn’t help but ask himself how she was. He was so close to finding her right when he was shot. And, by what he’d understood, she was probably the reason for it. 

Miles hadn’t mentioned the case anymore. It was an ongoing investigation, or so Phoenix had understood. But Portland PB nor the FBI were looking for Vera Misham. They were after a criminal organization, authors of the killings of three men. Glen Elg included. 

If there was a connection, there was nothing Phoenix could do to establish it. Considering Mrs. Misham’s testimony, Vera’s call, and Glen’s death, there existed a strong possibility of Vera being kidnapped by the same men who killed Glen. But, Phoenix was helpless. 

He sighed, followed by a yawn. Grumbling about it wouldn’t help Vera, so he decided to think about something to do about it later. 

Phoenix stood up, feeling instantly his leg upset for it. He groaned in pain, grabbing the chair strongly to keep himself in balance. Damming in silence, it took him a few seconds to feel that he could start moving. He grabbed the crutch, which had been left next to the table, and helped himself to walk towards the sink. Carefully, Phoenix carried the plate and the mug, rinsing them off as Miles had done. 

He took the chance to grab the counter and rest there. Despite what Nurse Karin had said, walking became tougher every day. Phoenix had started to regret climbing the stairs days ago. If he had rested when he was told to, maybe he wouldn’t be in such pain at that moment. 

In the living room, an open laptop was on a desk facing the window. Next to it, was a pile of files and a big notebook. Miles walked down the stairs, dressed formally. Well, not exactly formally, but he dressed exactly as what resembled a college teacher. And Phoenix found him really, really handsome. 

“I think you’ll like this one,” Miles said, handing him a book. The art cover seemed rather vintage, but by touch, he could tell wasn’t old at all. 

“A fantasy book?” Phoenix had never been an avid reader. He liked a few books he’d read as a teenager. Classics like To Kill a Mocking Bird or The Great Gatsby caught his interest during high school. But he had barely touched any fiction read since he was seventeen. 

“Give it a try,” Miles insisted. “If it’s not of your liking, you can borrow another.”

Phoenix looked at the book again. Now that he had it in his hands, he felt the will to give it a try. He had nothing else to do anyway. 

Then, he followed Miles outside. In a square-shaped area, the backyard was as maintained as the front garden. Under the windows, flowers and plants Phoenix didn’t know the name of were arranged to each other, set aside from the lawn with small stones that worked as walls. A few bushes and small trees grew tall next to the fence, with tiny orange and yellow flowers pending in some of them. In a corner, two iron chairs and a table painted in white were placed. 

Phoenix had expected to find more things there. But, he actually appreciated the sensation of space and broadness. 

Next to him, there was a wicker armchair with two pillows on the seat and in the back. Miles brought them a white kind of stool, which he placed next to the armchair. 

“You can use this to keep your leg high,” he explained. “If you need anything I…”

“Don’t worry,” Phoenix interrupted him, knowing already that Miles would be too busy with his class to worry about him. “I’ll be fine.”

“Alright,” Miles said. “Have fun.”

Phoenix got comfortable on the seat as soon as Miles left. The chilling air of the morning was enough to make him feel comfortable in his jacket, but not as much to make him feel cold. 

Before opening the book, he looked around and released a sight. Phoenix had to come to terms with the fact that he wouldn't be able to do anything besides reading that morning. Nevertheless, he thought it would be better than staying in bed or watching TV. 

On going through the first pages, Phoenix felt a bit distracted. He blamed the lack of reading for the amount of distractions he was finding. 

Phoenix tried to get himself more comfortable on the armchair. He put on different postures, stood up, fluffed, and changed the pillows… All he thought of doing.  

Sitting again, he massaged his leg a bit. It hurt at first, but the pleasure of releasing tension came soon after. 

Phoenix opened the book again. He came to the conclusion that he had to force himself to read it. Otherwise, he'd spent hours spinning around. 

Said and done, his mind was completely immersed in the story. 

A medieval realm, kings, knights, mages, and dragons. Things he had only read about as a kid suddenly had become an exciting world of adventures inside his imagination. He giggled at the silly, yet intellectual jokes, and got surprised by the twists and turns of the plot. Before he could notice, he was halfway through the book. 

Phoenix took the opportunity to go for something to drink and take a rest. He stood up to stretch all the parts of his body, specifically his back, which felt a bit tense due to the maintained sitting posture. 

On his way to the kitchen, he heard Miles giving his class. Phoenix could see him from the hallway, noting things as he spoke. 

“‘Angel of Death’ is an umbrella term. So we categorize them into three: mercy killer, sadistic, and malignant hero. Now, can someone tell us what sets apart a psychopath from a sadist?” 

Phoenix smirked. Miles sounded exactly as when he explained things he was interested in. Being a teacher was totally his thing. 

With a glass of water in one hand, Phoenix managed to go back to the porch. There was a table nearby, which he moved next to his seat in order to grab the glass easily. 

He didn't struggle that much to get comfortable this time. The book had him hooked, so he started to read as soon as he finished drinking. 

Images of the atypical guards making plans to save the city from a dragon showed up in his mind as he transformed the words into scenes within his imagination. 

“Good morning.” 

The voice made him look up. He didn't know where it was coming from until he turned his head to both sides.

On the porch of the house next door stood a large man, with glasses and a rather peculiar mustache. He was wearing gardening clothes, along with a hat.

“Good morning,” Phoenix greeted back nicely. He hoped that speaking with neighbors wasn't a limit within the witness protection program. 

“I didn't know Manfred's kids sold the house,” the man said. 

Manfred. Phoenix guessed that was Miles' father's name. 

Though it caught him a bit off guard, Phoenix came up with an answer. “Actually, I'm a… friend of Miles.” 

“Oh,” the neighbor seemed happy to hear it as he beamed after his exclamation. “Then I'm glad to know he's back. I've been seeing the gardener for a few months, but no trace of the kids. That's why I thought they sold. It seemed strange to me as they have a huge attachment to the house, regardless of what happened to their father.” 

Miles’ dad wasn't a conversation topic he was very keen on. So, Phoenix barely knew any information about him, besides the fact that he was in jail. 

For a frame of a second, he thought about asking that man about it. But it didn't sound right. Phoenix wanted to hear it in Miles' own words. “Yeah… I think they want to keep it.” 

“Good. This is a nice neighborhood,” the man approached the balustrade. “Excuse my manners, I haven't introduced myself yet. I'm Marvin Grossberg. You're…?” 

“Nick,” Phoenix said, thinking that somehow introducing himself by his nickname would be safer. 

“Nice to meet you, Nick,” said Marvin with a smile underneath his mustache. “You're reading a classic of English literature. I rather like the mages' books, but the guards’ are amusing as well.” 

Phoenix looked at the book. Mr. Grossberg seemed to have an incredible eyesight if he could tell which book was reading from at least ten feet apart.

He'd never heard about the author before, nor was he aware it was considered a classic. “I honestly didn't know… Miles insisted on me giving it a try.”

“I hope you're enjoying it.”

“So far, yeah. Pretty much.” 

“Well, Nick. I'll leave you with your reading,” Marvin said, taking a flowerpot from the floor. “Say hi to Miles from my part.” 

Phoenix nodded. “I will.” 

Marvin disappeared by walking down to his own garden. Phoenix could hear him do some digging and singing to himself an unrecognizable song. With the relaxing sounds of the morning, he didn't last much without diving himself into the book again. 

When he arrived at the last page, Phoenix smiled. 

The glass door opened soon after. 

“I've just finished with my class,” Miles said, stepping out to the porch. He stood next to Phoenix, resting his arms on the hips. “I'm making lunch now. How did you find the reading time? I hope you didn't get too bored...”

“I've finished it,” Phoenix turned around and handed him the book. 

Miles took it with noticeable skepticism. “All of it?” 

“All of it,” Phoenix confirmed while doing a single firm nod. “You were right. I liked it a lot.”

Miles raised his brows briefly, as his eyes opened a bit. He was surprised. “Well, then I guess I can give you the next one later.” 

“There's another one?” Phoenix asked, not able to hide his excitement. 

“Is a fifty-four book series.”

“Fifty-four!?” Phoenix was astonished by hearing that piece of information. Suddenly, he became conscious of the infinite amount of imagination and entertainment that had opened to him. “And you have all of them?”

“Between Franziska and I, we collected twenty,” Miles specified, but the reduced number didn't make Phoenix less excited. “I'll lend you another after lunch. Do you want to stay here a little more?” 

“No, I'll go inside.” 

Phoenix stood up, reaching the crutch in the process. Giving a last glace at the green bushes, he noticed that he couldn't hear Marvin anymore. So Phoenix assumed he had finished his gardening activities. 

During lunch, Phoenix expressed vigorously how much he had liked the book. There were a few things that had confused him, though. To which Miles didn't mind to explain. 

Miles told him how he used to re-read the series a lot when he was a kid. At the same time, he still didn't fully understand some aspects of the story either. Because, most of it, was written to provoke a good laugh from the reader. And what’s better than absurd jokes and nonsensical word-building stuff? Nevertheless, Miles expressed how glad was to know Phoenix had liked it, and found a form of evading himself through reading it. 

They ended up in the living room. Miles wanted to do some work, and Phoenix proposed making him some company. 

He rested on the couch, with the leg on high and the pillows embracing his back as he found a comfortable position. Phoenix gazed around the instance. It wasn't a big room, but enough to have a big bookshelf. Phoenix noticed there was no TV there. Strange thing as there was one in his room, and he swore to have seen another upstairs. 

On thinking about the lack of TV, he saw a record player placed near the dining room entrance. Next to it, there appeared to be a box with vinyl records. 

Miles came back with a new book, which he placed in Phoenix's hands before sitting down on the desk. 

“I noticed you have a record player,” Phoenix said. “And a few vinyls.” 

“I do,” Miles, looking at the machine. “Do you want to play it?” 

Phoenix remembred having something similar at his grandad's house, though nobody was allowed to touch it. “Can I?” 

“Sure, why not?” Miles carried the box to the couch. “Here. You can pick one.” 

Carefully, Phoenix rumbled around the variety of records, trying to find something rather relaxing to play. He took time to poke around some of the records, as he found it fascinating that someone still kept something like that at their house.

“‘Parallel Lines Remastered’ by Blondie,” Phoenix said, surprise to find that kind of record inside the box. “I didn't know you were a rock kind of person.”

“That's Franziska's,” Miles pointed out. 

Phoenix placed the vinyl back at the box. “Which are yours?”

“They're upstairs,” Miles revealed, which kind of disappointed Phoenix. “Except for the jazz ones. Those are mine.” 

He then decided to look for the jazz records. It was a genre that sounded perfect for the occasion, and also it was something they both would like. 

“By the way, I've met your neighbor,” Phoenix had completely forgotten to tell Miles. The view of the new book reminded him of his encounter with the neighbor. “Marvin Grossberg. He's… nice.”

If Miles had reacted, Phoenix couldn't have known as he was focused on work. “How did you meet?”

“He saw me reading from his porch and said hi,” Phoenix said. “At first he thought you had sold the house. It seems like he hasn't seen any of you in a long time.” 

“That's because he spends the holidays with his wife in California,” Miles pointed out as if he was bothered by Grossberg’s complaints.

“He sounded genuinely happy when I told him you didn't sell,” Phoenix opened the book, though he wouldn't read it just yet. He was still curious about Marvin and his relationship with Miles. “Were you close?” 

“His wife was my Art History teacher at high school,” he explained. “We used to go to their home for dinner from time to time.” 

That made Phoenix realize why Marvin seemed so content about Miles being around. He could've just left the conversation there and picked a record to play. But there was something that still tingled the back of his head. “I think he mentioned your dad too.”

Miles stopped writing and his pen dropped on the paper. Maybe it hadn't been the right moment for Phoenix to mention it. 

However, instead of reacting badly, Miles picked a new file from the amount, and opened his laptop, acting like nothing. 

“Mr. Grossberg is a retired lawyer. My father despised him to the core,” Miles said, releasing a sigh right after. “But good manners prevailed over any hatred.” 

Phoenix didn’t feel much surprised by that statement. Manners was a characteristic trait shared by both Miles and Franziska. They could be blunt or cold with people, but they’d never treat them with malice. And, if others were unaware enough, any despise Franziska or Miles had towards them was unnoticeable.

Their father was a mysterious figure. Miles barely talked about him, not to say that he never did. Franziska was more open to mentioning him, but just to point out bad habits or eccentricities he used to have. After Marvin mentioned him, Phoenix’s curiosity woke up. 

“What did your father do for work? I never asked.” 

“He was a federal judge,” Miles said before turning around. “Have you found anything interesting?” 

By how Miles had answered, Phoenix guessed it was time to stop asking. Miles took the jazz classics vinyl Phoenix had chosen and set it on the player. 

Phoenix opened the book as soon as the music started to play. He took a deep breath, lying down on the couch with a pillow under his head. The atmosphere became soothing, perfect for some leisure time. 

While going through the pages, Phoenix’s breathing slowed down gradually. Hugged by the couch, his eyes started to feel heavier. As much as he tried keeping them open, they eventually closed.

—

A pillow pressed against Phoenix's cheek. A familiar warmth evolved his entire body, making him cozy while lying on the fluffy surface. As the sleep blurred away, Phoenix moved a bit, embracing the immense comfort he'd found himself in. 

Soon after, he opened his eyes, becoming aware that he'd fallen asleep on the couch. The book was on the table, and a soft blanket was placed over half of his body. 

He didn't know how much time he had spent napping. Outside, the sun was replaced by dark clouds, and dim light remained within. Miles was right, a storm was coming. 

Phoenix sighed, closing his eyes again. He was too comfy in his place to have any will to wake up. 

Suddenly, the front door closed, and Phoenix heard footsteps walking around, probably heading to the kitchen. He recognized it as Miles’ moving, so he sat up, leaning on the arm with the pillow at his back. 

Phoenix yawned, rubbing his eyes right after. His cheeks remained warm, which he identified as a signal of good sleep. There had been years since the last time he had such a wonderful nap. 

“You're awake,” Miles said, carrying a bag into the living room. 

Phoenix sat up. “How much time did I sleep?”

“Around five hours,” Miles’ answer was shocking. Phoenix had spent the whole afternoon sleeping. “I took the chance and went grocery shopping. I've also brought you something.” 

Full of curiosity, Phoenix glanced at the shopping bag. “What is it?”

“New clothes. I've mainly got items that you may find comfortable to wear,” Miles opened the bag and took the pieces out one by one, folding them in the process. “These three basic T-shirts, and a jumper… Sweatpants, socks, pajamas, underwear… And this green beanie. I found it cute.” 

Phoenix didn’t expect that amount of clothing. It was true that he barely had things to get dressed on a daily basis, but he didn’t expect Miles to buy new stuff for him. “You didn't have to…” 

“I had,” Miles assured. “You don't have enough clothes. And with your injury, being comfortable is a must. Besides, I'm tired of seeing you wearing the same shirt for two days straight. Even for sleep.”

Phoenix chuckles. Though, had to agree that it wasn't a hygienic behavior. "Yeah, I'm a mess with clothes,” 

“I know,” Miles said, folding the clothes. “When we met, you wore the same suit every day. l guess Some things never change.”

“Hey, it wasn't the same one!” Phoenix complained ironically. “I just had three identical suits.” 

A brief smile showed up on Miles’ lips as he released a small chuckle disguised as a sigh. Phoenix had been close to making Miles laugh, which seemed to him a great victory. 

“I'll take this to your room,” Miles said, putting the clothes in a pile. “And make dinner after.”

“Would you teach me chess after dinner?”

“If you still want to, sure.”

“I do,” Phoenix confirmed. He refused to let a nap be an excuse for the opportunity to have a moment with Miles slip through his fingers. 

Miles didn't say anything else before leaving the room with the bag. Phoenix decided to reach for the book from the table and spend time until dinner with it. Miles had placed a bookmark on it. However, as he had fallen asleep while reading, he had to go back a few pages, rumbling for the last scene he recalled. 

Phoenix distracted himself for longer than he expected. He noticed when Miles stepped in carrying a tray with cutlery and what seemed like a tablecloth. 

“I thought we could have dinner here today,” he announced, leaving the tray on the desk. Miles extended the blue cloth, folding it to make it fit. The table was rather low, enough to be impossible to tuck a chair under. For Phoenix, it would be easy to eat while sitting, but there was no space for Miles. Unless he sat next to him. 

Phoenix sat up, placing his feet in the space between the table and the couch. His legs were still covered with the blanket. “Where would you sit?”

“On the floor,” Miles said, making sure there were no wrinkles on the tablecloth. “The carpet is quite comfortable.” 

Under other circumstances, Phoenix would have insisted on them going to the kitchen. Though, it was true that he ought to start taking his rest more seriously. He was well-situated sitting there, and he’d performed too much movement for the day. So, Phoenix didn’t insist. 

He helped Miles to place the glasses and the cutlery, only the plates were missing. On doing it, something started to tap softly outside. Under the remaining trace of daylight and the already lit street lights, Phoenix could recognize the falling drizzle. 

Miles placed himself next to the window and stood there, observing the rain’s prelude. 

“Finally,” he hissed, but not low enough for Phoenix not to hear it. Seconds after, Miles turned around. “I’ll bring dinner.”

While they ate, the drizzle turned into a patter of raindrops that seemed to sound louder with every passing minute. As it became completely dark, the thunder was not far behind. They dined in silence, but Phoenix felt no need to talk, and Miles seemed to enjoy the sound of the rain he had been anticipating for days.

Those long silences had become a part of their daily routine. Phoenix had grown accustomed to them, so much so that he didn’t even consider them to be in any way uncomfortable. After all, Miles was eating with him, something that just days ago would have seemed impossible.

When they finished, Phoenix leaned back, feeling full and letting out a sigh of contentment. Despite having slept all afternoon, he knew that as soon as he hit the bed, he would fall asleep again.

He soon realized that the day was almost over, and he hadn’t thought about Trucy or Vera again. He had even forgotten about his nightmare. He decided to let go of that reminder, allowing the tranquility to dominate his thoughts.

It seemed that, at the end of the day, all he needed to forget about the pain was reading and spending time around Miles. 

Consequently, Miles stood up to clear the plates from the table. “Do you want anything else?”

“No, thanks. I’m full,” Phoenix replied. 

Standing up, Miles gazed at him. “I made dessert.”

Those words were music to Phoenix’s ears. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

“I’ll bring the chessboard too.”

Minutes after, Miles returned with two small glass bowls decorated with a floral relief.

“It’s vanilla pudding,” he said, placing one of the bowls in front of Phoenix. “It’s simple, but I hope you like it.”

“I'm sure it's perfect,” Phoenix said, taking the bowl and dipping his spoon in. The distinctive taste of vanilla flooded his taste buds. He was beginning to like this whole witness protection thing.

When the chessboard was on the table, Miles made it as if to leave again. “Wait, I’m going to get some wine.”

Phoenix looked at him amused. “Are we going to drink while we play?”

Miles frowned. “I don’t think you should be drinking while you’re on antibiotics.”

“You take sleeping pills...”

Perhaps he shouldn’t have said that, as Phoenix wasn’t supposed to have looked in Miles’s drawers. But it didn’t seem to bother him as he didn’t say anything in return. 

With two glasses and an uncorked bottle, Miles finally sat down on the carpet. He poured wine for both of them, although he filled the glasses only a little. He was probably aware of the problem that drinking alcohol with medication could pose, but he still chose to drink.

While Phoenix enjoyed the vanilla pudding, Miles meticulously arranged the chess pieces on the board.

“Why do you take them?” Phoenix dared to ask. “The sleeping pills, I mean.”

“Because I can’t sleep,” Miles replied matter-of-factly. “I’ve spent almost two years interviewing killers from across the country. I’ve also hunted down a few... I’ve seen and heard everything. I’m sure you’ve also had your moments of lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, and not being able to get those images out of your head.”

At that moment, Phoenix felt empathy for Miles. When he worked for the FBI, he had also seen terrible things happening to hundreds of minors. But his experience probably didn’t compare to Miles’s. He had encountered what could be considered the worst people on the face of the earth. Psychopaths, sadists, murderers, kidnappers, rapists... And surely all of them had far exceeded anything he had seen in his more than ten years as a police officer.

Maybe it was one of the reasons why Miles seemed to lack feelings. He had always been a serious person, but his attitude was clearly different toward certain things. He had seen too much, which had made him close in on himself.

“The truth is, I did,” Phoenix admitted, wanting to make him understand that he empathized with and shared his feelings. "And I still do." 

Miles said nothing, as he was still focused on arranging the pieces. Phoenix wished he had said something more, just so he could comfort him, even if only a little.

“Well, you’ll be the white pieces, and I’ll be the black ones. So, you must move first,” Miles explained, taking a sip from his glass right after. “Do you know the moves of each piece?”

Phoenix thought he remembered, but he shook his head.

“Then that will be your first lesson. The pawns move forward, one or two squares,” Miles explained, moving the piece to demonstrate. “Only two squares at the start. After that, only one. The rooks move vertically or horizontally, with an unlimited number of squares but without jumping over other pieces...”

Miles explained it calmly, and Phoenix paid attention, making an effort to remember everything.

“Good, if you understand, now we need to practice,” Miles concluded. “To start, it’s important to control the center of the board by moving the pawns or knights to the middle. For example, the Italian opening is the simplest...”

He moved a few pieces, although Phoenix doubted he could retain that in his memory. “Does the opponent also need to know the openings to know where to move?”

“Of course,” Miles assured him, returning the pieces to their original positions.

Phoenix thought chess would be much simpler, but it seemed he had underestimated one of the oldest games in history. This game would not only require practice and strategy but also knowledge and memory. “It seems difficult.”

“It requires practice.”

He couldn’t let the difficulty hold him back. He had asked Miles to teach him, and learning was precisely what he intended to do. Maybe not to the level of an expert, but enough for them to play together.

“We’ll do this,” Miles placed his glass on the table. “Try to predict my moves and take as many pieces as you can. We'll keep it simple.”

Phoenix leaned over the board, thinking about how to start. After some indecision, he moved the first piece. Miles moved one of his right after.

The game lasted barely fifteen minutes, most of the time occupied by Phoenix thinking about what to do. Surprisingly, he managed to capture a couple of Miles’s pieces. It wasn’t much, but for the first time, he felt proud.

“That wasn’t bad for a first time,” Miles said after announcing checkmate. He gathered the pieces from both sides and started putting them back in the box. “Shall we play again tomorrow?”

Phoenix felt confused, thinking it would last longer. “Is it over already?”

“I’m a bit tired,” Miles knelt before standing up. “And you’ve had too much to drink, you should go to bed.”

During the game, Phoenix had refilled his glass two more times. He had done it almost unconsciously. But with each sip of wine, the pain in his leg dissipated for a moment.

“Can we stay a little longer?” he asked, not wanting the day to end. “Come on, Miles. One last glass. Like the old times.”

He didn’t have to insist much more for Miles to agree, leaving the chessboard on the table and sitting back down on the carpet. He poured wine into both glasses, filling them halfway.

Phoenix didn’t know how much Miles had drunk, but he assumed it was a lot. He leaned back on the sofa with the glass in hand, paying attention to the raindrops still falling on the garden floor.

Unable to help it, Vera returned to his thoughts. He wondered if she would be okay if she would be under a roof and covered with a blanket that night.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Miles had a distant look in his eyes, but he nodded as a sign that he was listening.

“About the case you’re investigating...” Phoenix paused, remembering that Miles insisted he couldn’t reveal any details about the case. Still, he had nothing to lose by trying. “There are people still looking for those men, right?”

“Portland PD and Organized Crime are doing everything they can,” Miles confirmed.

But that wasn’t enough for Phoenix. “Do they know a girl’s life is at stake?”

“Phoenix...”

“Tell them to look for Vera Misham,” Phoenix pleaded, almost begging. “She... She’s in danger. And I can’t save her anymore...”

Miles lowered his head, remaining silent. For some reason, Phoenix became irritated by the lack of response.

“You don’t believe me, do you? You think my work is stupid... I’m looking for a girl who ran away from home and they don’t want me to find her. But that’s not the case. Vera didn’t run away; Vera was taken. If she were a runaway, why would they shoot me?” The words tumbled out of his mouth uncontrollably, as if he had no control over himself anymore. Was it the alcohol? Phoenix usually had more tolerance, but he assumed that the cocktail he had created with the wine and medication had reduced his sobriety to a minimum. He sighed, painfully remembering that night. “My leg is a mess because I was close to rescuing her... But you had to show up.”

His intention had never been to blame Miles for what had happened. But he had just done so. In a way, he felt sorry for having stopped him at that moment, as he could have stayed inside and investigated the building. However, he also knew that getting him out of there had been the most prudent thing Miles could have done, despite the consequences.

Regretful, Phoenix looked at Miles, who still had his head down while finishing his glass in one gulp. Normally, Miles’s somber expression wouldn’t have worried him, but Phoenix knew he had hurt him. “Miles, I...”

“I need to show you something.” Miles interrupted to then stand up carefully, taking the glasses and the empty wine bottle with him.

Phoenix covered his face with his hands, embarrassed by what he had just done. It seemed that every time he tried to make progress with Miles, he took two steps back.

When Miles returned, he was carrying a folder in one hand and a glass of water in the other. He placed the glass in front of Phoenix.

“Drink,” he ordered. “You’ll feel better.”

Phoenix didn’t hesitate for a second because, even though he didn’t feel it, he was thirsty. He finished the glass in several gulps and sighed in satisfaction as he left it empty on the table. After drinking, his head felt a little clearer.

Miles opened the folder and laid several police reports in front of him. “This is all the information on Glen Elg’s murder. However, we’ve discovered that this is not actually Glen Elg.”

Phoenix was stunned. Was he hearing what he was hearing? “But I saw him... It was his apartment.”

“I know, it doesn’t make any sense,” Miles agreed with him. Phoenix wondered how much of a headache that case must’ve been for the police. Even for the FBI. “The coroner found surgical scars on his face, which were identified as cosmetic surgery indicators. We’ve contacted every single clinic in Portland, but we found nothing. Now we’re researching nationwide, but there’s also the possibility of him getting surgery abroad.”

“Have you identified him?”

“It was a homeless man. Two years ago, he was living in a shelter. We spoke to the managers. and they told us that a man showed up one day to pick him up. He was never seen again since.” Miles dragged a document and handed it to Phoenix. “The only thing we know is that he was paid a great sum of money to get the surgery. As well as to get a false ID, passport, social security number, and rent the apartment.”

Phoenix had never heard of something similar in all his years as an agent. It was insane, almost impossible to believe. He glanced at some of the documents, still perplexed by the amount of information. “Who I was looking for, then?”

Miles crossed his arms. “We called the company for which the real Glen Elg worked. They said he was fired months ago and moved to New York. The family confirmed he worked two jobs there. And that he had a girlfriend.”

Phoenix felt a great relief to hear that. For a moment, he was frightened by the possibility of having been looking for someone who wasn’t leading him to Vera. Luckily, that wasn’t the case. Still, Glen Elg’s whereabouts were unknown. But one thing was clear. If the real Glen Elg was alive, Vera must be too. 

“We’re doing all we can to find Glen Elg,” Miles affirmed as if trying to ease Phoenix. “I’ve already told Chief Badd about the girl you were looking for. They are on it too.”

After all the revelations, Phoenix felt more tranquil about the situation. At least now he was aware that someone was worried about Vera and looking for her too. 

“You could’ve just told me from the beginning,” Phoenix reproached, feeling a bit betrayed.

“I wanted to,” Miles confessed, shrugging slightly. “But I couldn’t find the right moment.”

Knowing Miles had the intention to tell him changed Phoenix’s perspective. He himself hadn’t been at his best either nor ready to hear such a thing. “Thanks for telling me.”

“You're welcome,” Miles gathered the documents, returning them to the inside of the file. “And, just for you to know, I don’t think your job is stupid.”

Phoenix thanked those words internally. He felt guilty for thinking otherwise, but Miles' wording had contributed to the misunderstanding. 

 “And I don’t blame you for me being shot.”

During a frame of a second, Phoenix’s eyes met Miles’. He didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the sleepiness, but for Phoenix it felt like a collision of stars. And he wished it would’ve been infinite.

“There are others who worry about Vera Misham now,” Miles assured as he stood up. “You don’t have to worry about it.”

Phoenix knew himself all too well to admit that he would still be worried for Vera’s well-being, though thanks to Miles, he wouldn’t be thinking about it that often nor spending time self-punishing the act of not saving her when he could. 

“I’m going to bed after washing the dishes,” Miles said. “Would you be needing any help?”

“No,” Phoenix denied, shaking his head. “I’m feeling better… I think I’ll go to bed too.”

“Good night, then,” Miles farewelled before leaving. 

“Good night,” Phoenix responded as he saw Miles trespassing the living room’s entrance. 

He stood there for a minute, thinking about all the details Miles had just revealed to him. It seemed like twists and turns were what defined the case. Phoenix pondered the possibility of telling Miles what he knew too, which wasn’t much, but it could turn out as useful for the FBI. 

Iryna Misham pronouncing ‘The Darkling’ rumbled in Phoenix’s head. He was still convinced that a cult was related to her vanishing. After all, what is a criminal organization if not some sort of cult? It usually has a hierarchical structure, as well as a charismatic leader and followers who would do anything for the sake of the group. 

Phoenix decided to sleep on it before telling Miles. There was a great possibility he wouldn’t take him seriously, or at least not believe him at first if there wasn’t any clue to prove the existence of that kind of group. However, Miles probably had more knowledge about the topic, and he could help him to arrange a proper hypothesis. 

He reached for his crutch and stood up carefully as he leaned on it. With the book in one hand, he disposed to go to his room. But he noticed that Miles had forgotten one of the dessert bowls. Phoenix knew Miles wouldn’t fancy a dirt dish to remain there during the night, so he decided to take it to the kitchen. 

As he walked down the hallway, Phoenix heard the water running and some splashes, indicators of Miles washing the dishes. Suddenly, the water stopped, and Phoenix was able to recognize a sob among the silence. It could be easily disguised as a simple snotty sniff, but as it was followed by a choppy breath, Phoenix knew those sounds were caused by a cry. 

Worried he approached the door. Phoenix saw Miles inclined over the sink, with both hands on the countertop. He took a loud, deep breath. On turning around, he wiped his cheeks with his fingertips, cleaning the tears away. At first, Miles didn’t notice Phoenix because he was looking down. But as soon as he saw him, Miles’ turned around, pretending to do something else. 

“I thought you were going to bed,” he said after clearing his throat. 

“You forgot my bowl,” Phoenix explained. He walked towards Miles, leaving the dish next to the sink, where Miles was leaning again. “Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

Sometimes people need a moment in private to let off some steam. And there needn't be a reason to do so. It could be stress, a bad day, or just a sudden burst. Phoenix was aware of it. However, he couldn’t help but to be concerned about Miles. He wasn’t an easy crier. Or at least never cried about the things others usually cry about. That’s why, if he was having a bad time, it was because of a specific reason that made him feel overwhelmingly emotional. 

“Are you having a meltdown?”

Miles shook his head. “I’m fine…”

A strong desire to comfort Miles came over Phoenix. Since they met again, he wanted to hug him, hold him tight and never let go. Instead, Phoenix placed a hand on top of his. Miles was cold to the touch as always, and his skin was as smooth as he remembered. He caressed the surface with his thumb. 

And Miles let him do it. 

No sudden letting goes, uncomfortable movements, or any sign that implied rejection. They stayed like that for a moment –Miles looking down while Phoenix stared at his side profile, searching for a word, an expression change, or a simple glance. None of those things came in what felt like a long wait. 

“Are you sure you're okay?” Phoenix mumbled. 

The moment had arrived at its inevitable end when Miles pulled the hand away. It had barely lasted a minute, but for Phoenix, it was enough. He was finally able to feel Miles’ skin under his. And that meant the world to him. 

“I told you, I'm fine…” Miles said softly before placing the bowl in the sink. He didn't wash it, just left it there after raising it a bit. 

Phoenix decided to let it go, refusing to insist. Because pushing would never work to have a proper conversation with Miles. Though simply asking won’t help either. Miles wasn’t ready, and he had agreed to wait. Phoenix had to keep his promise. 

“Alright,” Phoenix said with an inevitable tired tone. “Good night, Miles.

The rain had stopped, but the bolts of lightning still striking at the horizon, creating sudden flashes of light through the window. Phoenix’s room was chill due to the descending temperatures. Alcohol had made him a bit dizzy, so he just took off his pants and stumbled to bed. He could still feel Miles’ hand under his. 

For a moment, there existed a glimpse of hope for Phoenix to finally know what was going on with Miles. Hope for them to talk like they used to. But that hope was gone. Just as the day before, and the day before that. 

But he was too tired to even give it a second thought. 

Phoenix shuddered in coldness, so he covered himself a bit with the blanket. Soon, his drunk brain decided to shut down, leading him to a profound sleep.

Chapter Text

Miles didn't expect his phone to ring at five in the morning, let alone twice. The first call was from Karin, who informed him that she wouldn't be able to come for a few days because there had been a spike of spring colds at the hospital, and protocol required maintaining distance between external people, personnel and high-risk patients. Miles told her not to worry, that he could take care of Phoenix.

After, Miles had lain down again, intending to sleep a little longer that day. His head hurt. Migraine or hangover? Probably both. Either way, there was nothing planned for the day, so he wanted to take it easy.

Miles closed his eyes and tried to relax. The first thing that came to mind was what had happened the night before. Miles got excited while showing Phoenix the clothes he had bought for him. Phoenix seemed to like it. They joked, had dinner together, played chess, and drank some wine. When the conversation got more serious, Miles finally was able to witness how hopeless Phoenix was while facing the uncertainty of Vera’s case.

Phoenix had gotten drunk. As a consequence, he opened himself and threw all his feelings over the floor. He had said bad things to Miles. Things that made Miles realize he owed Phoenix an explanation. Giving Phoenix his hope back was all that mattered as he couldn't let him drown himself in desperation.

After things were clear, Miles felt glad to break a bit of tension between them because of misunderstandings. However, what came after was the straw for him.

"I don't blame you for me being shot."

Phoenix's words had struck deep in his heart. Franziska had already told him the same thing, but Miles needed to hear it from Phoenix himself to truly understand it. He wasn’t to blame; he didn’t deserve to have been shot instead of Phoenix. 

He broke down in the kitchen while washing the dishes. He let the tears flow silently, falling all the way down into the sink, going away with the water. Miles allowed himself to sob, the sound of the faucet masking his cries. Once he had let it all out, he turned around to catch his breath. But as he was drying his remaining tears, he saw Phoenix watching him from the doorway. He had tried to cover it up by turning away, but Miles couldn't fool him.

Miles touched the back of his hand, trying to recreate the comforting strokes Phoenix had given him at that moment. In that quiet moment, Miles had felt loved and comforted, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. However, a terrible fear had taken hold of him seconds later, forcing him to pull away.

His memories were interrupted by that second call. This time, it was Chief Badd. They had found another body. And this time, it was a woman.
He got up almost instantly, practically jumping out of bed.

"I’ll be there right away," he said, opening the closet.

Lang had ordered him to report any developments related to the case, but he hadn't given any specific instructions on how to do so. Miles was determined to see the scene for himself, especially if he had to analyze it and determine if it matched the same MO. And no, photos wouldn’t be enough. Besides, he wanted to talk to the Organized Crime agents to see how they were approaching the investigation.

Determined to go, he hesitated for a moment about whether he should leave Phoenix alone. Several agents were monitoring the area, and so far, nothing had happened. Plus, he had left him alone the previous afternoon to go shopping.

Even so, he felt a twinge of guilt. Guilt for going out to investigate when his duty was to keep Phoenix safe. He had experienced the same feeling the day before. He had wandered through the supermarket and the clothing store, constantly wondering if Phoenix was okay. What if he woke up and hurt himself in Miles' absence? What if someone broke into the house and he wasn’t there to stop it?

The constant state of alert had caused him such anxiety that he felt dizzy while driving back. But, of course, in the end, nothing had happened to Phoenix.

He tried to hold onto that thought firmly because he couldn't stand the uncertainty of not knowing how the investigation was progressing.

"One hour," he whispered to himself. "Analyze the scene, talk to the supervising agent, and return."
Planning it that way, he thought he could be more relaxed. 

Before leaving, he decided to go to Phoenix’s room and open the door slightly. Seeing him sleeping peacefully made Miles feel a little more at ease. With any luck, when he returned, Phoenix would still be asleep.

It was a cloudy day, and the rain from the day before had left the ground and road wet. With the dark clouds remaining at the gray skies, Miles guessed it would probably rain again later.

Like any Oregonian, he bragged about loving the wet weather. Cloudy rainy autumn, winter and spring, with brief transitions between the seasons. Even the wet summers, where the condensation wouldn't let the sun be seen. 

Early April was one of his favorite times of the year in Portland, the transition from winter to spring. The days were rainy and short, though the temperatures were mild, and green reappeared in gardens and streets.

After he left for Atlanta, Miles hadn't stayed for long periods of time at home. Briefly a week since his thirdy-third birthday, almos two years ago. 

He'd honestly missed it. 

Memories flooded his mind as he parked and saw the yellow tape and all the patrol cars in an area so close to the river. He wondered if he would encounter a scene like those of Vanessa, Cristina, or Ava. Or if, on the contrary, the mutilations would define the state of the body. As he got out of the car, a shiver ran down his spine. He blamed the cold for it, denying the terror that filled him at the thought of the crime scenes from his past.

He showed his badge to be allowed to descend the small elevated patch of dirt leading to the river. There, he found Chief Badd along with Raymond and a woman he recognized as the Organized Crime supervisor. The three of them were speaking off to the side, away from the scene, while the forensic team was busy exploring the area and taking photographs.

As he approached, the woman turned around, looking at Miles with a certain seriousness.

“Good morning, kid,” Badd greeted.

“Good morning,” Miles said back, expecting the supervisor to say something as her eyes were fixated on him.

“I don't think we met,” she said, extending her hand. “Supervisory Special Agent Celeste Impax. Organized Crime.”

Miles shook her hand in response, following the protocol as it was usual. “Special Agent Miles Edgeworth. BAU."

“I thought the profilers had left,” she said, releasing her hand from the shake.

“Andrews commanded me to stay,” Miles couldn't explain the real reason why he was the only one left of his team in Portland. To his advantage, he had already planned a simple answer anyone within the headquarters would back up. “She thought that I could assist your unit."

Celeste’s facial expression changed when hearing the superintendent's name. “Well, I guess the presence of an expert can always be helpful.”

He didn’t know if he should take those words verbatim or if something was hiding in them. It was pretty clear that Celeste had a close relationship with Andrews, but most unit supervisors don’t usually like the presence of external agents. Overall if they didn’t ask for assistance. There existed a sort of tension and a sense of competition between the unit in charge and those who helped. After all, everyone had something to prove.

Miles remembered having that tendency to try to compete with other cops. But nowadays, the sense of duty has another meaning for him. So, if SSA Impax wanted to limit his collaboration, he wouldn't argue. He was there to help Portland PB, not to make any demonstration of his knowledge about the assassins or prove himself better than others.

Chief Badd led them to the scene soon after. They had to walk down the ditch, stepping firmly on the muddy ground. Luckily Miles had brought suitable boots.

The body has been found next to the river, face up. A dark-haired female, wearing a silk dress that embraced her figure due to the wetness and no shoes.

“Have they taken her out of the river?” Celeste asked.

“A man who comes around to pick up garbage called", Badd explained. “He swears he found her like this.”

His memory was filled with images from when he was younger—those crime scenes where young girls were found near bodies of water. Miles had grown too accustomed to the sight of blood, so much so that seeing it so clean now gave him an eerie sense of unease.

He wondered who she had been before she died. What had she studied, what were her dreams and aspirations... Did she have hobbies like painting or dancing? Who were her friends? What was her relationship with her family like? Did she have a partner? Because now none of that mattered anymore. This girl's entire life had disappeared the moment her neural connections ceased functioning seven long minutes after her heart stopped.

Now, she was just another victim in yet another case—a photograph in a file, a body in a morgue, a picture at a funeral.

And all the things she left behind were for her family and friends to preserve. 

"Have they identified her?" Celeste asked.

"Not yet," Raymond replied. "She didn’t have a wallet or any personal belongings. I’d say whatever she had with her sank into the river."

"I don’t think the water brought her here," Miles said, his tone uncertain.

"Enlighten us, Agent Edgeworth," Celeste demanded.

Miles had to organize his thoughts. He carefully observed the body, paying attention to the details. The girl, the scene, the context—everything was part of a much larger explanation that he soon arrived at.

"She’s lying on her back, with her dress practically clean, and the palms of her hands facing up. Her hair is damp but not soaked. Also, there are no apparent signs of violence," Miles pointed out. "There was a storm last night. If she had been thrown into the river, she would now be in the ocean due to the water's movement. She’s not bloated either, which indicates she probably never submerged in the water. It’s true she could have been thrown in this morning and floated here, but the position of the body suggests a certain care in its placement. Someone put her here for us to find."

Everyone fell silent for a moment, perhaps trying to perceive the details Miles had pointed out earlier. 

"Okay, so if I understand correctly, they killed this girl and left her here as part of some kind of ritual," Celeste said. "However, I was called because they found a body that might be related to my investigation into organized crime. What does a drowned girl have to do with three men who were brutally murdered?"

"If I may, Miss Impax, I believe Chief Badd called you for the same reason he called me," Miles intervened. And although Celeste didn’t look pleased, he decided to continue. "Because he, like me, knows that when we turn her over, there will be a healed scar in the shape of a 'D' on her back. Which will link her to a case from ten years ago, a case we've shown is connected to the one you’re investigating now."

Celeste fell silent again, staring at Miles. He pretended to maintain eye contact by looking at her brow. He didn’t want to appear confrontational, as he was aware that Celeste was the one with the authority there. But Miles needed to be taken seriously.

After a few seconds, Celeste’s lips curled into a slight, brief smile. When her smirk was gone she turned to the CSI workers. 

"Turn her over," she ordered the technicians, who came with a plastic sheet they laid on the ground. Carefully, they turned the body over. "Expose her back."

As soon as they cut the fabric, Miles felt his stomach churn at the sight of the mark after all these years. He kept his composure, swallowing hard and trying to prevent the feeling of nausea from worsening.

Chief Badd didn’t seem surprised at all, but he let out an audible sigh. At the same time, Raymond removed his hat and held it against his chest.

"It’s clear now more than ever that we’re dealing with the Brand Killer," Badd said, opening a lollipop and immediately popping it into his mouth.

Shortly after, they took the body to the coroner’s van, though the CSI team stayed in the area to continue searching for evidence. Miles walked to his car intending to head home. He thought he should inform Lang about this as soon as possible. Lang needed to know about the new turn the case had taken since it seemed the murders weren’t just connected to those from years ago—the cycle appeared to have started anew.

"Agent Edgeworth," Celeste called out, causing Miles to turn around. "Would you accompany me to the station? I need to discuss something with you."

Miles hesitated. He had planned to return soon since Phoenix needed his bandage changed.

"It’ll only take a moment," Celeste insisted.

Miles decided it would be best to go with her. He had to keep doing his job despite being a guardian for a protected witness. His duty was to do everything possible to find those who had killed the victims—the same ones who had tried to kill Phoenix. 

"Of course," he finally agreed.

He drove to the station as raindrops began to fill his windshield. It was a good thing he had decided to take the car Lang had lent him and not his Subaru, as the water falling had a muddy consistency.

Once inside the building, the FBI operation had taken over the entire ground floor with computers. Agents were constantly working and making calls.
Celeste had waited for him at the door and escorted him to what seemed to be her assigned desk.

Miles couldn’t help but feel distracted by the agents moving energetically from one place to another. It even seemed like they were in a rush to find leads. 

"We’re still trying to locate the girl, Vera Misham," Celeste informed him. "But it’s complicated. There’s no trace of her. The last images we have are of her with a man at a gas station in Kentucky. But that was weeks ago."

"Have you identified the man?" Miles asked.

"We believe it’s Glen Elg. But, as I said, we’re still investigating."

That information was surely going to make Phoenix happy since it confirmed she left the city with Glen.

Miles couldn’t help but notice the amount of stuff Celeste had on her desk—a computer, a pile of disorganized documents, two empty coffee containers, and a bagel wrapper with remnants of mayonnaise, along with a bunch of scattered objects. It was clear she was a messy person. This could indicate a certain fear of change, as the chaos in her surroundings might reflect how chaotic her mind could be. However, Celeste didn’t seem like that type of person. She was smart; smarter than most would think. The mess might be a sign of great audacity and very clear goals.

"I brought you here because I need to hear the details of the case," Celeste explained.

"It’s all written in the reports," Miles said, not understanding why she needed him.

"I loathe reports," Celeste confessed, leaning back in her chair. "They’re just words. I need an opinion. And it’s better if it comes from you. The expert."

Miles settled in, intertwining his fingers in his lap. "What do you need to know?"

Celeste leaned forward. "Everything."

He took a deep breath and then began to speak. He told her everything, just as she had asked. From the first body found eleven years ago to the most recent one two weeks ago. His conclusions back then, and his conclusions now. Everything he had discovered with the BAU, and the information he had, was both complete and incomplete. All of it, while avoiding one small detail: Phoenix.

He didn’t need to stop, as Celeste didn’t interrupt him at any point. When Miles finished, he waited for a response from Celeste, who was still watching him from her comfortable chair on the other side of the desk.

"What kind of criminal organization do you think we’re dealing with?" she asked.

"Substance smuggling," Miles responded with total certainty. "It’s the only logical option."

"Don’t you think the crimes have some kind of sexual nature?"

"They do," he affirmed. "But that doesn’t mean it’s related to human trafficking. Besides, that theory was discarded years ago."

"I think most of the people here would disagree," Celeste said with a serious expression Miles was already getting used to. 

"It’s been proven that the girls were drug addicts," Miles pointed out. "When a woman is killed in these circumstances, it’s easy to assume they were secretly sex workers, and therefore they somehow deserve it. But none of them did. They were university students with bright futures ahead of them. The fact that their lives were taken because they crossed paths with the wrong men isn’t their fault."

Celeste’s lips curved slightly. "One might almost say you empathize with the victims, agent."

Miles lowered his gaze and fixed it on his hands. It was true that no murder seemed just to him. And he disliked the thought that, in one way or another, people tended to blame the dead for acts committed by the living.

"You know, Adrian has spoken a lot about you," Celeste confessed, making Miles gaze up. "I must admit, I would have liked to have you in my unit… But you chose Lang."

Refusing both of Andrews’ proposals had been a matter of timing. Miles wasn’t in the best moment to be yearning for something greater like being an FBI agent. On the other hand, his decision to join the BAU had come in a moment of uncertainty, when he needed someone to tell him what to do. And that someone had been Lang.

"He chose me," Miles argued as Lang had gone search for him.

"Then it was mutual, don’t you think?"

There was certain accuracy in Celeste’s statement. Lang’s wording and promises were the reason Miles was sitting there, though he could’ve refused what he offered.

“I think that’s all. You may leave, Agent Edgeworth,” Celeste said, going back to her paperwork. Miles stood up, pulling the chair back. “By the way, your surname sounds familiar to me. Who’s your father?”

The question caught him off guard, obliging him to think quickly.

“I’m afraid I don’t know, Miss Impax. I’m an orphan,” he answered without showing much emotion. “If you excuse me, I must inform Agent Lang.”

“Of course,” Celeste nodded, not giving much attention to the previous matter. “Thanks for your collaboration.”

Miles crossed the multitude of agents until he arrived at the elevator. It wasn’t the first time someone asked him about his surname. With the years, he had learned to mostly ignore what others' reactions were. However, Celeste said it sounded familiar. Miles knew it wasn’t a common name, but it wasn’t that rare either. He assumed she knew somebody else whose surname was Edgeworth and decided to brush it off from his mind.

At the entrance, he stumbled upon Chief Badd, who seemed to have been waiting there for him.

“She’s a hell of a woman that Impax,” he said, with the lollipop’s stick on the corner of his mouth. “I’m heading with Ray to the morgue. Do you want to come with us, kid?”

For a moment, Miles considered the possibility of going with them and getting more involved in the case. He usually preferred to see things with his own eyes. However, his stomach had been upset enough at the scene. And someone was waiting for him at home.

“There’s an important thing I need to take care of,” Miles answered.

Chief Badd seemed to understand it as he smirked. “I’ll send the files to you later.”

With nothing else to say, Chief Badd walked away heading to his gray car. Next to it was Raymond, who waved at Miles while leaning on the hood. Miles saw them getting in and then driving away.

–

Miles had been gone for more time than he’d expected. However, when he put a step in, there was no sign of Phoenix being around. It was early enough for him not to be awake yet.
After dropping his things and changing into more comfortable clothes, he headed to Phoenix’s room. On the way home, he had stopped by a pharmacy to buy extra bandages and iodine as he was running low on both things.

He stepped in carefully, trying not to make any noise. Inside, he felt a bit cold. Miles realized the window had remained open for the whole night, so he went and closed it. After that, he approached the bed. Phoenix was still asleep. Disheveled, half-covered with the blanket, and wearing the same shirt as the day before. It seemed like he had gone to sleep and only took off his pants. Miles smiled at the thought of how messy Phoenix could be sometimes. Overall when drunk.

By placing a chair next to the edge, Miles left the first aid kit at the nightstand. Phoenix was not in the best position for his bandage to be changed, so Miles decided to wake him up.

“Phoenix,” he murmured. “I have to change your bandage.”

On approaching Phoenix’s shoulder, Miles noticed he was shivering. He put a hand on his forehead, and the skin was burning. Immediately he knew Phoenix had a fever.

He pulled the hand away. For a moment, Miles had to stop and think about what to do. Karin was unavailable, and the amount of people he could call was reduced. Miles wasn't sick very often, but he knew what to do given the situation. Although, he had never had to take care of another sick person. Suddenly, Phoenix moved, letting go of a soft moan. Miles thought about how bad he would be feeling. Cold, sweaty, and weak. Miles calmed himself, trying to think what would be the best thing to do. Soon after, he concluded that he couldn’t let Phoenix in soaking wet sheets.

“Phoenix,” he murmured again, shaking his shoulder. “Phoenix wake up.”

“Mmh?”

So, he decided to do what his instincts told him. “Come, you need a shower."

Though Phoenix was barely awake, Miles’s steady tone seemed to reach him, and with some effort, he began to stir.

Miles slipped an arm under Phoenix's to help him sit up, carefully supporting him as he slowly swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Phoenix leaned heavily on him, his head drooping as if it were too heavy to hold up. The effort of sitting up seemed to drain what little energy he had left.

“Easy,” Miles murmured, guiding him to his feet. Phoenix swayed unsteadily, and Miles tightened his grip, pulling Phoenix’s arm around his shoulder to keep him upright. “Just lean on me.”

The short walk to the bathroom felt like a marathon. Each of Phoenix’s steps was sluggish, his legs barely lifting off the ground, and his breathing was labored. Miles remained patient, moving slowly to match Phoenix’s pace. The only sounds were the soft shuffling of their feet and Phoenix’s occasional, muffled groans.

Finally, they reached the bathroom. Miles sat Phoenix down on the closed toilet seat, crouching in front of him. Phoenix’s head was lowered, eyes half-closed, his breath coming in shallow puffs.

“I’m going to get the water running,” Miles said, keeping his tone calm and reassuring. He turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature until the water was warm enough to be soothing but not too hot for Phoenix’s feverish body. As steam began to fill the bathroom, Miles returned to Phoenix, who looked like he might fall asleep again at any moment.

“Phoenix, can you stand?” Miles asked, helping him to his feet once more. Phoenix nodded weakly, though it was clear he was relying entirely on Miles to stay upright.

Miles began undressing Phoenix with methodical care, starting with his shirt, which clung damply to his skin. Phoenix’s skin was clammy to the touch, and Miles winced inwardly, knowing how uncomfortable he must be. Phoenix didn’t protest, barely even reacting as Miles removed his clothes, too out of it to feel embarrassed.

Once Phoenix was undressed, Miles guided him into the shower. Phoenix shuddered as the warm water cascaded over him, but after a moment, he seemed to relax slightly, the heat easing his shivers. Miles kept a firm grip on his arm, ensuring he wouldn’t slip.

“You can sit down,” Miles instructed, making sure Phoenix was stable before stepping back slightly. He watched Phoenix carefully as he crouched down, ready to catch him if he faltered.

Phoenix let out a soft sigh as the warmth started to seep into his bones, easing some of the tension in his body. His head hung low, water dripping from his hair, but he seemed more at ease now, the feverish daze lifting just a little.

Miles waited patiently, giving Phoenix time to let the water do its work. After a few minutes, he reached for a washcloth, lathering it with soap.

“I’m going to help you wash up,” he said, more as a statement than a question, knowing Phoenix wasn’t in any state to manage it on his own.

He began gently washing Phoenix’s back and shoulders, moving with a tenderness that surprised even himself. He’d always been methodical and precise in everything he did, but this was different. It was caring in a way that felt foreign but necessary. Phoenix remained quiet, his eyes closed, as if too exhausted to do anything but let Miles take care of him.

Once he was clean, Miles quickly rinsed him off and turned off the water. He grabbed a towel, wrapping it around Phoenix’s trembling body before helping him out of the shower. Phoenix leaned heavily on him again, his strength nearly spent.

Miles dried him off carefully, then helped him back into clean clothes. By the time he was dressed, Phoenix was barely conscious, his head lolling against Miles’s shoulder.

“Wait here, okay?” Miles said before leaving again.

He kept the bathroom door open as he quickly removed the sheets from the bed. Miles opened the closet, looking for the clean bedclothes he had left there the previous day. While replacing the previous sheets, he peaked on Phoenix from time to time, making sure he didn’t fall asleep.

Once he was finished, Miles went back to the bathroom.

“Let’s get you back to bed,” Miles murmured, guiding him out of the bathroom and back to the bedroom. He helped Phoenix to bed, tucking the blankets around him snugly. Phoenix sighed in relief as his head hit the pillow, his body finally sinking into the comfort of the bed.

Miles sat on the edge of the bed, his hand lingering on Phoenix’s arm.

“You’re going to be okay,” he said softly, more to reassure himself than anything else. Phoenix’s breathing was slow and even now, and though he was still feverish, he looked more peaceful than he had before.

As Miles watched him drift off to sleep, he felt a strange sense of protectiveness settle over him. Phoenix was vulnerable, and it was up to him to make sure he got through this. Miles had faced many challenges in his life, but this was different. This was personal.

He observed Phoenix while he seemed to fall asleep again. Miles set aside carefully a few hairs that had been stuck in Phoenix’s forehead, allowing him to see his face. His peaceful expression and slow breathing made Miles smile. Time ago, Miles liked staring at him in the mornings while he was still sleeping. It was curious how something so human could become such an intimate thing.

Miles sat there for a while longer, listening to the rain outside and the steady rhythm of Phoenix’s breathing. Eventually, he got up and quietly left the room, determined to be there if Phoenix needed him again.

Miles couldn’t believe he had done it. For a second, he thought the panic would overwhelm him, making him desperately call Karin as a consequence. But it didn’t. He had been able to manage the situation and take good care of Phoenix. And that made him feel proud of himself.

Noticing his clothes were wet with shower water, Miles climbed up the stairs to change. On the way he pondered about what he should do next. Phoenix would surely need meds and comfort food. Was it just a three-day cold or the flu? Phoenix had been taking antibiotics, which could've led to a sudden drop in defenses. What if he had a serious infection and there was no way Miles could take him to the hospital?

He found himself overthinking about it again. Being irrational wasn't his usual behavior, but the whole situation made him worry. Miles breathed in and out, looking for distress. The cause had probably been the open window. With the rain, lower temperatures came, resulting in Phoenix catching cold during the night.

With that in mind, Miles went back downstairs to look for medicines in the kitchen. He recalled reorganizing the meds drawer on his first day at home, and he was sure that there remained a box of cold killers.

As he found them right where he had seen them, Miles could breathe with ease. Next to the box, there was a thermometer. He guessed maybe it would be best to check on Phoenix’s temperature every few hours, just to make sure he got better during the day.

But first, he needed to contact Lang. A new body being found (in which both victimology and scenery coincided with the murders from eleven years back) reinforced the idea of the Brand Killer being back. This could mean a new opportunity to dig into the origins of the criminal organization. If they could find any decisive connection between all the victims beyond any theory, they would be a step closer to finding the assassins.

Miles reached the phone and dialed the number, hoping Lang wouldn't be busy chasing a serial arsonist or a methodical family murderer.

“Mr. Witness Protector,” Lang said, with a noticeable smile in his tone. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Portland PB found another body this morning, near the river,” Miles answered. “A young woman, with a mark in a ‘D’ form in her back.”

“I'll gather the others,” Lang announced without further asking. “Be ready for a team call in five.”

The call ended and Miles went right away to the living room. He sat down, opened his laptop, and waited. Sooner than he had thought, an upcoming call showed up on the screen. Lang, Rhoda, and Justine were together in their meeting room in D.C. while Lisa sat in her computer room as usual.

“Okay, Edgeworth,” said Lang, standing up with his arms crossed behind Rhoda and Justine. “Update us.”

“This morning a body was found near Columbia River. A woman in her twenties, still not identified. Brown hair, light skin. No signs of violence,” Miles abstained from any narration, going straight to the facts and trying not to leave any detail behind. “She was lying on her back, fully dressed. Wet, but no signs of drowning. The position of the corpse determines a summon care and preparation of the scene. Her palms were looking up and her eyes were closed. A mark in a ‘D’ form was present behind her shoulder.”

They listened attentively while Miles spoke, and Lisa typed a the same time. It was necessary to have all the information within the system.

“Would you be visiting the coroner?” Justine asked.

“Miss Impax is going to keep me updated with Organize Crime’s investigation,” Miles clarified.

There was a brief silence. Miles waited for a discussion about their possibilities, ideas, or a plausible chance of them going back to Portland. But none of those things happened.

“Great, thanks Edgeworth,” said Lang. “Teneiro, take care of the new press releases. Agent Courtney, make sure we get the pictures sent. And Basil… Keep doing your cyber work.”

“Roger that, sir!” Lisa said before disappearing from the screen.

After that, Rhoda and Justine stood up and walked out of the meeting room, only Lang remaining there. Miles didn’t comprehend what was happening. He’d expected a long reunion, or at least some feedback on the advances.

Lang sat down and moved the computer toward him. “Well, how are you?”

“I’m fine,” Miles said, still confused. “That was... brief.”

“Yeah, well. We’re busy with other cases, so…” Lang shrugged. Miles felt disappointed as it seemed he was the only one who was worried about the Band Killer’s case. “How is Mr. Wright doing?”

“His wound is healing fast, but he still struggles with walking,” Miles didn’t know what else to say or the kind of answer Lang was expecting. He started to question how Phoenix would be feeling.

Phoenix was bored, or at least he had demonstrated so. But, would he be feeling alone?

“Right now he’s in bed… He caught a cold.”

“Then I hope he gets well soon,” Lang approached the table, consequently being closer to the camera. “I know you didn’t want to work in witness protection. But, I assure you that I’m doing everything I can do to finally finish our current business here and go back to Portland.”

That statement caught Miles off guard. “I thought Organized Crime would take care…”

Lang smirked. “Since when does Organized Crime succeed in catching methodical and organized criminals? They’re used to mafias, street bands, and smuggling. But two professional assassins? Nah, they’re not built for that kind of shit.”

Hope showed up again for Miles. He knew he could always trust Lang. “Then, what should we do?”

“Keep helping Celeste in everything you can and send me all the info,” Lang commanded. “I’ll be there as soon as I can and we’ll do things our way.”

Miles nodded. “Alright. I’ll contact you soon.”

“Take care, Batman.”

After saying goodbye, Miles closed the computer. Now that he knew what Lang had in mind, he felt more relief regarding the situation. Because Lang was right. It didn’t matter how good agents from OC were. With the level of complexity the case had, profilers were needed to intervene.

Miles was set aside eleven years back because the same FBI unit had taken over, and the case went cold in question for months. This time, he couldn’t let the same thing happen again.

Phoenix placidly slept when Miles stepped into the room again. It seemed like the shower had done him so good as he wasn’t shivering anymore. Carefully, Miles placed the thermometer under his armpit. While waiting at the edge of the bed, Phoenix moved his head.

“Miles?” he muttered, opening his eyes a bit.

“I’m here,” Miles responded in a whisper.

Phoenix looked at him with a sleepy expression, seemingly tired due to the fever. “I’m sick.”

“I know,” Miles couldn’t avoid his lips from curving to the sound of Phoenix’s sore and groggy voice. It wasn’t a mockery smile, but a sad one.

When the thermometer beeped, Miles retired it to check the temperature.

“A hundred and one,” he read. It was high, but not as concerning as Miles had thought in the first place. “Which are your symptoms? Do you have a sore throat?”

“I just feel… Bad,” Phoenix answered, followed by a cough.

“You must rest,” Miles commanded before standing up. But Phoenix’s hand around his arm stopped him.

“Wait…” he said. “Stay with me.”

Miles turned around. Seeing Phoenix in those circumstances was painful for him. In his eyes, a cold wasn’t any different from a shot of a wound as the three things made Phoenix suffer.

“Okay, I'll stay,” Miles confirmed, sitting back on the bed's edge.

Phoenix slowly took his hand away, though the presence of his touch remained on Miles’ skin. Since the night before, when Phoenix caressed him with such tenderness, Miles' one and only desire was for Phoenix to touch him again. But he had to brush off that thought for the moment. Phoenix was ill, and that's all that mattered.

“I must look awful right now…” Phoenix said, laughing things off as usual.

“I've seen you worse,” Miles shrugged.

“At the edge of dying. Twice.”

“You weren't at the edge of dying the first time…” Miles denied, though he was very scared about it back in the day. In reality, Phoenix's head wound had been superficial, even if there was much blood.

“But I was close,” Phoenix argued. “There was a gun involved.”

He had a point. If it wasn’t for Miles, Phoenix may have died that day.

It had been a long time since Miles reminisced upon that night. Past never mattered, or at least that’s what Miles had tried to convince himself about. But lately, he had been feeling the contrary. The

Brand Killer, Regina’s letter, and Phoenix. All those things combined made him realize that the past mattered now more than ever. And he had to admit that night –The night he saved Regina Berry, was defining in his relationship with Phoenix.

“You've been lucky,” Although Miles didn’t believe in luck, there was no other word to describe how Phoenix was able to keep on.

“Of course I was,” Phoenix turned around, glancing at Miles. “You were there, after all.”
Miles looked down, nervously observing his own hands as his stomach fluttered. Like always, Phoenix’s silly words made him feel nervous. He guessed that some things never change.

“I insist that you should get some rest…” Miles said, with his voice sounding weaker than he wanted.

“Read for me,” Phoenix demanded before coughing again. “Umh… I’m bored.”

Miles saw the book he had lent to Phoenix the previous afternoon on the nightstand. He took it, seeing no reason to refuse what Phoenix had asked him to do. “Which page were you in?”

“A hundred and twenty-two,” Phoenix indicated, closing his eyes for a moment. “But start the chapter from the beginning. I don’t remember what was happening.”

Miles found the page rapidly and jumped to the beginning of the chapter. “I warn you, I might not be the best narrator.”

“I don’t care...”

Phoenix seemed enthusiastic about the idea as his face seemed more lightened up despite the fever. Seeing him like that turned out to be encouraging for Miles. As well as relieving. He sighed and then started to read. 

–

Miles left the room to make lunch. While he read out loud, Phoenix had again fallen asleep without him noticing. He had probably kept on going for just a few minutes after, only gazing away from the words to look at Phoenix when his giggles and coughs had suddenly stopped.

Miles decided to make a big batch of soup, which was meant to last until Phoenix got better. Besides, he hadn't eaten breakfast, and fever wouldn't give him much appetite for other things other than a hot comfort meal.

One of the good things he could mention about being home was the time to cook. He could spend an hour in the kitchen if he wanted to, and there would be nothing to worry about.

Since he joined the FBI, his time started to be consumed by working hours. His schedule was quite restrictive. Taking Kay and Ema to school and work every morning, doing desk jobs, research, and giving class. That was on a daily basis, without taking into account the amount of trips he had made with Lang across the country during the past year. With all that, Miles barely had time for himself.

He didn't read at least it was related to work, he didn't play chess, he didn't cook… A solution he had found due to the lack of time was meal prepping, which he tried to do every Sunday. However, portions were usually for himself as Ema and Kay ate out regularly. Now that he had to take care of Phoenix, Miles had someone to cook for. So putting extra effort into it had been something meaningful for him.

On chopping the veggies, the thought of how Ema and Kay would be doing popped up in his mind. He hadn't called them for days, and he hoped they were doing their chores as it was stipulated. Ema was surely responsible, but Kay had been more rebellious during the past year.

Sometimes Miles worried about worrying too much for them. They weren't kids anymore, even if sometimes they leaned on him to do or decide about certain things. Lang joked regularly about it, but often Miles saw them as younger sisters. 

He asked himself what would happen once he became a Supervisory Agent. There would be a few changes for granted. Higher salary and higher working hours, which could mean a big change of lifestyle. During the time he had been in the BAU, Miles was able to observe how life was for his peers. They barely stayed in Virginia for more than two weeks before flying to a new location and could spend a long time during an investigation. Last summer, Miles accompanied them to Florida, where they stayed for almost two months in a countryside village.

The job seemed to be rewarding for all of them, without taking into account the amount of times cases won't end up as expected. Happy endings were rare as a profiler, being sour outcomes were more common. Rhoda and Justine lived in luxurious apartments in DC, while Lang had a big house in Alexandria. However, they all lived alone. None of them had a stable relationship and barely visited their families. Not even on holidays.

Miles felt certain doubts about the position. It meant a great honor to become a supervisor at such a young age and with little experience within the bureau. But he couldn't stop thinking about what his life would be like. Even if he enjoyed being alone, the thought of not having the possibility to see Franziska often made him feel sad. Miles had too many people he cared about, and leaving them behind was a great price to pay.

He left the soup to simmer for a few minutes. During that time, he prepared white rice and the tray he would bring Phoenix. The kitchen was full of the soup's fragrance, thanks to the spices and the rich deep savory flavors. Those kinds of smells were what filled Miles’ soul to the core, bringing him memories of his childhood, when Franziska's mom used to cook.

Miles served the meal in a bowl and brought it to Phoenix’s room.

He left the tray on the nightstand as he approached Phoenix’s shoulder.

“Phoenix,” he whispered. “I brought you lunch.”

Dozed, Phoenix incorporated himself. Miles placed a pillow behind his back where he could lean and be more comfortable. It seemed that the previous boost of energy had worn off as Phoenix's expression remained in a grimace.

“You have to eat something…” Miles said, but Phoenix didn't appear to have the necessary strength to move. The only solution he could find was to help him.

Miles sat down and took the bowl with one hand, stirring the soup with the other. Then, he approached the spoon in Phoenix's mouth.

Little by little, Phoenix ate the hot broth, coughing a bit in between bites. Miles didn't expect him to, but Phoenix ended up finishing the plate. To finish, Miles gave him a cold killer pill, which Phoenix took with a glass of water. After that, Miles let him sleep.

–

During that afternoon Miles decided to finally clean the garage. He had been postponing it since his arrival, but there was no reason to avoid it anymore. After making sure Phoenix rested, Miles headed to the front yard, from where he opened the metallic gate. The rain had dissipated, leaving a cloudy sky yet with the sun coming in between the clouds and coloring them orange and pink.

The light came into the garage, reflecting on the cars’ hoods. After taking a full view of everything, he approached the shelves where boxes were placed and piled.

Taking them down one by one, Miles placed them outside intending to rummage around all of them later. Their content was unknown to him, except the Halloween and Christmas decoration boxes. Most of them would probably be stored toys or clothes, which had survived the years thanks to his family’s nostalgic tendencies. His father would usually describe it as ‘unnecessary accumulation’, though he never seemed to have the intention to get rid of any of those boxes.

Miles sat on the ground, opening one box at a time. His suspicions were confirmed when he found Franziska’s plushies packed inside one of them. Finding them there surprised him as not so long ago, Franziska still kept them in her room. He even had seen one or two remaining on her bed. It seemed like his sister had suddenly decided she didn’t want them anymore.

Miles closed the box again because, as much as he wanted to take some of the stuff to charity, he was sure that Franziska would boil in anger if she found out he had donated her toys. And, also, it wouldn’t be fair without her consent.

Miles continued on opening boxes, trying to tear apart the things he would give and the things he would keep. It was a bit difficult, though, as his findings started to get interesting. He found his school uniform, a science project, as well as his lacrosse uniform. Franziska’s fencing equipment, her childhood dresses, and a few books. Miles even got a bit excited by finding his car toys. They were his and Franziska’s favorite thing to play with as children.

Nostalgia wasn’t something Miles was familiar with. Missing things or a reminiscence of the past always meant guilt or regret, but this time ‘nostalgia’ was what better described his feelings.

Miles wished he hadn’t grown up so fast.

Graduating at nineteen, becoming a legal guardian to his sister at twenty-one, working as a detective at twenty-three… And being an FBI agent at thirty-four. As the years went by, he noticed how young he was at the moment he became an adult. He wondered what would’ve happened if the time had stopped the summer he turned out ten. A time when he came out of school holding Franziska’s hand and spent the afternoons having cookies and tea. A time before he had anything to worry about. A time before everything started to fall apart.

As the lights of the afternoon had started to leave and the sunset had begun, Miles turned up the fluorescents to have a better view of the garage.
He decided to put it all back where he found it. There was no way he could sort things out without Franziska being there with him to laugh and remember the old times. To decide on what stays and what goes.

While doing so, Miles saw two boxes on the top of the shelf he hadn't noticed before. They were placed far from the edge, which made them easy to miss at a single (or even second) glance.

He used a step ladder and climbed until he was able to see both boxes. On one of them ‘Greta’ was written with a black pen, Miles pondered about reaching for it, but he pulled his hand back immediately. For him, memories of the past had a limit that had already been surpassed for the day. Next to it, an unlabeled cardboard box remained half-open. A pile of papers could be seen in between the flaps. It was filled to the top. 

Miles took it, wondering if it would contain any of the house's scripts or hospital bills.

He left it on the floor and opened it while standing on his knees. Unexpectedly, what he found inside weren't documents related to the house, but files. Police files.

It wasn't weird to see those types of files at home. He kept several from older cases but didn't remember to put them inside that box. There was a possibility of Franziska finding them around and deciding to store them in the garage. Curiosity got over him and decided to discover which case were the files about.

Soon, Miles realized the files were not his. And there were not only police documents but also judicial files and newspaper cuts. Strange thing as his father always kept things related to work inside his office, sorted and archived.

On going through them, one newspaper headline caught his attention immediately.

"Rise of Satanic Cults in Oregon?”

Miles frowned, weirded out by the topic. Thinking about it, there had been a few groups that settled in Oregon and created some panic within the communities, but no more than one or two of them could be considered a ‘dangerous’ cult. He had studied the matter back in college and deepened his knowledge while in the FBI. And, though Miles considered it an interesting subject, the existence of satanic cults had never been considered as a problem Their existence, by itself, had never been even proven.

While getting things out of the box, its presence wasn't the only thing that Miles was perplexed by. The files were old, dated from the eighties. Some newspapers even dated back to the seventies. And, if Miles recalled correctly, during those times his father was a young prosecutor.

All that only contributed to his curiosity to grow until he decided to pick one file to read. He sat down, crossed his legs, and opened one file.

The first page was a police report, dated nineteen eighty-two. Filled with names and details of the happening, it seemed like an ordinary home invasion report. Miles had seen a thousand similar to it. However, it didn’t end there. He found a few more files, where it seemed that the same suspect had come armed into a store in the same week. Attached to this was an article on the matter, narrating how the events happened.

“The suspect entered the store carrying a semiautomatic shotgun screaming: ‘The dark is yet to come’. Said a witness.”

Miles kept reading until he discovered the suspect had been arrested for murder months later. The last document on the matter was a signed arrest warrant, which declared that the prosecutor in charge of the case was Manfred Von Karma. Miles had heard stories about his father’s time as a prosecutor, but nothing similar to that.

The sun was almost down when he considered it would be better to go inside and look over the other documents later. Besides, it was time to put the thermometer on Phoenix again.

He closed the garage and went back into the house, carrying the box. After leaving it on the living room table, Miles headed to the kitchen. He had been craving some tea during the day and thought about making some for both him and Phoenix.

While waiting for the water to boil, he put green tea bags in two mugs. He often opted to make the tea more fancy and flavorful.

Miles cut lemon slices and got some fresh mint leaves from the fridge, placing them inside the mugs for them to brew together with the green tea.
In the meantime, he went to check if Phoenix was awake. But after knocking and getting no response, Miles guessed he was probably still asleep. He walked in and saw him lying peacefully on the bed.

Miles approached Phoenix and observed him for a few instances before he woke up. “Miles?”

“I made us some tea,” Miles said, hiding from the embarrassment caused by Phoenix catching him as he observed his sleep.

Phoenix smiled, closing his eyes again. “Smells nice.”

Once he poured the boiling water, Miles waited five minutes for the beverages to be ready. Then, he carried the mugs in a small tray to Phoenix’s room.

Miles sat on a chair next to the bed, leaving the mugs to cool down on the nightstand. Phoenix had already sat up, with a big pillow behind his back.

“Ninety-nine point five,” Miles pointed out by looking at the thermometer. “Your fever has gone down a bit. How's your throat?”

“Sore,” Phoenix said with a hoarse voice, touching his neck. “It hurts…”

“Try not to speak much,” Miles indicated, though he thought it would be difficult for Phoenix to accomplish it. Then, he handed him the mug. “Drink this. It has lemon and honey in it. You'll feel better.”

Phoenix nodded and took a small sip. Miles held his own mug while glancing at Phoenix as he drank.

“It's… good… Thanks…” Phoenix talked choppy, probably as an attempt to not speak much.

“You're welcome,” Miles said before drinking. He had to admit that the tea had come out quite good. The green tea leaves were good quality, and the lemon added extra flavor. However, he thought that maybe as an icy lemonade the drink would be a hundred times better.

“Tell me… About your day…” Phoenix said, looking at him.

Miles held the mug in his lap, letting the hot ceramic warm up his hands. “This morning, someone found a body by the river. I went there and met with the Organized Crime Supervisor. She told me they're doing all they can to find Vera”

Phoenix stopped drinking suddenly, gazing at him with concern.

“The last time she was seen was a few weeks ago, in Kentucky,” Miles explained “She was with Glen. The real one.”

He wished he could've given him better news. Organized Crime was making an extra effort by looking for a girl who wasn't proven to be related to the case, besides being Glen's girlfriend. But she wasn't a priority.

Miles decided to change the subject because he wouldn't like seeing Phoenix more upset or disappointed than he already was. "Anyway, this afternoon I tried to clean up my garage."

"Tried?" Phoenix asked.

"I prefer to wait for Fran to come home," Miles clarified. "I don't want to make her mad by giving away her things without permission."

Phoenix nodded sharply then kept drinking his tea. "Found something interesting?"

"Old clothes and toys," Miles shrugged. "Nothing out of the ordinary."

"Your toy car collection?"

"Yes... My toy car collection," More than two years ago, he had mentioned to Phoenix how much he enjoyed playing cars with Franziska. He wasn't someone who got surprised easily, but Phoenix always found new ways to surpass his expectations. Miles raised the mug and hid his smile behind it while taking a sip. "You remember everything..."

Phoenix lowered his sight before smirking. "I do."

Though truthfully, Miles remembered things too. Even if his conversations with Phoenix seemed forgotten, it was difficult for him not to remember details about him. His likes and dislikes, favorite ice cream flavor, and basketball team. How he liked his coffee, which movies he loved, and his passion for art. Insignificant yet big things that defined him as a person.

At that moment Miles became aware of one thing. During the past two years, he had thought of Phoenix as forgotten. But in reality, he hadn't forgotten him. Not even a bit. It might seem silly, but his heart started to beat faster and his hands became sweaty.

Phoenix was in bed, with an ill expression, eyebags, and an unshaved beard. He was wearing oversized pajamas, with his hair looking like a mess. Sore throat, feverish, and coughing all the time. Those were the things Miles saw when their eyes finally met. When Miles finally realized he loved him.

"The tea is great," Phoenix said with a clearer voice. "I feel a lot better." 

But love wasn't enough. Not after all he had done. 

"I'm glad to hear that," Miles finished his drink before standing up. "I'll bring you dinner in a bit."

When he walked out of the room all the butterflies from his stomach had dissipated, replaced by a gut pain. His realization could've come sooner. Two years prior, preferably. That way, things would've been different. 

Nevertheless, it was too late for Miles to have any regrets. Even if Phoenix could forgive him for the situation they were in, there was no way he could excuse pointing him with a gun or treating him like a stranger. 

Besides, Miles had changed. More than Phoenix seemed to notice. His scars from the past were as open as they'd never been, and the new ones were deep and bloody. With a broken heart of glass, Miles couldn't even begin to let love be the key to his healing. 

Miles loved Phoenix. He always did. Since the day they followed Payne in his car, until now that Phoenix was at his worst. Two years had passed and his feelings hadn't changed. 

He felt like a fool. 

While waiting for the soup to reheat on the stove, he brought his father's box to the kitchen. 

Miles had set out to solve the mystery of why those documents had been hidden away in the garage. He couldn't deny his curiosity about the dark cases his father had dedicated himself to when he was young. Cases that he had never dared to mention in front of his children, and had therefore decided to hide in a box in the basement rather than in his office. Was that the reason? Was his father so afraid of those documents that he hid them away in a place where they would never see the light of day?

Another headline caught Miles' attention:

"Peter Dark, arrested for leading a cult."

The article detailed how that man had orchestrated a murder carried out by his followers, who had confessed to the crime. Miles found it fascinating how one person could exert such control over others, even to the point of convincing them to commit an act of violence, all without lifting a finger. He wondered if that man was still alive; if he were, Miles would like to interview him and ask him how he did it. A man like that wasn't a conventional human. Peter's mind was twisted, yet he had it all together better than most. 

He couldn't help but draw a connection between this and the murders he was investigating, which made him more eager than ever to find the person who had killed those girls. Because at this point, Miles just wanted to know why. He believed that if he could find a reason no matter how irrational or insignificant, he could be at peace.

Chapter Text

Few things in life were the object of Phoenix's hatred. Anchovies, dishes piling in the sink, criminals, and illness. Some could argue that criminals were the most despicable thing on Earth. But for Phoenix, a cold or the flu could be worse than a murderer. It was an exaggerated statement, he knew it was. However, a fever made him suffer more than a case ever did. The fact that it happened often didn’t make it any more bearable. He disliked medicine, doctors, and the general misery of being unwell.

When he was a child, his parents took care of him. As a teenager, if he caught a cold, Phoenix would immediately take medicine and wear a mask, preventing himself from getting worse or spreading the illness. Somehow, as years went by, his attitude toward sickness worsened. He grew moody, staying in bed for days, only leaving to eat cheese sandwiches.

Once, when he was in his twenties, his mother tried to take care of him. Nick, baby, she said to him once he recovered, you're my son and I love you, but you're the worst man alive when you're sick.

Knowing he was a terrible patient, he'd shut himself in his room and stay there for days until the symptoms passed. Maya or Athena would take care of Trucy while he put himself in quarantine.

Phoenix had gotten used to it, therefore he knew taking care of himself was the best option. However, this time the cold had caught him off guard. The last thing he remembered with clarity was going to bed, drunk and with no pants. Next, while he was asleep, a terrible freeze made his entire body shiver. He'd tried to cover himself with the blanket, but the sensation of discomfort and general malaise wouldn't go away. 

The following memories were blurry. He remembered water coming down on him and Miles’ soft voice. The notion of time had gone away from him. There were some details he could remember with clarity. Like Miles reading for him or the soup. So, he could be sure of one thing: Miles had been taking care of him all along, and Phoenix let him be his caretaker. 

He sat on the bed, knowing it was still early morning. With the throat still sore, Phoenix felt thirsty and craved something warm… Something like Miles’ tea. 

Willing to get out of bed, he reached for the crutch and walked out of the room for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Miles was probably awake, so he could ask him for tea and something to eat (something that wasn't soup). 

Phoenix felt the leg less heavier than before and walking was easy, so it seemed like a few days of rest had done him well. Moreover, the fever had gone away– or at least that's what he expected. 

Hearing noises from the kitchen, Phoenix approached the door, excited to tell Miles that his walking was becoming easier as the days passed. However, he suddenly heard a voice that wasn't Miles’. Having in mind that no one could enter the house besides them and Karin, hearing someone else talk was odd. 

When Phoenix peeked through the door, he uncovered the identity of the voice's owner. Leaning on the kitchen counter, wearing sweatpants and a white tank top, Agent Lang drank a cup of coffee. In front of him was Miles, who did the same while they exchanged a conversation. 

Phoenix stayed behind the door frame, pressing his back against the wall as he listened to the talk.

“They're fine,” Lang said with an insistent tone. “Ema is busy with research and plans to take a break during the holidays.”

“Did she like her new microscope?” Miles interrupted. 

“It's exactly what she wanted,”

“What about Kay?”

“She cannot wait for the spring break. Who knows? Maybe they will come visit.”

There was a small pause. 

“You worry too much,” Lang said. 

Another pause.

“Good grief… I swear this situation is frustrating.” 

“Hey, don't worry. We'll figure things out…”

Phoenix closed his eyes, sighing with regret. Hearing them talk wasn't something he wanted to keep doing– and should’ve never done since the beginning.

He walked in, making his steps heavy so they could hear him. Both noticed Phoenix coordinately, suddenly ending the conversation and turning their heads to look at him. Phoenix's gaze looked to Miles’ eyes. But he quickly fixated on the mug instead of staring at him back.

“Good morning, Mr. Detective!” Lang said with his usual sly tone. “Feeling better?”

“Yes. A lot better. Thank you.” Phoenix didn't want to sound blunt, but a strange feeling of anger made his jaw tighten while speaking.  

Miles wasn’t looking at Phoenix. What's more, he seemed to be ignoring him. He didn’t expect him to go and receive him with a hug and happily celebrate that he was out of bed after almost a week. But a good morning greeting was too much to ask?

Nevertheless, Phoenix kept his eyes on him, waiting for any reaction. Finally, Miles put his mug down next to Lang and walked towards Phoenix. His steps were receiving but threatening. 

“Come, you should go back to bed,” Miles blunted, almost grabbing Phoenix by the shoulder. 

Miles' sudden bitter attitude confounded Phoenix, making him take a step back. 

“I'm fine. I want to have breakfast here…” Phoenix complained. 

Miles didn’t seem to like his answer. “Let me check your fever first,” he insisted. 

“I can do it myself,” Phoenix argued, pulling back. 

“Come on, Edgeworth. Allow him to stay,” Lang said raising his mug. “He’s been in bed for days. Let him breathe.” 

His words made Miles take a step back. Phoenix recognized a certain angriness in his manner of acting. Did something happen? Was he mad at him for interrupting? 

“Tea?” Miles asked, seemingly resigned. Phoenix nodded in response. 

While Miles went back next to Lang, Phoenix headed to the table to sit down. He didn't understand why Miles’ attitude had changed so abruptly. Now he sounded cold and distant, exactly as he did before Phoenix got shot. Before they were obliged to cohabit. 

Lang's presence had something to do with it, there was no doubt. Miles behaved differently when he was around. And the way he talked to him… 

A mix of feelings flooded Phoenix. He felt fear of being alienated by Miles, and at the same time, he was irritated by Agent Lang. Why did he have to come back? Miles was doing fine by himself. 

Miles gently placed the breakfast plate in front of him along with a cup of tea. "Here you go," he whispered.

Phoenix looked down at his plate. Without Miles sitting across from him, the table felt too empty. He chewed his food carefully, assuring to avoid any pain in his throat as he swallowed. It was the first time in days that he wasn’t eating soup or rice. While Miles’ cooking was always delicious, he missed having something solid to bite into.

He glanced over at Miles and Agent Lang, who were still sipping their coffee near the kitchen counter and island.

“Any updates about the victim?” Lang asked.

“The family identified her yesterday,” Miles replied. “A chemistry student at the University of Oregon. She had taken the weekend off to celebrate a friend’s birthday.”

“The pattern repeats,” Lang noted.

Phoenix assumed they were talking about the case they were working on. He recalled the details he’d seen on TV the morning before he was shot. 'The Brand Killer', that’s what both the media and the police were calling him.

He had a basic understanding of criminal profiling, just enough to handle fieldwork when needed. But he had never faced a killer as methodical as this one. Phoenix didn’t know much about the case beyond what he'd seen in the news based on what the FBI had revealed.

Miles had mostly kept off discussing the case with him, though certainly had some connection to Vera and Glen. How could it not? Miles was looking for Glen the first night they met. 

He remembered Miles mentioning a body found near the river. That had been four days ago. He surprised himself with that realization, as his sense of time had been distorted while he was with fever. Counting the times Miles had come to feed him, he estimated it had been exactly four days since the night he’d stroked Miles’ hand. He smiled at the thought, amused by how he used that moment as a measure of time.

It felt like it had been a day since it happened. But Miles' change of behavior made it feel like it never did.

The distance between them felt inevitable, especially with Agent Lang's presence changing the dynamic. Once again, Phoenix felt a familiar fear of insecurity creeping in, wishing Lang hadn’t returned. But how long had he been there? It could've been days. Phoenix had barely left his bed except to shower. Lang could’ve wandered the house, and Phoenix wouldn’t have known. 

What was he thinking? He trusted Miles and found it impossible to assume he’d lie about something like that. Yet, where did Lang sleep if the guest room was already occupied? A certain thought crept into Phoenix’s mind, one he immediately shook off, refusing to imagine it.

Perhaps all was a sign of jealousy. After all, Miles had spent the last two years going on adventures with Lang— something Phoenix had once hoped they’d do together. As irrational as it could be, he felt resentment towards them. 

“Mr. Wright should be told,” Lang said, snapping Phoenix out of his thoughts.

Phoenix looked up, finding Lang staring at him from across the room. Miles frowned, setting down his cup.

“We should wait…” Miles replied.

“Why? He’ll find out soon enough,” Lang argued.

Now Phoenix was puzzled about what Lang was so insistent on telling him, though it was clear Miles wasn’t in favor.

“What do you need to tell me?” Phoenix finally asked.

Lang smirked. “Your days in witness protection are numbered, Mr. Detective. In less than two weeks you’ll be free to go home.”

A few days ago Phoenix would’ve been overjoyed to hear those words. But instead of smiling, he sought out Miles’ gaze, only to find him looking away again. “I don’t understand... Have you caught the person who shot me?”

“No. But this was always meant to be temporary,” Lang explained with a casual shrug and dramatic gesture. “We’re planning to get you out of Portland and send you back home. You’ll be much safer with your daughter. Don’t worry, you’ll still have protection until we catch the shooter.”

Phoenix still didn’t grasp the sudden change. It was apparent he wasn’t in as much danger as before. Returning to Trucy was something he had dreamt of since arriving in the city, but now it meant leaving Miles behind. Again.

“I don’t get it,” The situation was changing too fast. He'd barely begun to recover from the shot and suddenly things weren't as dangerous anymore. “Wouldn’t my family be much safer if I stayed here?”

Lang glanced at Miles, who nodded briefly.

“I’ll be honest with you, Mr. Wright,” Agent Lang said. “You weren’t the shooter’s target. As far as they’re concerned, you shouldn’t have been there at all.”

Phoenix rarely furrowed his brow, but Lang’s words caused his forehead to wrinkle in confusion. “What'd you mean?”

“They mistook you for me, Mr. Detective,” Lang clarified.

“We have reasons to believe that they thought you would inform us about the phone call, expecting us to go investigate,” Miles explained further. “But they didn’t count on how reckless you can be...”

“Does that mean…?” Phoenix trailed off.

“They were aiming to harm us,” Lang said, setting down his coffee cup. “They missed Agent Edgeworth and hit you instead. But their mistake has cost them dearly because now we know they have a mole in the police bureau.”

Phoenix couldn’t believe it. Had he been shot by mistake? Confusion overcame him, making his head pulse. “Does that mean that Vera’s call was a trap?”

Miles had warned him about it, but Phoenix had refused to believe it. Now, evidence pointed out the big mistake he’d committed by going to the building by himself. 

“It’s not clear whether it was fake or not,” assured Miles. “However, it is a strong possibility.”

Phoenix clenched his fists under the table, frustration bubbling inside him. He’d trusted Vera—how could he not? But now, even the memory of her pleading voice on the phone felt like it could’ve been part of something more sinister. He’d put himself in danger, and worse, he’d risked Miles as well.

“Damn it...” Phoenix muttered under his breath, feeling the weight of his decision press down on him.

Miles finally approached him, his tone soft but serious. “You couldn’t have known. The situation was too chaotic. But we have to focus on what we know now. The killers didn’t intend for you to be involved.”

“But I was,” Phoenix countered, his voice low and tight. “And I dragged you into it too.”

“We were already involved,” Miles reminded him, his expression unwavering. “This case was always going to be dangerous. What matters now is that we stay ahead of them.”

Phoenix looked down at his tea, the cup's warmth doing little to soothe the cold knot shaping in his stomach. "So... what now? You think they're still after you?"

Lang crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing in thought. “Most likely. But now we know they have a mole, we can turn this to our advantage. We need to be careful about how we move forward.”

Phoenix shook his head, feeling torn. “But I still need to find Vera. I’m not going to just sit back and watch from afar.”

Lang interrupted his voice firm but not unkind. “You won’t be sitting back. If anything, getting out of Portland is the smartest move you can make. It’s a tactical advantage. The farther away you are, the harder it is for them to use you against us.”

Phoenix met Lang’s gaze, but his mind was still racing. Everything felt wrong. He was leaving too soon, with so many unanswered questions, with the killers still lurking, with Miles in the crosshairs. He didn’t want to leave things unfinished. And he definitely didn’t want to leave Miles or Vera behind.

For the moment, he resigned to not complaining much about it. First, he’d to think about what he could do next, taking into account his narrow possibilities while being an ex-cop and a cripple. 

“Come, I have to change your bandage,” Miles said, helping Phoenix to stand up. 

He walked him back to bed, leaving Agent Lang in the kitchen. Phoenix couldn’t even begin to conceive that he’d ended up injured and as a protected witness by mistake. The remainder of his risks would have resulted in Miles being killed and coming back to him like an old nightmare. 

Phoenix lay on the bed, placing his back and head on the pillow and letting his legs rest. 

"I know it's too much to process," Miles asked as he placed the thermometer under Phoenix's armpit. "You are free to ask questions about it."

Phoenix wanted to avoid hearing anything regarding his security situation. He'd started feeling feverish again, his head aching and slightly sweating. That made him more furious about the whole Agent Lang thing. "Since when has he been here?" 

"He arrived last night," Miles responded, not giving much importance. He prepared the iodine and the tools he would use to change Phoenix’s bandage. After setting the first aid kit aside, Miles carefully removed Phoenix’s pants.

"I thought you were taking charge of the case," Phoenix said, trying to look away as his face suddenly warmed up.

"Technically, Organized Crime is in charge. I'm here as advisor. A supporting agent for Portland PB," Miles removed the bandage. His actions were natural as if he was already used to it. "However, I cannot go further as I would want to without Lang. I have the knowledge, but he has experience and contacts. People respect him and take him seriously."

Phoenix had his doubts regarding those facts. Miles had built himself the image of a hero, and yet it didn't transcend to the FBI. He'd never needed someone to lean on, and now he did? 

"Besides, we are a team," he added. 

A team. Once upon a time, Phoenix and Miles had been a team, too. A bond like that wasn’t formed with just anyone. They had shared a unique experience that ultimately brought them together as lovers. But, of course, the few months they had worked together on the Kristoph case couldn’t compare to the years Miles had spent alongside Agent Lang. 

The fever was all around Phoenix's head, provoking an annoying pressure in his whole body as if a giant rock was starting to smash him. With it, his anger increased, and his thoughts began making less and less sense. “Where did he sleep?”

“On the couch,” Miles said as if it was obvious.

“Did your other teammates come too?”

“No, just him,” he clarified. “What's with the cross-examination?” 

"Is there something between you both?" Phoenix ventured to ask, knowing the answer might not be to his liking.

Silence. 

“I don't know what you mean...”

“Do you love him?” 

Miles frowned momentarily. His expression softened as he focused on disinfecting the wound. 

"No," he replied, putting an end to Phoenix’s uncertainty. Yet, it also made him realize how foolish the question had been. “Shi-Long is my friend,” he acuted. “The thing between us is friendship. There could never be something else.” 

“Why?” Phoenix asked further. 

“Because relationships between agents are forbidden, perhaps?” Miles argued. His voice was monotone, but Phoenix could sense anger in him. “I am a rule follower. I would never date him nor allow myself to have a crush.” 

“You're right… I'm sorry,” Phoenix apologized as the reality hit him. He was getting angry for feeling sick again, and there was no reason to feed his stupid paranoia with it. “I shouldn't have asked you that.” 

What was happening to him? He’d never felt this stupid. Blaming the fever wasn’t the answer. His mind wasn’t working properly. Perhaps jealousy was blinding him more than he initially thought it would. Now, Miles was perceptibly upset. 

“I have friends, you know?” Miles said, insisting on his statement. “Friends who aren't girls in their twenties nor my sister. Or perhaps you think I fall in love with every man I work with?” 

“It’s not about that…” 

The thermometer beeped, interrupting their conversation. Miles took it out of Phoenix’s armpit. 

“Ninety-nine point eight,” Miles said after glancing at it. “You must rest. Remember to eat and take medication with every meal. There's food in the fridge.” 

By Miles’ tone, Phoenix knew he wouldn't be there for him. “You're leaving?”

“Lang and I have to talk to the last victim's family and friends. We might also go to a few locations, so I'll be gone until the afternoon." 

Miles wrapped a new fabric strip around Phoenix's leg, gathering things up afterward. 

The thought of being alone at the house made Phoenix feel weird. Miles had gone out on two occasions without him knowing, but still. Phoenix didn't want him to leave. He wanted Miles to stay by his bed for a full day. For them to eat together, spend time together, talk, or share the silence. Just like it had been for the past week. 

Those thoughts made him egoistic, and childish and reassured his jealous behavior. Because Phoenix couldn't do anything about it. And Miles had a duty to fulfill. 

“I left you another book in the living room as we finished the last one yesterday,” Miles said, standing up. “Don't do anything stupid or crazy while I'm gone. Please.” 

“I won't,” Phoenix expressed as a promise, not only to Miles but to himself. 

-

Phoenix checked his fever and discovered it had gone down severely after the medication and a nap. He sighed. It had been two hours since Miles had left. The argument he'd caused out of his inexcusable spite for Agent Lang had rebuilt the tension between him and Miles. The only thing Phoenix could do was to hope that, this time, a resolution would come smoothly.  

Right after waking up, Phoenix assumed he could have a peaceful day of rest to recover fully from his cold. He was wrong. 

Boredom comes without a previous call. It's sudden, unexpected, and sometimes hard to recognize. One minute you're trying to read a page of a book, and the next you're putting it down without knowing why. Suddenly, the words feel heavy and difficult to understand. And that's what happened to Phoenix. 

He tried to put on a TV Show, searching for distraction. But again, everything bored him. With the TV off, Phoenix looked up at the ceiling, contemplating the idea of falling asleep again and at least letting time pass without further notice. However, he wasn't tired at all. 

As turning around, he saw the crouch leaning on the nightstand. Phoenix’s leg felt relieved that day, so walking around didn't sound bad. 

Taking the book with him, Phoenix got out of bed and headed to the backyard. He noticed the porch was quite spacious, so he thought of giving it a chance by walking around it. After being bedridden for days, he needed to make up for the five minutes of walking he'd missed somehow.

Miles had told him not to do anything stupid, but his plan was based on what Nurse Karin had recommended. Therefore, it would be good for his health. He left the book on the chair and decided to go through with his plan. You can do it, Phoenix, he encouraged himself internally.

Gripping the crutch tightly, he put his left foot forward. Carefully, he pushed himself, moving the other leg. Slowly, he took small steps, trying to limp as little as possible. He smiled enthusiastically when he realized that the pain had become bearable. The daily healings and medicines were doing their job. 

When he completed a full lap, he was exhausted but filled with joy for achieving his goal.

The small effort that had left him slightly winded deserved a big glass of water and a long shower. He had made a little progress, which gave him hope that he would eventually walk normally again.

After that burst of energy, Phoenix felt he could finally relax. He sat on the chair on the back porch and opened the book to the last page he'd read. He wondered what Miles would say if he had seen him. Most likely, he would have tried to stop him, and after Phoenix had done it anyway, he would have scolded him.

Phoenix couldn't help but smile at the mental image of Miles frowning. To the surprise of many, he'd fallen in love with a serious and grumpy man, who was also calm and of a few words with himself being the complete opposite. But their unstoppable need to help those who were defenseless had brought them together.

His smirk vanished, turning into a frown on his lips. Even though Miles had asked for time, he didn't know how much longer he could wait. His return home to Trucy was imminent, and his time with Miles was running out. Though he didn't know exactly what he was giving him time for. 

He had thought about him, longing to see him again for two years. But time had also worn down his expectations, especially now that Miles seemed to reject every attempt Phoenix made to move things forward. Nevertheless, what had brought him to Portland wasn't Miles, but Vera. He had taken on the case for the sake of desperate parents in whom Phoenix saw a reflection of himself. If Trucy were to disappear without a trace, he too would move heaven and earth to find someone to help him locate her.

In the process, a certain obstacle had arisen—a bullet. But being immobilized didn't mean he had to stop his investigation. He knew the FBI was handling the case, but deep down, he didn't trust them much. If no one had seemed to care since the beginning, why would they now?

His only problem was that he was stuck in a sort of reclusion from the world, with no access to the internet. Most likely, Miles had taken the phone with him, and using his laptop didn't seem particularly fair. Phoenix took on the book before letting his mind wander too much. After all, he couldn't spend the entire morning overthinking.

To his surprise, it was the third book he’d be reading in less than a month. At his age, this achievement seemed impossible to believe. He had to admit that Miles’ reading for him while he was sick had rushed the process, though. Still, Phoenix felt proud, smiling to himself as he opened the first page. 

The soft and gentle wind hit his face. He wiggled his feet at the sudden refreshing sensation. Spring was more noticeable in the weather, which meant Easter was just around the corner. His thoughts traveled to the previous year’s celebration, where the Easter Bunny tradition happened not to be as exciting as it used to be. Of course, Trucy wasn’t a kid anymore. Instead, Phoenix took her to the Easter Parade. He wondered if she would like to go that year too. He couldn’t believe that he’d just barely been announced to be going home and already was making plans on his return. 

After going through a few pages, an easily recognizable voice greeted him from the next-door house. “Good morning!” 

Phoenix turned round and smirked at the image of Marvin Grossberg carrying a big shovel. “Good morning, Mr. Grossberg.” 

“I haven't seen you in a minute,” he pointed out. “And I see you got another book.”

“Yeah, I've been sick. A spring cold,” Phoenix explained, putting the book away. 

“Oh, they're terrible,” Marvin said, genuinely concerned. “Are you feeling better?”

“Very much so. Thanks,” 

“How's Miles? I've seen his car a couple of times,” 

“He's busy with work,” Phoenix knew he shouldn't give many details, though Marvin seemed like a legit man. And Miles hadn't said anything about not interacting with him. 

“The life of a law man,” Marvin said, followed by a sigh. “You're alone today then?”

“I'm afraid I am,” Phoenix shrugged. 

“Would you like to come around? My wife is making curry for lunch,” Marvin offered. 

At first, Phoenix was full of doubts. He was forbidden to go out, though spending the day with an old retired couple didn't sound like an activity that could qualify as ‘crazy’. 

Besides, being alone for a full day wasn’t a pleasant idea for Phoenix. Declining such an invitation would’ve made him regret it later when bored once again. 

“Sure, why not?” Phoenix agreed finally. 

Marvin beamed at his response. “Great. Do you need any help?” Marvin asked. He appeared to have noticed Phoenix's injury. 

“No, I can walk there by myself. But thank you.” 

Marvin nodded sharply. “I’ll wait for you in the garden, then.”

Phoenix had inevitably made a great impression on him as he looked so excited. Marvin seemed to be excited by Phoenix accepting his proposal, which made him smile too. 

Phoenix stood up and helped himself to the inside of the house. Before leaving, he went back to his room to change clothes. As he had been sick, Phoenix had no chance to try on the new items Miles had bought for him days back. And he also didn't want to show up in pajamas to a house he'd been kindly invited to. 

Looking at himself in the bathroom mirror, Phoenix smirked as the clothes fit him quite well. As always, Miles had good taste. 

It felt good to finally wear something apart from pajamas. During the time he was feverish, the perception of not being able to do barely anything by himself was what bothered him the most. If he’d been alone, there would’ve been no way he had gotten out of bed in days. Luckily, he had Miles there, looking after him.  

While taking care of him, Miles inevitably had to help him shower and change clothes. Phoenix dumbly blushed at the thought of Miles seeing him naked. Not that they hadn't seen each other without clothes before, and the situation required Miles to do it, so thinking more of it felt silly. 

The physical attraction for Miles was undeniable. After all this time dreaming of him and yearning to have a romantic relationship, he could not help but desire to have him close all the time. And seeing him every day made it worse. 

His mind usually ended up somewhere he didn't expect to go. A shiver went down his legs, sensing a well-known tingle below his hips. Instantly, he brushed the thoughts away as he had no time to get another shower.

Phoenix couldn’t believe that at thirty-five he was hornier than at eighteen.

When he was ready, he left the house and headed toward the gate. For a moment, he thought that maybe the small exit door would be locked. However, when he turned the handle, it opened outward.

He didn’t need to walk far, as Marvin's house was only twenty-five feet away. He was already outside, standing in the front yard, waiting for Phoenix with a smile.

“Hello again,” he said playfully. 

Marvin opened the door for Phoenix, inviting him in. As soon as he put his feet inside, Phoenix was amazed by the garden. The floor was bundled by green grass, and flower paths surrounded the houses’ flanks. There was a small fountain in the middle, made of stone. Birds came down from the trees to bathe in its waters. It was noticeable that Marvin was a committed gardener. 

His fencing was less tall and was almost completely covered by a bush with magenta flowers. The house couldn’t be compared to Miles’s. It was also Victorian-styled, but smaller. Its orange bricks and the white and red ornamentation stood out. The right side was almost covered by ivy, while on the other side, a large tree with a slender trunk and dark leaves dominated. A path of square stones led to wide stairs, which ascended to the entrance. Around the house, beautiful purple flowers with long leaves were layered over the terraced structure of the garden.

Marvin was wearing gardening gloves and a dirty overall, to which he had added a hay hat. “Are you sure you don’t need help?”

“No, it’s fine,” Phoenix responded as he walked up to the house’s entrance. “I’m learning to do it by myself.”

“May I ask how you got injured?” 

“I...” Phoenix smiled awkwardly and doubted what to say. How do you explain that you've been mistakenly shot by an assassin who was also trying to murder the man you're in love with? “I fell down the stairs. I can be very clumsy.”

Phoenix came up with the easiest answer. And laughing it off seemed to have worked as Marvin didn't ask further questions. 

“Stairs can be treasonous indeed,” he said, laughing at his own joke. 

Sighing in relief, Phoenix climbed the porch and arrived at the front door. There was no way Marvin Grossberg could discover that he was a protected witness. Or could he? Marvin was an attorney, maybe he somehow knew he was lying. 

The interior was more rustic, with the wooden ceiling projecting in a triangular form over his head. The living room extended to a dining room, with the stairs placed at the left, next to the door that gave a pass to the backyard, giving the impression of the house being larger than it seemed from the outside. Right at the end, there was a kitchen. 

The decor was quite simple as well as the pieces of furniture, all of them in orange, white, and maroon tones. With how everything was organized, Phoenix had the impression that he was inside an IKEA catalog. 

“Come. My wife's in the kitchen doing her painting,” Marvin said, guiding him through the instance. 

In the kitchen, a woman in her early sixties was sitting down at a wooden, rounded table. She had a small white canvas in front of her, and acrylic paintings placed around. 

“Wendy, this is Nick,” Marvin introduced him. 

The woman poked her head up and looked at Phoenix above her glasses. Then, she smiled. “Good morning, Nick. Marvin hasn’t stopped talking about you in a minute. Please, sit down.”

“Thanks,” Phoenix said and approached one of the chairs. 

Leaving the crutch aside, Phoenix observed with curiosity how Wendy arranged the paintings on the table. 

“Alright, I’ll be in the garden, honey” Marvin approached his wife to kiss her on the right temple. 

When he left, the room stayed in silence. Phoenix looked around, feeling a bit awkward. Maybe accepting an invitation from a neighbor hadn’t been as good an idea as he initially thought. Now he was sitting in someone else’s kitchen with a stranger, how he didn’t know how to start a conversation. 

“Do you want something, Nick? A coffee, perhaps?” Wendy asked. 

“No, no. Thank you, Mrs. Grossberg,” Phoenix declined kindly.

“Call me Wendy,” she inquired. “I love Marvin plenty, but I’m nobody’s Mrs.”

Phoenix smiled awkwardly, nodding in response. 

"I used to be an Art History teacher, you know?" Wendy said. "Now that I'm old, I think I'd rather practice than theory. Besides, it is said that it prevents dementia. Do you like to paint, Nick?"

"Actually, I love it."

"Take a canvas, Nick," she commanded, not at all as a request. “Don't be shy.” 

Phoenix nodded, extending his arm to reach one small canvas from the amount. He also took a wooden paint plate. Wendy was already doodling on the white surface, creating a sketch. 

It had been a minute since Phoenix had crafted a drawing or a painting for the last time. Since he left college to take care of Trucy, his leisure time reduced significantly over time. His work hours as a policeman plus taking care of a toddler took all his time. When he joined the FBI, it became almost impossible to have any hobbies.

By the time he left, the motivation to even take a brush had disappeared. He still enjoyed going to museums and attending Larry's pop-ups and exhibitions, but art wasn't as much a part of his life as it used to be. 

Sometimes, he questioned if giving up his dream career had been a mistake. Meeting his parent's expectations, and having a kid at such a young age... Choices that made him become who he was. Maybe, if he had studied Art, he would've gone to another university. Never meeting Dahlia, Trucy never being born, not becoming an FBI agent, and, therefore, never meeting Miles. 

Those factors took back his pity thoughts. Maybe his destiny was to be in Marvin Grossberg's kitchen, sitting at the table with his wife Wendy and taking a canvas to craft a small painting with acrylic technique while he remembered his days as a young painter. 

"I usually like to paint in silence, but as you're here a bit of conversation would enhance the experience," Wendy   "Tell me something about you."

"Well... I'm from Syracuse, New York. Though, now I live in the city," suddenly, Wendy's attitude encouraged him to open himself with her. "I also have a fifteen-year-old daughter. Her name is Trucy." 

Wendy grinned, with her lips’ edges showing notorious wrinkles. "What about Trucy's mom?"

"She lives in L.A.," Phoenix said, though he wasn't so sure about it. "Or at least that's where she left fourteen years ago." 

He noticed how Wendy's expression changed to a sad grin. "I'm sorry to hear that." 

"It's fine," Phoenix shrugged. "It was a mutual decision.”

Dahlia wasn't a recurrent thought in Phoenix’s mind. Not anymore. She might've been the biological mother, but she was not even close to being a mom for Trucy. 

Her manic episodes got worse after Trucy’s birth, and the neglect for both her family and her studies started to worry in a matter of months. After Trucy's first birthday, she decided to move to Los Angeles. 

As far as I am from you both, the better, she said. I don't want to hurt you more than I've already done, Feenie. 

Long ago, Phoenix resented her for her actions. But, with time, he comprehended that they were both young and stupid, and Dahlia wasn't at her best. Even if it took time for him to acknowledge, looking back, her leaving was the best decision they could've made. 

"Marvin and I have a kid, too. Marvin Junior. He inherited the law firm, following his father's steps." Wendy changed the subject as she dropped the pen down. "What's Trucy interested in?"

“Honestly, I don't know,” Phoenix smiled ironically. “She enjoys drawing, but we barely talk about her interests anymore… Some days, she's a mystery to me.”

“She's at a difficult age,” Wendy said, squishing the paintings on the board to create a color game. “Give her time. You'll see that she eventually comes back to you to make important decisions. My boy still calls me to vent about work, and he's fourty-two.” 

Phoenix nodded. Something in Wendy resembled his own mother. Wendy was less energetic, and with different physiognomy, but the way she talked and the confidence she transmitted made him feel at home. 

Maybe it was bad timing to remember that he hadn't called his mom in months. At that moment, Phoenix decided that he'd visit his parents right away once he went back to New York. 

“So, you’re a friend of Miles…” Wendy said, raising a bit her sight. “How did you guys meet?”

“It’s a long story, uh…” Phoenix doubted if he should go further with his explanation. Wendy raised her head, gazing at him with expectation. Marvin and his wife hadn't shown him anything but kindness, so Phoenix owed them the truth. Even if it was a summarized version. “I used to be a federal agent. We worked on a case together long ago, back in Atlanta.”

Wendy nodded. “Regina Berry’s case, right?”

Phoenix raised his brows in surprise. “How did you know?”

“I read the book,” she said. “You're Nicholas Smith, the FBI Agent from New York.” 

“Oh…”

Phoenix got a bit tense. He didn't expect that someone would ever recognize him from the book by a simple nickname. The fear of being asked about Regina or Kristoph overwhelmed him, making his hands sweat. Suddenly, a small pressure started to form at the back of his head. 

“Don't worry, I'm not asking you anything about it,” Wendy brushed it off. “I think Regina has been a victim of our sensationalist and gutter periodism-obsessed.”

Wendy's response alleviated the anxiety instantly. The pressure vanished as if it had never been there, and air expanded his chest, allowing him to breathe. 

Phoenix looked down and observed his still-empty white canvas. “I couldn't agree more.” 

Since he saw Regina on TV, she being mentioned seemed to have increased significantly. Phoenix tried to not think about the case, but its shadow still haunted him. In the dark, and in his sleep. 

He never knew how things ended –He did not want to. After months of therapy. He’d achieved a point where the distress and the fear were completely gone. His headaches weren’t as recurrent, and he was able to cope with healthy strategies. 

However, he still hadn’t ventured to fully revisit the case. He had bought Regina’s book and read it several times. Yet, somehow, the narrative felt foreign, as if those events hadn’t happened to him but to a set of fictional characters. Stopping to ask what had happened after he left didn’t even cross his mind. Deep down, Phoenix thought the reason was that he still hadn’t fully recovered. Just the mere thought of Kristoph Gavin’s name sent shivers down his spine. 

Phoenix decided to push those thoughts aside and focus on his painting. He didn’t need to make a sketch; instead, he simply began spreading color on the white canvas with his brushes. Gradually, he became so absorbed in the painting that the conversation around him faded, until both he and Wendy shared a comfortable silence.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but at one point, Wendy let out a long sigh. 

“Are you staying for lunch, Nick?”

Phoenix looked up and nodded, smiling slightly. “I’d love to.”

The sounds from the kitchen became his soundtrack as he continued painting. His initial plan wasn’t to be too meticulous, but he ended up committed to creating a detailed piece using impressionism. 

Before he realized it, the scent of spices had filled the air. His stomach growled a little, signaling that he was hungry.

He put down the brush and admired the small painting he had just finished. It was Miles’ front garden as seen from the gate, with the house in view as well. He had captured the image from his memory using acrylic paints, and for the time he had spent, he thought it wasn’t bad at all. However, he wished he had a larger canvas to portray the full view of the house from the outside.

“I see that you’re an artist,” Wendy said as she gathered up the things from the table. 

“A frustrated one, I’m afraid,” Phoenix confirmed, helping her to leave space for the plates.

“Next time you could paint my house,” Wendy suggested. “Marvin would love to see his beloved garden in a painting. The bougainvillea looks lovely this part of the year.”

“Bougainvillea?”

Wendy nodded. “The bush with magenta flowers that cover the fence. It's a sub-tropical plant. I don't know how, but Marvin manages to keep it alive in this gray weather.” 

“It certainly gives personality to the house.” 

“Oh Nick, you're too sweet.” 

Phoenix grinned gently, taking the compliment quite deeply. 

Wendy smiled at him back. “I’m sure Miles will love it.”

Phoenix gazed at the painting again. It wasn’t supposed to be a gift to Miles, but giving it to him seemed like the best idea. “Yeah… I hope so.”

Wendy called Marvin in as soon as she placed the food on the table. Phoenix had offered himself to help her serve, but she commanded him to not worry. You're our guest, she said. 

Phoenix ate in silence as Marvin updated his wife on his garden tasks. Wendy didn't say anything in regard but stayed quiet while Marvin told her about his plans for the spring, like getting new hortensias or the possibility of harvesting the orange tree. Or how the rain had helped the grass to grow taller this year. 

At the end, Wendy smiled and said. “Sounds like a great idea. I'm happy that you're having a good time out there.” 

“Thanks, honey,” Marvin responded with a broad smile. “Did you have a productive morning?” 

As simple as it was, Phoenix could witness at that moment how independent they were from each other. How their love had grown into having separated hobbies, telling each other about it later. Wendy encouraged Marvin and vice versa, without any reservations about their individual passions. 

Phoenix had to admit that he admired them. 

“It’s good to know that Miles has a friend,” Marvin said, probably as a form to introduce Phoenix into the conversation. “He used to be a bit weird as a kid. Y'know he's... special." 

“He’s autistic, Marvin. Call it by its name,” Wendy reproached, to which Marvin looked down in regret. “That doesn’t make him weird, just different. And yes, he was isolated because of it.”

Phoenix raised a brow. “Isolated?”

“He got bullied in school,” Wendy sighed. “I remember the first day he stepped foot in my class… Because of an IQ test, the middle school he went to decided he’d skip two years. He was twelve as a freshman. Tall for his age, but still a child.”

Phoenix was aware of Miles’ early graduation from high school and college. He assumed it had been tough for him, though Miles barely mentioned high school. 

Sometimes he'd mention university, but always related to classes or professors. Never to friendships. 

“Sadly, at that time messing up with others was normalized in school,” Wendy explained. “But nothing serious happened, thank God. He and Franziska were a bit marginalized. But luckily, they had one another. Overall through tough moments. When their mother passed, things got pretty tough…” 

Their mother passed. 

“Poor woman. I'm sure Miles told you…” Marvin said with a mournful grimace. 

“Yeah… What a pity.” Phoenix felt bad about lying, but pretending was the only way to keep the conversation up. 

“Manfred was destroyed after it…” Wendy followed up. “Well of course, who wouldn't be after seeing your wife die in a car accident?” 

Phoenix was treading into territory he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to enter. Miles was very reserved about certain things. He required time and a trust-building process to open up to others. Phoenix was well aware of this. It had always been why he didn’t want to hear about events from Miles’ past from third parties. However, his curiosity got the better of him. And even though he knew he shouldn’t, Phoenix asked, “What happened exactly? Miles never gave details…”

Though it wasn’t their duty Phoeix had seemingly gained their trust and sympathy swiftly.

“It was a rainy day…” Wendy began to narrate, a sorrowful frown in her expression. “Manfred and Greta were coming back from the supermarket when another car, without headlights, swerved into them and ran them off the road. The ambulances arrived and took Greta to the ICU. Manfred only suffered a few scratches,” Wendy lowered her gaze, clearly saddened by the memory. “It was truly awful. The children stayed here for several days while he stayed at the hospital… Greta passed away three days later from a brain hemorrhage. It’s been almost twenty-five years since that happened.”

Miles' past presented as a far greater mystery than Phoenix initially thought. Despite knowing many details and anecdotes, told by Miles and Franziska, every time he uncovered something new, he felt like he knew nothing at all. And he wasn’t sure how to stand about it.

“But let’s not dwell on the past, especially with such a beautiful spring day,” Wendy said, trying to ease the tension. “Nick, dear, would you like dessert?”

“I’d love some, Mrs.—Wendy,” Phoenix rectified.

The wrinkles around her mouth were noticeable in her smirk. “Coming right up, then.”

–

Sitting on the couch, Phoenix enjoyed his reading. A jazz record played in the background and the tea aroma came into his nose. He had figured out how to make the kitchen work, so he'd boiled himself some water and poured it into a cup. The single ginger tea bag wasn't as good as Miles’ homemade tea, but it felt relieving for his throat. 

After his conversation with Marvin and his wife, Phoenix had been wondering how Miles and Franziska had done it to overcome such a difficult childhood. He was aware that they weren't the social type of people, though he'd never conceived they'd passed for such isolation. Now, he understood Miles a bit more. His empathy towards the helpless and the weak… And Franziska was more of the same. Their life experiences probably defined why they have chosen to live to protect. 

Regarding Miles’ mom, Phoenix had guessed long ago that she was deceased. It was pretty easy to assume as she had never been a topic of conversation. Miles brought her up once or twice, while on the other hand, Franziska never mentioned her. And no wonder, they had lost her in a tragedy after all. It was difficult for Phoenix to fathom how it would be to lose a parent at such a young age. 

Death had come pretty late in his life. Phoenix was twenty-five when his grandfather died. Old and mature enough to understand death and easily overcome grief. Before that, he'd already seen death while in the NYPD. 

But what about ten-year-old Miles? Certainly smarter than any other kid at his age, but still a child. And Franziska– A five-year-old girl? 

Suddenly, Phoenix heard the car coming into the front yard. He guessed it was Miles, who had already come back. He looked through the window and there was no sign of Lang. So, Phoenix stood up and walked to the door. A smile formed on his lips due to the excitement to receive him. 

In a matter of seconds, Miles walked in, letting the wooden door close behind him with a slight push. He looked down and sighed heavily, which wasn’t extraordinary in his attitude. However, when he turned around, Phoenix knew something had been wrong. There was blood on his face and shirt. The image made Phoenix’s expression change entirely, widening his eyes with worry. 

“What happened?” Phoenix asked, startled. 

Miles looked up, seemingly surprised to see Phoenix out of bed. He stroked his forehead. “There has been a mutiny in Oregon State Prison,” Miles explained as he rubbed his nose with the jacket's sleeve. “I tried to stop a guy. I am not a very good fighter as you can see…” 

Blood drops started to fall to the ground —Miles’ nose was bleeding. 

“Oh, fuck…” Miles muttered, covering his nostrils again with the sleeve. 

Phoenix looked at him with concern. “Let me get you a washcloth from the kitchen…”

“It's fine, I can go…” Miles shook his head, still covering his nose. 

“No,” Phoenix stopped him. “I'll go.” 

This time, Miles didn't complain. Instead, he kept holding his bleeding behind his sleeve in silence. Phoenix took the lack of response as an agreement. 

“Come,” he said, taking Miles by the arm and guiding him to the kitchen. 

Phoenix had gained agility with the crutch. Now he was able to move smoothly and with painless limping through the hallway. 

“Sit,” Phoenix commanded Miles while he headed to the counter. He remembered seeing pieces of washcloth around, so he looked for one around the counter. 

“Inside the third drawer…” Miles indicated. 

Phoenix opened it instantly. Inside there was a pile of clean washcloths, from which he took the first one he saw. Sitting next to Miles, he put his arm away and replaced the sleeve with the cloth. The bleeding wasn't abundant, but enough to leave a big stain on Miles’ shirt. 

“You must lean forward and breathe through your mouth,” Phoenix indicated. 

“I know what to do,” Miles responded coldly. Phoenix was used enough to not take it seriously. 

Miles held the washcloth as he pressed it around his nose. His breathing was slow, yet loud. 

“How’d it happen?” Phoenix asked. 

“Lang and I went to the prison following a lead,” Miles said, trying to speak in between breaths. “As we performed an interrogation, I noticed something was wrong… The prisoners suspiciously looked at each other… Suddenly…”

Miles took a break to check if his nosebleed had stopped, only to discover that it hadn't. 

“Suddenly they threatened us with crafted weapons… We didn't have our guns… So we were supposed to stay there while some of them tried to escape…” 

Phoenix tried to picture how terrifying the situation was, as well as unfortunate. What a casualty that the mutiny had to be performed the day two FBI agents were inside the prison. 

“At first we followed up the instructions… Right after, the deputies came inside and held down the other prisoners… I tried to run as fast as I could to catch our witness… But one of his men punched me before I could get to them…”

“He escaped?” Phoenix asked. 

“No,” Miles shook his head. “Backup was waiting for him outside… He died.” Miles poked his head up once more, finding out that his bleeding had finally stopped. “My nose has been bleeding awfully since…”

“Are you sure it's not broken?”

“Lang wanted to take me to the hospital, but I refused,” Miles argued. “If my nose was broken, I'd know.” 

Phoenix wasn’t an expert in nose injuries, but the small bruise in the middle of Miles' nose bridge was a reason for concern. Nevertheless, if Agent Lang hadn’t been able to convince him to go to the hospital, Phoenix wouldn’t either. 

“I’ll bring you some ice,” Phoenix said, already standing up. 

Miles nodded, though his expression remained distant as he leaned back in his chair. Phoenix headed to the fridge, his mind racing. He grabbed some ice from the freezer, wrapping it in a cloth. He knew Miles could be stubborn, but his refusal to go to the hospital after what had happened seemed more like a defense mechanism than actual confidence in his condition.

As Phoenix returned to the table, he found Miles staring blankly at the table, lost in thought. He handed him the ice pack and sat back down, watching as Miles gingerly pressed it to his nose.

“Thanks,” Miles muttered, his voice low. He didn’t look up.

Phoenix wanted to ask what was really going on beneath the surface—why he’d been so adamant about refusing help—but he held back. Pushing too hard never worked with Miles.

Instead, he leaned back in his chair and said quietly, “You should at least call Nurse Karin tomorrow.”

Miles glanced at him. “I’m fine. This isn’t the first time someone has punched me.”

“You’re impossible,” Phoenix sighed, but his voice held warmth.

"You are not a star pacient either," Miles said, the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth

A comfortable silence settled between them. Despite the tension, Phoenix couldn’t help but feel grateful for moments like these, when they could just sit together without the weight of the past or present pressing down on them.

A few minutes later, Miles removed the ice from his nose. A small stain had formed on the cloth, and dried blood remained all over his face. Phoenix was able to appreciate how horrible Miles looked, all bloody, injured, and tired. And still, he could find him handsome, even a bit cute. 

“Wait, you still have a bit of blood here…”

Phoenix took the cloth and stood up to put it down the faucet. Once it was a bit wet, he went back and rubbed it around Miles’ nose to get rid of the blood. 

Miles was quiet, avoiding eye contact as usual. “You shouldn't be doing this much effort.” 

“It's not an effort,” Phoenix reassured. “What's more, I've been walking effortlessly today. I took a walk around the porch and went to Mr. Grossberg's house.” 

“You did what?” Miles asked as his brows frowned. 

“I didn't think that going to visit a neighbor would be considered ‘crazy’ or ‘dangerous’. Marvin and his wife had taken good care of me while you were gone.” 

Phoenix tried to search for the right wording so Miles couldn't argue or lecture him due to his actions. It seemingly worked as Miles didn't respond and his expression eased. Though, he probably was too tired to fight about it. 

“They are nice people,” Miles said. 

Phoenix smiled victoriously, knowing somehow that Miles agreed. 

When the blood from under the nose was gone, Phoenix also wiped a splash of red Miles had on his cheek. He looked at him from afar, noticing his chin was still bloody. 

He passed the cloth over the surface while Miles stood still. In silence, Phoenix didn’t hesitate to lift the cloth to his lips, gently running it over them. This action left him stunned, watching the soft, pink skin moisten under the wet fabric. Phoenix's heart began to race as he felt Miles’ breath so close, that he suddenly let out a slight sigh through his nose. Phoenix held his breath at that moment, wondering if what he was about to do would be insane.

He waited for a few seconds, convinced that Miles would pull away and offer some excuse to keep the distance between them. But to Phoenix’s surprise, he didn’t. 

Setting the cloth down on his lap Phoenix looked up, finally meeting a pair of gray eyes that seemed to be watching him with anticipation. However, it was Phoenix who pulled away.

“Done,” he said as if nothing had happened.

“Thank you…” Miles murmured before placing the bag of ice back on his nose, releasing a low groan and squeezing his eyes shut. “I need to change. Have you had dinner?”

“No.”

“There are leftovers in the fridge,” he said. “Serve yourself.”

Phoenix nodded, seeing how Miles left the room. The desire to kiss him had been too strong, and he'd almost surrendered. But, it wasn't the right moment. Kissing Miles without being sure about his feelings first was taking too much risk. And Phoenix was starting to be tired of shots in the dark. For once, he wanted certainty about the consequences of his actions. 

Phoenix warmed up some food, leaving a plate for Miles in front of him. Minutes passed without him coming down, which made Phoenix start to believe that he wouldn't go back to the kitchen at all. 

He knew Miles enough to assume that the jail mutiny and the fight had been something stressful for him. If physical contact wasn't of his enjoyment, Phoenix couldn't even wrap his head around how he'd be feeling regarding an assault of that sort. 

Right when Phoenix was about to leave for bed, Miles showed up in pajamas. His slightly wet hair confirmed he spent the time getting a shower. 

“You're still here…” Miles pointed out. 

“I was about to leave,” Phoenix said. “I waited for you…” 

“I needed a shower.” 

Miles walked towards the kitchen counter, from where he got the kettle. 

“Aren't you eating anything?” 

Miles waited a few seconds to answer. “I'm not hungry.” 

Sometimes Miles could get too into his inner thoughts, setting himself apart from the world around him. This was surely one of those situations. He seemed dispersed, gone. 

“I made you something,” Phoenix announced. “I’ll go grab it.”  

On a quick trip to the living room, Phoenix picked up the bag Wendy had given him to carry the painting he’d made. When he went back, Miles was already sat down, with steam coming out of his mug. 

“It's been a while since the last time I painted something but I'm pretty satisfied with the result,” Phoenix explained before taking it out and handing it to Miles. “It's your front yard.” 

Miles took the small canvas with both hands, looking at it with a neutral expression. At first, Phoenix couldn’t see any reaction, which made him assume Miles was analyzing it or thinking about what to say. 

“It’s beautiful,” he said finally, raising his gaze to meet Phoenix. “You’re very talented.”

Then he tried to give it back, to which Phoenix shook his head.

“It’s for you,” He affirmed. “It's not a Monet, but I know how much you like impressionism.”

Miles looked at it again, putting it down next to him. “You painted it this morning?”

“Wendy has spurred me to it,” Phoenix smiled. “She’s nice. Both of them were. They even invited me to lunch.”

Miles briefly smirked before blowing his tea a bit. 

“They told me about your mom,” Phoenix confessed. “How she died…” 

Miles didn't answer again, though he slowly put his mug down. It wasn't a topic of his liking, and Phoenix understood it. However, he knew it couldn't be kept a secret. 

“Are you mad?”  

“No,” Miles denied. “I just… I think you deserved to know. One way or another.” 

“I would've liked to know it from you,” Phoenix didn't mean it as a reproach, but as a way to make Miles be aware about how he felt guilty for asking. 

“I understand,” Miles muttered before drinking. “Mrs. Wendy appreciated her very much.” 

“She also told me how great of a cook your mom was,” Phoenix pointed out, bringing a bit of light to the conversation. 

“Indeed,” Miles nodded. “She worked as a chef in a well-known restaurant in town. Delicious meals were never missing, either at home or at family dinners… She was beautiful and kind, too.” 

“Do you miss her?”

“Sometimes,” Miles shrugged. “I found a box of her things in the garage the other day. It had been a while since I thought of her. I'm thinking of telling Franziska to come around and go through it. My sister was only five when Mother died, so she barely remembers what it was like when she was around.” 

Phoenix smiled, happy to see Miles opening himself about his mother. His expression had changed too, and he looked less tired. 

“Sounds like a great idea,” Phoenix said. “I'm sure Franziska would appreciate it.” 

Franziska... Phoenix wondered what would be up at the moment. He hadn't been able to contact her since his injury, though she probably was aware of the situation (Maya had probably told her about it). 

“I'm curious,” Miles raised his gaze. “Since when are you two that close? I know she helped you.” 

“Ehm, well…” Phoenix wasn't aware of Miles knowing about Franziska’s implication on his investigation. He hoped that she didn't tell him the other reason why he was in Portland. “We discovered that we share common interests.” 

It was a way to summarize it without entering into details. Though Miles seemed quite convinced. 

“It was high time,” he said. “I heard that she's planning to move to New York with Miss Fey.” 

“Yeah, they're looking for an apartment,” Phoenix smiled, remembering how excited Maya was about it. “Honestly, it wouldn't surprise me that they end up engaged by next year.” 

“Me neither,” Miles leaned the head on his fist, stirring the spoon around the liquid. “I have never seen Franziska this committed. And she often gets quite serious with these things.” 

“I know,” Phoenix crackled. “She's practically family by now. Trucy already calls her Aunt Franziska.” 

Miles smiled faintly. “I'm glad to hear that.” 

Though Phoenix wished Miles were family too. They could spend holidays together, celebrate birthdays, and go for dinner. Go on walks and shopping. He could take a stable job and Miles could do whatever he wanted, either be a teacher or a cop– it didn’t matter. A sudden rush made Phoenix have the impulse to tell him so. But reality was too far from where his dreams wanted to stay. 

A comfortable silence remained between them while Miles had his drink. The morning's argument seemed to have been forgiven. However, Phoenix knew that at some point a conversation must be held between them. Right when he was about to open his mouth, Miles talked first. 

“I need to ask you something,” Miles said. “It is risky, but primordial if we want this case to be solved.” 

His words awakened Phoenix’s curiosity, making him forget what he was about to say. “What is it?” 

Miles rested in the back of the chair, crossing his arms. “Next week, I want you to come with me.”

“Where?”

“To Oregon State University,” Miles explained. “To help me with the investigation.” 

“Why? What about Agent Lang?” Phoenix asked, shocked by the sudden proposal. 

“Shi-Long is coming too,” Miles clarified. “But you know Vera's case details better than any of us. Your skills would be helpful too.”

Phoenix wanted to help, but his head was full of doubts. What could he do? He was useless in the field as long as he walked with a crutch. “I'm not an FBI agent anymore… And I'm injured.”

“You want to find Vera, don't you?” Miles asked sharply. 

Almost instinctively, Phoenix nodded without hesitation. 

“Then you have to be on board. There's nobody better than you for this mission.” 

What he'd been looking for. A possibility to restore his and Maya's reputation, was presented by Miles’ hand. 

He saw hope again in achieving the promise he'd made to Franziska, Maya, and Trucy. Initially, finding Vera could've been enough, but working alongside the BAU increased his potential redeeming. 

“What about the shooter?” he asked, concerned about the consequences. “What if someone recognizes me? What if I put you at risk again?” 

“That won't happen,” Miles reassured, then smiled. “You enjoyed going undercover, didn't you?” 

A sudden rush of excitement traveled Phoenix’s body through a shiver. Thinking about going on the field again made him feel goosebumps. His own body told him that there was no reason to doubt. He was going to do it. 

“Are you sure about this?” Phoenix asked, needing a confirmation. And Miles nodding was all he needed. "Say less. I'm in." 

Chapter Text

“I imagined your place a bit less… Gloomy,” he said. “Guess houses resemble their owners. Or were dogs?”

“What are you doing here?” 

Miles had just got out of Phoenix's room after he'd fallen asleep after having his dinner when he heard the knocking. Shi-Long was standing outside, in the middle of the night, carrying a bag.

“Aren't you happy to see me?” Shi-Long asked, smirking. 

“That's not the point,” Miles was indeed happy that Shi-Long was back sooner than expected. However, unexpected things weren't his cup of tea. “How did you come through the door?”

“It was open,” Shi-Long shrugged. “You probably should lock it with a key,”

Miles crossed his arms, slightly annoyed by his rebellious attitude. He hadn't heard from him for days, and now he was standing on his porch. “You ought to have called.” 

“Oh, come on! Don't start with your frowning,” Shi-Long turns his face, giving Miles his tightened jaw. A few seconds later, he sighed. “Alright, I'm sorry. I wanted it to be a surprise, but I should've called you anyway. Happy?” 

Miles loosened up his shoulders and nodded. I should be glad he came. 

“May I come in?” Shi-Long requested, tilting his head. 

Setting himself aside, Miles let him come inside. With a triumphant smile, Shi-Long walked in, removing his shoes right away. “Where’s Mr. Wright?”

“Asleep,” Miles said, handing him a pair of slippers. 

“He’s still sick?”

“In recovery.” 

It was the third day of Phoenix sickness, and in the last twenty-four hours, some progress could be seen. He hadn't suffered from high fever and his coughing was getting less frequent. 

Warm showers, soups, medicine, and rest seemed to be working pretty well for him. Miles felt glad to see him get better as the first day he had been at the edge of panic. 

That morning he was able to contact Karin, who told him that he was doing exactly what he was required to do. She still couldn't make it there for at least a week more, but Miles was relieved by her words, and told her not to worry. He was able to handle it for three days, so a week more would be easy. Besides, Miles expected Phoenix to be fully recovered by the beginning of the week after. 

His injury seemed to be getting better. Miles could appreciate how the scar had started forming around the stitches, which was a good sign. However, the part where one came out still needed some attention and daily disinfection. 

Taking care of Phoenix was a… Particular experience. Miles couldn't say that he enjoyed it, but something in seeing Phoenix get better thanks to him felt comforting. Fulfilling even. 

Perhaps that was part of what his love for him was about. 

“May I offer you some coffee? Tea?”

“Tea'll be nice,” Lang said, putting down his bag. 

Miles guided him to the kitchen, wondering if he should or not show his garage’s discoveries to Lang. Cults weren’t even considered as a line of investigation, but any records regarding organized groups (no matter the kind) could turn out to be helpful. 

“Have Courtney and Teneiro come with you?” Miles asked, placing the pot in the kitchen. 

“No, they stayed in DC,” Lang sat by the table, releasing a tired sigh. “I hope you make tea as I taught you to.”

“After how tiresome you were about it, how could I not?” Miles said. “I have practiced brewing these past days.”

“Making tea with great skill takes time to learn,” he said as if he was reciting a poem. “Lang-Zi said that no matter how long the path, the outcome will always be rewarding.” 

“He said it referring to tea brewing?” 

“Probably not,” Lang shrugged. “I wasn't there. But it can be applied to any situation.” 

Shi-Long referenced his ancestors quite often when he mentioned any cultural fact, whether about his family or country's traditions. Miles usually found it interesting, though there were occasions when he used it to show his eccentric side. 

Miles brought the tea to the table. The steam created a soft cloud of mist as a barrier between them. 

“I didn't expect you to come back so soon,” Miles confessed, still wondering what Shi-Long was doing there. “What changed?” 

“We made a discovery,” Shi-Long announced.“I'm here to explain the situation to Celeste. Besides, you really seemed to be needing some help.”

“Discovery?” 

“During the night of the shooting, there was a… Mistake,” his partner tilted his head in doubt before speaking further. “Y'see, I send a CSI team of my confidence to make the forensic analysis of the scene. They found no evidence of someone being kidnapped there.” 

Just as Miles had feared– Vera Misham wasn't in the building. Someone had coaxed Phoenix, and he had fallen into the trap. 

“However, they found traces of an inhibitor.” 

Miles frowned. “Inhibitor?” 

“Remember when you tried to reach me through dispatch but nobody answered?”

He nodded. 

“Edgeworth, they knocked out our communications,’ Shi-Long explained. “You couldn't reach me because your communicator wasn't working inside the building.”

In disbelief, Miles shook his head. “That's impossible…”

“Think about it,” the agent blurted.“I never turn off my communicator. Less if you are going alone somewhere. And even if that was the case, Dispatch would've responded to your call.”

Miles was having trouble ordering his thoughts. He didn't know how to react to the new information Lang was giving to him. Did it mean that the people who meant to harm Phoenix knew he'd go to help him out? 

“What about when I was out of the building?”

“The inhibitor works at a nine-foot radius. And it's remote-controlled. After the shooting, it was turned off and auto-destroyed.” 

At that moment, Miles was doing all he could to arrange his memories of that night. Every image, every sound, every smell… There had to be something that pointed out things weren’t right. The idea of him missing any sign of danger wouldn’t fit in his mind.  “I didn't hear an explosion…”

“Edgeworth… You were in shock when they found you. It's normal for you to not remember any strange sounds.” 

“What you are saying is that someone was targeting Mr. Wright,” Miles affirmed. 

“The thing is that Basil dug on it a bit and got in touch with Dispatch and Portland PB communication services…” Lang made a pause, sipping a bit of his tea. “There was an error in the system the day we arrived. It barely lasted a few minutes, but it seems that they were hacked. Someone stole information about the BAU.” 

“What kind of information?” 

“Our badge numbers…” Shi-Long sighed. “And communicator signal.” 

“They were controlling the BAU?”

“You and me, specifically.”

Miles thought he was already used to federal cases taking twists and turns. Though being spied on was never into his expectations. 

“Wait… That afternoon, I wanted to go on my own and you let me, but I took our car…” 

“I think they believed we were both going to that building.” 

“But what has Mr. Wright to do in all this?”

“I think they knew we’d talked to him,” Shi-Long served himself some tea before continuing. “They probably believed he'd contact us if something related to the case happened.” 

“So the target wasn't Phoenix,” Miles finally understood it. “It was us .” 

Shi-Long nodded. “But they didn't count on his adventurous side.”

Miles had never been so glad to have bugged Phoenix's phone. If he'd never decided to monitor his movements to make sure he was safe, Phoenix would’ve died. 

A big pressure was starting to compress his chest. He had tried to go on with it, but the bullet that grazed his head had been recorded in his subconsciousness. Running out of air, he took a big chunk of air through the nose. 

“Hey, Edgeworth,” Shi-Long’s voice called, “Are you alright?”

He'd black out, and the voice made him recover the notion of self. 

Miles took the cup of tea to his mouth, drinking unhurriedly with the fear that he might choke. He nodded slowly. “What are we going to do?”

Laying back, Shi-Long groaned with tiredness. “First and foremost, send Mr. Wright home.”

A familiar sensation of vulnerability flooded Miles with memories. A time ago, he didn’t want Phoenix back in his life. And now they had reunited, the idea of him leaving his side awakened his worst fears. Somehow, Miles knew that if he lost Phoenix this time, it would be forever. 

“We need him, Lang,” Miles argued. He had fought for Phoenix once, and nothing could stop him from doing it twice. “As soon as he recovers he can be useful. He knows things about Vera Misham’s case that we do not know of.”

Shi-Long smirked. “I imagined you’d get attached to him sooner or later.”

“It’s not about that,” Miles said sharply, trying to sound confident. Would Shi-Long be smart enough to catch him hiding his feelings?

“Nevertheless, it’s what Andrews commanded,” Shi-Long brushed it off. “We cannot argue with it.”

Superintendent Andrew’s commands were the authority argument that could end any conversation within the FBI. What she says goes. Miles stood against her time ago. He, unlike others, didn’t fear her– He respected her, as he’d respected Lana and Mia or any who held power man or woman. Veneration could not work without obedience. 

Miles felt the weight of his body heavier, a sign of how overwhelmed he was getting. He needed to go to bed and sleep on it. 

“If you don’t mind, I need to process all this,” he confessed, urged to take a somnolitic.

Shi-Long seemed to understand, as he quickly put the matter to rest. "We’ll discuss it in the morning."

Miles nodded. Sleeping on it would be best. "Are you staying the night?"

"That’s my plan," Shi-Long confirmed with a short nod. "We still don’t know if my communications are being monitored, and although the area is secure, it’s better if we stick together."

Miles realized how risky it had been to leave the house for errands and continue with the investigation. What if they had been followed unknowingly? He silently thanked the heavens that nothing had happened to Phoenix during his absence.

"I agree," he admitted.

Shi-Long finished his tea, placing the now-empty cup on the table. Miles followed suit and began tidying up. Still in a state of semi-shock, he left everything by the sink, deciding to clean up in the morning. After, he accompanied Shi-Long to the entryway to grab his things.

"You can sleep in my room," Miles offered. "I’ll take my sister’s bed."

"No need," Shi-Long replied. "The couch will do just fine."

"In that case, I need to show you something."

Shi-Long’s expression shifted, curiosity and puzzlement crossing his features.

Miles had left his father’s box in the living room and now seemed like a good time to share his discovery. After turning on the light, he approached the table.

"I found this in the garage. It belonged to my father," Miles explained. "It’s a collection of articles and police reports about violent cult cases in Portland. For some reason, I had a hunch it might be useful."

"Violent cults are rare. Most cases are just remnants of the satanic panic era," Shi-Long noted. "Why do you think it’s connected?"

"We’re dealing with a criminal organization, aren’t we? What is that if not a cult?"

Shi-Long tilted his head on both sides, acting hesitant. “I guess we could take a look.” 

Miles took his words as an agreement. However, it was not the time to go through his father’s old case files. 

“Then it’s better to keep it safe. At least until we go through it,” he said, taking the box with both hands. "I am going upstairs to grab pillow and blankets. Do you want to come with me and I show you the house?” 

“Sure,” Shi-Long agreed as he dropped the bag next to the couch. “Would you show me the Batcave too?”

Not knowing how his sly smile could always make Miles smirk. No matter how stupid the joke was. “Very funny.” 

Before going upstairs, Miles glances briefly at the door at the end of the hall. He wondered in worry how was he going to tell Phoenix about the new discoveries as it wouldn’t be an easy task. The only thing he could think of was to sleep on it as well. 

“So… This is your room,” Shi-Long said. “I didn't know you liked shows for kids that much.” 

He handed Shi-Long an extra pillow he held inside his wardrobe. 

“I do,” Miles shrugged, not seeing any problem with it. 

Shi-Long stepped inside, wandering behind Miles’ back. “You also have a lot of books... Nice chessboard.” 

“Thanks.” 

Downstairs, he arranged the sofa to make it look similar to a small bed. 

“Is it comfortable?” He asked once Shi-Long got settled. 

“Very much,” he nodded. 

“Well then… See you in the morning,” Miles said. 

“Miles,” he called, making him turn about. “Don't be too harsh on yourself about what happened. Mr. Wright risked himself by not contacting us, though there's no one to blame. Only those damn Brand Killers.” 

He knew what Shi-Long was doing– trying to read him. But he wasn’t in the mood to express himself. In any form. “Goodnight, Shi-Long,” 

And just like that, his partner surrendered. “Goodnight.”

-

The next morning Miles found Shi-Long already up. One of the few things they had in common was their bad sleep habits. More than once they’ve had coffee at five in the morning while admiring the views of the city they were at for a mission. Sometimes, in Virginia, they met for early runs. Miles never thought insomnia could get him so close to someone. 

While Shi-Long had a shower, he was in charge of making coffee. Leaning on the counter, diving deeply into his thoughts, Miles stared at the coffee maker. There were still plenty of things he hadn’t assumed. How to tell Phoenix the truth was at the top of the list. 

Hopefully, time would play in his favor. He’d wait for Phoenix to wake up. Until then, he had a couple of hours to think about it. 

As soon as Shi-Long arrived, the coffee was ready. “Smells great,” he said before serving himself a cup. 

“Would you like something to eat?” Miles asked with courtesy. 

“No, I’m fine,”  Shi-Long sipped out of his cup. “Mind if I start with our plan?” 

Miles stood against the counter to face him and nodded. “Go on.” 

“First, we'll meet with Celeste. I want to see what Organized Crime is up to. Then, we talk to the families and visit Portland University. Two victims were reported to be students, maybe the teachers know something,” his partner was pretty facile about what plans meant. “That’d be for today. Depending on the info we find, we can move into our next step.”

As usual, there would be a part of improvisation. In the end, cases could take a twist at any point. That was the least of his concerns. “Would it be safe to leave the house?”

“I talked with two of my men,” Shi-Long explained. “They'll be around to make sure no one approaches the property.” 

But still, Miles wasn’t trustworthy after what Shi-Long had told him the night before. “What about us? Aren't we being watched?” 

“Don't worry. I brought new communicators with me,” the agent assured. “You've used the phone I gave you?”

“Only once or twice. I haven't talked to Kay in a few days,” Phoenix had used the phone more than himself. But would never confess it. “Have you checked on them before coming?” 

Shi-Long nodded. “I went by yesterday morning,” 

A certain concern rose within his chest. Miles hadn’t talked to either Ema or Kay in days. And he knew how chaotic they could get when he was gone for a few days, “Are they doing alright?” 

“They're fine…  Ema is busy with research and plans to take a break during the holidays.”

“Did she like her new microscope?” Miles asked. He hadn’t asked her the last time he talked to her.   

“It's exactly what she wanted,” Shi-Long confirmed

“What about Kay?”

“She cannot wait for the spring break. Who knows? Maybe they will come visit.”

There was a small pause. 

“You worry too much.”

Miles knew it well. But at that moment he was just an anxious mess that couldn’t have a single clear thought in his head. “Good grief… I swear this situation is frustrating,” he confessed. 

“Hey, don't worry. We'll figure things out…”

The heavy steps approaching made Miles instantly look to the door. Phoenix was there, in pajamas and with a slightly tired expression on his face. After being bedridden for four days, Miles couldn’t be more happy to see him walking. However, when their eyes met for a trace of a second, Miles felt the sudden urge to gaze away. Not because of shame, but because of guilt. 

“Good morning, Mr. Detective!” Lang greeted. “Feeling better?”

“Yes, a lot better. Thank you.” Phoenix sounded a bit dull. Miles attributed it to the tiredness. He tried to brainstorm what to do then. He hadn’t counted on Phoenix getting well so soon. And though he was glad for him to be feeling better, Miles wished he had more time. Time to think how he’d tell Phoenix the truth about Vera’s call– and the reason why he was mistakenly shot. 

Aware that Shi-Long wouldn’t have any reservations to tell Phoenix right away, Miles started to feel a growing pain in his chest as the anxiety crept in. He hadn’t even started to process it, and less to come to terms with the situation. The thought of bringing Phoenix back to bed so he could be given more time sounded like the best option he had. 

Putting the mug down, he approached Phoenix. Miles didn’t pretend to be in such a rush, but his body seemed to be reacting as fast as it could to protect Phoenix. 

“Come, you should go back to bed,” he said, intending to help him turn around. 

However, Phoenix's reaction wasn’t as pleasing. Instead, he stepped back. “I'm fine. I want to have breakfast here…”

But Miles needed to insist, putting up the excuse he could come with. “Let me check your fever first.”

“I can do it myself,” Phoenix argued, pulling back. 

Miles felt frustrated. With his eyes about to get watery, he was about to open his mouth again when Shi-Long talked. “Come on, Edgeworth. Allow him to stay,” he said. “He’s been in bed for days. Let him breathe.” 

That’s exactly why Miles couldn’t let him be there. However, it seemed that there was nothing else he could do. He put his hand away and stepped back, filled with regret. 

“Tea?” Miles asked. 

Letting Phoenix go, he went back to his spot and turned the kettle on. As he waited for the water to be warmed up, he grabbed his mug again. Hoping for Shi-Long not to mention anything was useless. He could try and extend the time. Telling Phoenix himself was all he asked. However, if Shi-Long decided to mention it suddenly, there were few chances Miles would be able to avoid it. 

When the toasts were read, Miles brought breakfast to the table, placing the things in front of Phoenix. "Here you go," he whispered.

Back to the counter, Miles poured himself more coffee. He tried not to think more of it and instead focused on what concerned him the most: going back to investigate. 

Then, Shi-Long reopened their conversation. “Any updates about the victim?”

“The family identified her yesterday,” Miles replied. “A chemistry student at the University of Oregon. She had taken the weekend off to celebrate a friend’s birthday.”

“The pattern repeats,” 

Miles nodded. “He’s back into women again… This could confirm that the original Brand Killer is still alive and we’re not facing a copycat.”

“Nor a loner pupil,” Shi-Long noted. 

But Miles and Shi-Long didn’t need more confirmations. They needed answers. “Perhaps Chief Badd and Mr. Shields can provide us with their testimonies. I was young at the time, there might be details about the Organized Crime implications that I’m unaware of.”

“Good idea. We could ask them, too,” Shi-Long said. 

From away, he observed Phoenix from the distance. Still, with slow movements, he gently chewed his food. After days of only eating sick food, Miles was glad to enjoy a meal without needing help. 

With Shi-Long's presence, things were about to change in a snap of a second. If he decided to stay for a few days, the dynamic between Miles and Phoenix could easily become even more complicated. Even so, Miles wasn't thrilled with the idea of having to do someone else's laundry or doing meals for three. 

“Mr. Wright should be told,” Lang said suddenly.

The request made his head shake. Phoenix had to be told indeed, but not like that. Not by Shi-Long, not before he could time to figure out the right words. “We should wait…”

“Why? He’ll find out soon enough,” 

It was obvious that Shi-Long wasn’t thinking the same way. He had never been sensitive about this kind of thing, so Miles wasn’t surprised. 

But whatever he tried to say wouldn’t stop the situation from happening. Phoenix was already locked in, so all Miles could do was nod and agree to Shi-Long’s intentions. 

He saw how Phoenix’s expression changed bit by bit. Even not being good at identifying emotions, Miles was experienced enough with profiling to recognize anger and disappointment in his face.

“Damn it...” Phoenix muttered under his breath, feeling the weight of his decision press down on him.

Unable to hold it anymore, he approached Phoenix in an attempt to comfort him. “You couldn’t have known. The situation was too chaotic. But we have to focus on what we know now. The killers didn’t intend for you to be involved.”

“But I was,” Phoenix countered, his voice low and tight. “And I dragged you into it too.”

“We were already involved,” Miles reminded him. “This case was always going to be dangerous. What matters now is that we stay ahead of them.”

"So... what now? You think they're still after you?"

Miles’ heart ached. He’d never seen Phoenix looking so low. He’s definitely hurt. I knew it. But there’s nothing I can do. This is my fault too. 

It was funny, he suddenly felt drawn to hug him but had to hold himself.

Before Shi-Long could start arguing with him, Miles interrupted their conversation. “Come, I have to change your bandage.” 

Phoenix didn’t put up any resistance. Looking down, he limped through the corridor. Miles had the urge to offer him a hand, but he noticed Phoenix had gotten better in his walking. At that moment, he wondered if he would want to go back to New York now that he was recovering faster. 

"I know it's too much to process," Miles tried to empathize with him. He didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable about what Shi-Long had said. "You are free to ask questions about it."

"Since when has he been here?" 

That’s not precisely the kind of question I was expecting

"He arrived last night," Miles responded, not giving much importance. He prepared the iodine and the tools he would use to change Phoenix’s bandage. After setting the first aid kit aside, Miles carefully removed Phoenix’s pants.

He tried to keep a straight face. Removing his pants shouldn’t be a thing to be nervous about, he needs to get his wound cured, Miles repeated himself for the umpteenth time. Yet still, his face and palms felt warm. 

"I thought you were taking charge of the case," Phoenix 

"Technically, Organized Crime is in charge. I'm here as an advisor. A supporting agent for Portland PB," Miles explained, concentrating on the healing. "However, I cannot go further as I would want to without Lang. I have the knowledge, but he has experience and contacts. People respect him and take him seriously. Besides, we are a team," he added. 

Phoenix went quiet, which made Miles raise his sight. He instantly noticed a slight grimace on his face. “Where did he sleep?”

He must be feeling feverish again. Miles assumed. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be asking such senseless questions. “On the couch.”

“Did your other teammates come too?”

“No, just him,” Miles smirked, finding it a bit funny. “What's with the cross-examination?” 

"Is there something between you both?" 

That question puzzled Miles the most. There were a few interpretations he could give: “something” as referring to the plan, “something” as referring to secrets, “something” as romantic feelings…“I don't know what you mean...”

“Do you love him?” 

Miles was stunned. He frowned, not understanding why Phoenix was asking such a thing. Did he love Shi-Long? He’d asked himself that same question a time ago, though the answer had been no. No, absolutely not

"No," he replied. Miles had never had someone he could call a friend. But he strongly believed that Shi-Long could be the first. “Shi-Long is my friend. The thing between us is friendship. There could never be something else.” 

“Why?” 

Because I love you, silly. Or at least that’s what he should’ve said if fear and pain hadn’t taken control of him every time he tried to show his feelings. “Because relationships between agents are forbidden, perhaps?” Instead, he came up with a logical answer. And though there was some truth within it, it wasn’t the real reason. “I am a rule follower. I would never date him nor allow myself to have a crush.” 

“You're right… I'm sorry.” 

“I have friends, you know?” Miles wanted to clarify it. “Friends who aren't girls in their twenties nor my sister. Or perhaps you think I fall in love with every man I work with?” 

“It’s not about that…” 

The thermometer beeped, interrupting their conversation. Miles took it out of Phoenix’s armpit. 

“Ninety-nine point eight,” Miles said after glancing at it. “You must rest. Remember to eat and take medication with every meal. There's food in the fridge.” 

Phoenix leaned forward. “You're leaving?”

“Lang and I have to talk to some witnesses. We might also go to a few locations, too. So I'll probably be gone until the afternoon." 

Miles wrapped a new fabric strip around Phoenix's leg, gathering things up afterward. 

The thought of being alone at the house made Phoenix feel weird. Miles had gone out on two occasions without him knowing, but still. Phoenix didn't want him to leave. He wanted Miles to stay by his bed for a full day. For them to eat together, spend time together, talk, or share the silence. Just like it had been for the past week. 

Those thoughts made him egoistic, and childish and reassured his jealous behavior. Because Phoenix couldn't do anything about it. And Miles had a duty to fulfill. 

“I left you another book in the living room as we finished the last one yesterday,” Miles said, standing up. “Don't do anything stupid or crazy while I'm gone. Please.” 

“I won't,” Phoenix said. Miles could do nothing but hope he would keep the promise.

Miles met Shi-Long in the living room, who was already changing his clothes. “Is he okay?” 

“Mmh,” Miles nodded. “He needs time, that's all.” 

Although to be honest, he didn't know if the one who needed time was Phoenix or himself.

“You should get ready,” Shi-Long said.

He nodded again before going to his room. Miles thought that a long day of work would do him good. It meant forgetting his sentimental problems for at least eight hours, which could also help him to think about a thing or two. 

-

“Shi-Long Lang,” Celeste greeted from behind his desk. “What brings you here, Wolf?” 

“Just wanted to check on my partner,” Shi-Long said with a smirk. “Is he being helpful?” 

“Very much so,” the commander confirmed, gazing briefly at Miles. “But, you don't pretend that I believe that's the only reason, do you?” 

“The BAU will officially assist Organized Crime in this case,” his partner revealed. Though Miles assumed Celeste already knew. “Let's say that Andrews is not content with how things are escalating.” 

“I'm aware of it. Having more victims as time passes is not something pretty to see… And hiding an ex-FBI agent as a protected witness in the city is certainly stressful to all of us.” 

Miles remained toed, though the shocking revelation was about to push him back. Celeste had known about Phoenix all along. 

He should've imagined it. Superintendent Andrews and SSA Impax had worked together for almost twenty-five years. Before they held power positions, they were together in the intelligence unit, and before that, they were college friends. 

Lang chuckled. “Andrews told you, didn't she?”

“She wouldn't hand me a case without all the details,” she said, glancing at Miles. Would he be scolded for holding back important information about the case? 

“Then, you are aware that it must remain a secret for the time being,”

“My lips are sealed,” she assured. 

“Agent Impax, I didn't tell you because the protection of our witness was my primary mission,” Miles tried to justify himself, desperate to not be charged with consequences. “It wasn't my intention to hide information or be untruthful.” 

He felt Lang's eyes on him. For a brief moment, Miles thought he'd say anything in his defense, but he didn't. But he didn't have to. It was his responsibility, therefore he had to face Celeste by himself. 

“Agent Edgeworth,” she said, interlacing her fingers. “There was no fault in your actions. You showed me loyalty and a strong keenness to proceed with your mission. You don't need to apologize for doing your job.” 

Miles nodded, breathing easily now that he knew there wouldn't be any punishment. 

“Well then,” she smiled. Her eyes redirected to Shi-Long, giving an end to the topic. “What's your plan Agent Lang?”

“We'll be visiting the families and Portland University. Most victims were either teachers or students there,” Shi-Long explained. “Evidence proves Manny Coachen was being coerced by someone. Maybe we will find something in his office. Other teachers might give us some info too.” 

“Alright. You have my permission. But solely to go to the University. The families had already been held by my team," Celeste said. “Is that all?” 

“Are there any updates about Vera Misham?” Miles had to ask for her since he hadn't received any news for the past week. 

“I'm afraid there's not,” she said, sighing after. “We're doing everything we can, Agent Edgeworth.”  

Somehow Miles knew it with Celeste's glance– Vera's investigation was a dead end.

They were one of the most resourceful units and still couldn't locate a girl and his boyfriend. There had been a time when he thought that things would be different in the FBI. Yet finding missing girls had been always as difficult as spotting a crown on a dark night. 

When they left the office, Miles noticed Chief Badd sitting in his workspace, looking every bit as unbothered as he usually did. The entire floor seemed taken over by Organized Crime agents, their presence a stark reminder of how much jurisdictional lines had been blurred. He couldn’t help but notice the absence of Detective Shields, and it left him uneasy.

“Will you wait for me for a moment?” he asked Lang, his voice subdued but resolute.

Lang nodded, staying near the elevator. Despite his taciturn demeanor, Lang seemed to be keeping an eye on the chaos around them.

Miles made his way toward the door with purposeful steps. Knocking lightly, he waited as Badd, from behind the glass, waved him inside.

“What brings you here, Miles?” Badd asked, his usual gruffness masking any genuine curiosity.

“We came to talk to Agent Impax. Agent Lang has returned and wants the BAU to fully resume collaboration on the case,” Miles explained, trying to keep the conversation professional.

“I mean to my office, kid,” Badd interrupted, narrowing his eyes.

“Why aren’t you out there with everyone else?” Miles asked, glancing back at the chaotic scene in the main office.

Badd sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Your federal buddies have taken over the homicide and narcotics floors. I’ve got everyone crammed on the fifth floor with the petty crimes team. Not much room to breathe around here.”

Miles’ gaze flicked to a pile of files on the desk and the boxes stacked in the corner. This wasn’t the organized, methodical Badd he was used to seeing, and it unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.

“So, you’re moving there with them tomorrow?” he ventured, his tone betraying a sliver of disbelief.

“Yeah, no choice in the matter,” Badd muttered.

“Have you been removed from the case?” Miles asked, his unease deepening.

“Raymond and I are busy with another one,” Badd replied. “Someone tried to kill a chef at a museum. Thirty-two years ago, there was a similar case at the same place. Looks like the Brand Killer isn’t the only one feeling nostalgic.”

Miles frowned, his mind racing with connections. "That sounds suspiciously like a copycat,” he said, his instincts sharpening. 

Badd gave a solemn nod. “We’re still piecing it together. Raymond’s chasing down some leads. For now, we’re sidelined on your case.”

Miles felt a pang of frustration rise in his chest. “But you can’t drop this case. It’s yours,” he said, trying to suppress the emotion in his voice.

“Kid, things don’t change that easily,” Badd said, shaking his head. “This happened ten years ago, and it’ll happen again ten years from now. Bureaucracy always wins.”

Miles clenched his fists at his sides, struggling to keep his tone even. “Don’t tell me you’re giving up…”

“I don’t give up, kid. You know that,” Badd shot back, his voice firm. “I never said I was going to stop investigating. But I’m playing the long game here. That’s the only way to win.”

Miles studied the older man’s face, searching for any sign of resignation but finding none. Badd’s resolve was unyielding, even in the face of obstacles.

“In that case, the BAU will also work with Portland PD,” Miles said finally, his voice steady with determination.

“Then you’d better bring results. Our big brain resources are limited as you already know,” Badd quipped,  removing the red sweet from his mouth. “Now get out of here. Can’t you see I’m busy?”

As Miles left the office, he felt the weight of Badd’s words settle heavily on his shoulders. It wasn’t just bureaucracy or jurisdiction that they were fighting—it was the inertia of a system resistant to change. And yet, despite everything, Miles couldn’t shake the feeling that this time, they were closer to the truth than they had been in years.

Back outside, Miles pondered how their new line of investigation would impact the case. A sweep on Manny Coachen’s belongings was performed a week before they first arrived. Anyone would assume that all evidence (physical and verbal) had already been collected within the victim’s work environment. However, Shi-Long showed every sign of not being satisfied with it.

Miles questioned himself what was he counting on exactly by going there? “What do you expect to find?”

“Nothing in particular,” Shi-Long said. “But our victimology is still imprecise.”

“Men and women in STEM, is it not? Miles asked. 

“Yeah, but why?” like often, his partner will give further questions about things he already assumed. “You, as well as I, know that something shady was happening to those girls before they were murdered. We need to narrow our victim's characteristics.”

“Manny Coachen and Buddy Faith knew about it. That’s clear,” Miles argued. “Do you think we will find out what it is by going through his stuff?”

“Probably,” Shi-Long shrugged, turning the car on. “Talking with those who worked with him sounds more effective.”

Testimonies. Verbal evidence. 

Usually, family and acquaintances of the victims don't give much information that could impact an investigation. They usually say good things about those who died, highlighting their personality traits and praising accomplishments– things you could expect from someone in grief. 

In profiling not a single person is reliable. Anyone could be lying, even those closest to the victim. 

Shi-Long drove through the city, heading to the campus. In other circumstances, Miles would've insisted on driving himself, though this time he rathered to take the chance and enjoy the view as he hadn’t had the time to take a deep look into his city. 

Miles used to despise his hometown. But as he grew older, he learned to appreciate it. Even with the bad memories he held from his childhood, he could still see beauty on the streets and the places he'd known for his entire life. Places that somewhat changed as time passed– restaurants changed their names, graffiti layered over one another, the people dressed conforming to the trending fashion… For Miles, it was the same old town. Nothing had changed, yet everything had. Even himself. 

He often found himself rambling about the expiration of things. Overall when he was in Portland. The city made him nostalgic. But the homesickness felt more like an angst than a longing. Sometimes he got a knot in his stomach remembering how he used to walk with Franziska to school or spend long afternoons having cookies, tea, and playing chess. As the mid-thirties approached, childhood seemed to be more far than ever. He did not know what exactly he was longing for, whether his childhood or the feeling of ignorance before the world around him.

Brushing his thoughts away, Miles decided to look away from the window. “Who do you pretend to talk to?” Miles knew it was for the best if he asked now about Shi-Long's plans. He was sometimes unpredictable, even during the simplest of the contexts. 

 “Y’know, the new Dean, colleagues…” Shi-Long answered vaguely. “Just whoever. What matters it's his office.”

“You sound pretty convinced that we will find something there,” Miles pointed out, puzzled by his insistence. 

“If you don't want someone to find something, you hide it in your office,” Shi-Long assured, followed by a shrug. “Basic psychology.” 

“I'm not sure that's proven by any means.” 

“But you know it's true. Or at least usual.” 

Miles gave it a second thought. An office is something personal, detached from your domicile, and usually hard to enter if you don't hold a key. 

Personally, as a person who used to have an office, he'd never felt the need to hide something there. However, Miles wasn't the most accurate example to compare a common man with. And less if he kept in mind that Manny Coachen was involved with the Brand Killers. 

“I guess you're right,” Miles admitted. “Nevertheless, are you sure that place hasn't been cleaned up already?”

“It's been two weeks since he was murdered. Not enough to finish grieving,” Shi-Long said. “Besides, I called a few days ago. As long as the investigation continues, nobody is allowed to touch anything. Not even his family.” 

That was the detail Miles was missing. “You could've just said that.” 

“Finding clues is not always an intricate logic puzzle, Edgeworth,” Lang said. “We're profilers. And human behavior is more predictable than most people might think.” 

Miles had gotten used to searching for a stone on every road he walked to. Trying to find the logical explanation for every person's actions. However, he forgot an essential anthropological fact: the human being is irrational. 

In Atlanta, cases were no piece of cake. Precisely, his work consisted of helping desperate Sheriffs and hopeless families. Now at the FBI, he'd witnessed more than one twisted person's actions. Serial killers, kidnappers, thieves… And none of them were like any criminal he'd met before. 

The University of Portland was located North of the city, a step beside the Willamette River. With a structure dated to the beginning of the twentieth century, it felt like time-traveling to another epoque. 

Campus life seemed lively.  Students were walking here and there, either alone or in groups. Some were sitting on the grass, enjoying the sunshine, while others were engrossed in books.

Miles and Shi-Long exited the car and headed towards the main building without hesitation. Their outfits were plain enough to blend in unnoticed. Neither bore any identifying symbols as agents—except, of course, for the holstered pistols at their sides.

There could be seen a grand banner announcing an upcoming Spring ball. The break was right at the corner. Miles had already dismissed all his students, giving them homework for the holidays. Though, none of them seemed content about having an early break from his class. 

Once Shi-Long parked outside the main building, they walked purposefully, though Miles couldn’t help but notice a few curious glances. The police had already been on campus weeks earlier, conducting routine interviews with professors and students. Still, if Miles were one of those students, he’d also find it odd to see two armed men at a university.

At the administrative office, a man stood next to a printer. It took only a glance through the window for him to notice them.

“Good morning,” he greeted nicely. “How can I help you, gentlemen?”

“Supervisory Special Agent Lang and Special Agent Edgeworth,” Shi-Long said as they showed their badges. “We're looking for Colias Paleno.” 

There was a certain shock in the man's expression. Well, of course, two FBI agents showing to his secretary hut wasn't on his schedule for that Thursday. 

“He must be in his office,” he said, trying and hide his nervousness. Though Miles was trained enough to notice doubt in his tone. “Third floor. The fourth door at the right.”

“Thanks,” both said. 

Leaving behind the secretary, they climbed up the old stairs, covered by polished orangie granite. 

Upon their arrival, Miles noticed the door was opened from afar. “Do you have anything prepared?” he asked Shi-Long. 

“Not really,” Shi-Long shrugged. “He sounded cheesy on the phone. You have nothing to worry about.” 

Not until Miles faced Colias Palaeno did he understand what Shi-Long meant. 

The man was wearing a medical suit on top of quite fashionable clothes, though some could categorize his attire as outdated. But what caught the eye was his deep green eyes and his long blond hair. 

He stood up, holding his hands on each other. And, with a soft smile, the professor received them. “You must be the FBI,” he said. “I'm Professor Colias Palaeno.” 

“We talked yesterday,” Shi-Long said, approaching the table to stretch his hand. Miles followed him. “I'm SSA Lang. This is my partner.” 

“Special Agent Edgeworth,” Miles introduced himself, feeling the gentle yet dry shake from Colias’ palm. 

“Welcome to the University of Portland,” Colias greeted nicely, putting his hands together. “How can I help you?” 

“As I told you yesterday, we wanted to inspect Mr. Coachen's office is searching for clues,” Shi-Long explained. “We think there might be something we're missing.” 

“Of course, I'll lead you there,” he said. 

Colias Palaeno looked for something in his desk's drawers. During those few seconds, Miles took time to look around. Just to find how ordinary that office was. 

“Here's the key,” Colias announced, carrying a small keychain in his hand. “Come with me. The Dean's office is upstairs.” 

They followed the professor through the hallway. At first, Miles got a bit distracted, observing the display cabinets and pictures on the walls. Soon enough he realized none of them had asked a question in a few minutes, so he took a step further to walk next to Professor Palaeno. 

“What was your relationship with Mr. Coachen?” Miles asked. 

“We were colleagues. I met him around five years ago when I joined the Physics Department,” the professor explained. 

“How would you describe him?” 

“He was… A great man, if I'm honest. Very dedicated to the classes, his students, and his research,” he made a blue smirk. “We went to a couple of conferences together. Manny was always keen on knowledge and chemistry advances… He was a genius, see. His death is a pity for everyone in STEM.” 

As how Colias Palaeno described him, Manny Coachen didn't seem like the kind of man who gets involved in criminal stuff. 

“The previous days to his death…” Miles introduced the topic, trying to decrease the impact of the question. “Did you notice something different in his attitude?” 

“Well… As I told the Chief, he was stressed. But, we're close to Spring Break, so exams are driving everyone nuts. Both teachers and students,” Palaeno explained. “I guess I presupposed he’d be in an anxious state.” 

Miles arranged the facts in his mind, picking the words as if they were tiny pieces of a bigger puzzle. 

“This ‘anxious state’... Could you describe it in detail?” Miles had rushed too much with the question. “Any significant fact might be relevant.” 

“Manny would lock himself up in his office for several hours,” Palaeno explained. “One time I went to his office to hand him some documents. I found him nervously walking around as if something was troubling him.” 

Taking into account the email Manny Coachen received days prior to his death, the behavior Colias was describing made sense. However, the message was unknown. So all Miles could think of was that Manny Coachen knew someone was after him. But why? 

“We’ve arrived,” announced Colias, taking the key out of his pocket and stepping in front of a thick wooden door. Professor Coachen was written on a golden name tag. 

Just as the door opened, Miles could take a first glance at the office. It was big, as expected for a Dean. 

“We haven't touched anything,” Colias clarified.

Miles went a few steps further, inserting himself into the instance. On the contrary, Shi-Long stayed by the door, next to Palaeno. 

“Has a new Dean been elected yet?” Shi-Long asked. 

“The elections will be performed next semester,” Colias explained. As Shi-Long said, they were still grieving. 

“Who's managing Mr. Coachen's tasks?” 

“I am,” The professor confirmed what Miles had already guessed it minutes prior. “I was the closest to him. The other departments agree.” 

If they didn't know Manny Coachen had been a victim of the Brand Killer, Miles thought the primary suspect would've been Colias Palaeno. He was close to the victim and had a reason: getting the Dean's position. Nevertheless, Colias Palaeno was no murderer, just a man grieving for a deceased friend. 

Shi-Long kept asking questions, but Miles was too focused on his thoughts that he eventually stopped hearing the conversation. 

It came to his attention the grand selection of books Manny Coachen had in his office. Biochemistry, analytic chemistry, chemical engineering… He truly was a very lectured man, Miles thought to himself. 

Looking around, he noticed just two things were pending on the walls: a clock and a diploma. Miles then approached the desk, not without giving a brief glance through the window, from where there could be seen the campus’ gardens. 

Miles placed a hand on the polluted surface, noticing how clean everything was. 

“Has the cleaning service come around?” Miles asked. 

“No. We did as the police told us,” Colias said. “Not to touch anything.” 

Miles instantly knew he was telling the truth. 

Shi-Long seemed to be noticing too that something was off. “Who else has access to this office?” 

“No one…” Colias sounded worried this time. “Is everything okay?”

“I suspect someone has come into this office to look for something,” Miles theorized. “They cleaned everything before their way out.” 

“How can you know…?” Colias asked, intrigued yet shocked. 

“In usual conditions, dust takes just a few minutes to visibly settle,” Miles explained. “Mr. Coachen was here for the last time two weeks ago, cleaning could've been done for that night. But, the police came around the next day. And you've probably picked a few documents from here, am I right? After all, you're taking care of Coachen's tasks.” 

“I guess I cannot deny it…”

“Therefore, all the surface should've been covered by dust. However,” Miles passed a finger above the table, showing it to Shi-Long and Colias. It is completely clean. “This table is impolite. As so are the bookshelves and the floor. Someone came here. And I guess that they whipped out all evidence of their presence. So that's why I ask you. Are you sure no one else has entered this office?” 

“No that I know of…” 

Miles observed Palaeno’s expression for a brief moment. The man looked grief-stricken, sad even. He seemed to take his responsibility over Manny Coachen's belongings quite seriously. 

“I noticed there’s a security camera in the hallway,” Shi-Long intervened. Miles remembered there was a couple, one next to the stairs and the other in the ceiling. “We’ll be needing the footage from the last couple of weeks.”

“I’ll go ask for it,” Colias said, leaving in a rush. 

As soon as he left, Shi-Long approached Miles. “That was easy,”

“Indeed,” Miles affirmed, getting a pair of gloves out of his pocket. 

“Do you actually think something was stolen?”

“I don’t know,” Miles shrugged. “But someone has cleaned the surfaces vigorously.”

Looking around, Shi-Long put on gloves too. “I guess we'll find out once we get the footage.” 

Miles dragged the chair out of its place, leaving a bigger gap between it and the desk. He crouched, examining the drawers. He had to look for any suspicious-looking nook and cranny. Inside, there was common office stuff. 

“If you were Manny Coachen, where would you hide stuff?” Shi-Long asked, going through the bookshelves. 

“I think that's a question for Agent Courtney,” Miles said in a sort of joke attempt. After all, Justine was the expert in victimology and crime scenery. 

Shi-Long chuckled. “Yeah. Unfortunately, she’s not here.”  

Miles smirked as he closed the drawers. “Why did you leave them in DC, though?” 

“Courtney wanted a few days with her child, and Teneiro is attending a committee in Penn.”

“I didn’t know that Agent Courtney had a child…” The suddenness of the fact had left Miles both amazed and confused. 

His partner shrugged. “Well, you know now.”

After two years, he thought that he knew his team well enough. However, if he thoroughly analyzed the situation, Miles would have spent more time sitting on a chair than in real fieldwork. And, when he actually went on trips with them three, the time spent with Justine and Patricia was purely work-related. It was Shi-Long with whom he shared personal conversations and leisure time. 

I don’t talk to them about Ema and Kay, Miles acknowledged. There’s no need for them to share their personal lives with me either. 

“These are ordinary books,” Shi-Long scoffed. “Inside an ordinary office.” 

“Certainly, there's nothing suspiciously-looking,” Miles agreed. “Or at least not at first sight...” 

The rug caught Miles’ attention. It was big, red and perhaps expensive. Its extension delimited a couple of feet from the walls, so it was perfectly centered. 

Suddenly, he noticed how one of the edges was a bit lifted by the tip, while the other edges were perfectly flat. 

Miles crouched again, being sure that he wasn't stepping on the rug. 

“What are you doing?” Shi-Long asked. 

Without a second thought, Miles pulled up the rug, making it partially roll on itself. To his surprise, there was nothing. 

Shi-Long was already behind him, observing the nihilism of his discovery. 

“Wait,” he said before Miles could pull the rug back to its place. “That wood marble is a bit loose.” 

Narrowing his eyes a bit, Miles could see what Shi-Long was referring to. There was a bigger gap between one marble and the others. 

Carefully, he dragged it, pulling it out. Under the wood, a small compartment was discovered. It was less than a foot large; Inside, a tin box. 

“Guess you've found Coachen's secret,” Shi-Long said. 

Miles took the box out, checking it didn't have anything attached to it. It looked old, but not enough to be threadbare.  

He expected all kinds of things: erotic pictures, a gun, human remains… Perhaps his mind had become a bit more twisted since he joined the FBI. Nevertheless, he opened it without a single trace of fear. 

“Letters?” Shi-Long sounded disappointed by the box's content. 

“Letters,” Miles nodded, confirming the ordinary finding. However, something made him know that those were the leads they'd been searching for. 

“Who are they addressed to?” 

Taking the first letter on top, Miles read the signature. In shock, he held his breath. It could be. 

“Horace Knightley,” he read, surprised as he became aware of the name. “Wait, this name…” 

No, it can’t be possible

“What? Do you know him or something?” Shi-Long asked. 

“We used to play chess together when we were kids…” Miles explained. “I can believe it. It's been twenty years.” 

“If you know him, that's an advantage for us,” Shi-Long said. “Do you know where he lives? We can go talk to him right now,” 

“That's the thing… He's in jail,” Miles clarified. “Knightley was arrested for possession and trafficking a few years ago.” 

Looking at the letter again, the doubt rose in Miles. Investigating a case from his past had brought back memories, though he didn't expect old acquaintances to be involved too. If he thought about it thoroughly, there couldn't have been a chance for him to even imagine that Manny Coachen would be exchanging letters with a drug dealer– and specifically Horace Knightley. 

“The security guard is prepping the tape for you,” Colias Palaeno suddenly appeared through the door. He toed, observing Miles as he was still crouched holding the box. He was surely shocked by discovering his dear colleague was hiding something under the floor. “What's that?” 

“Have you ever heard of the name Horace Knightley?” Shi-Long asked without a previous explanation. 

“No,” Colias shook his head.

“Did Mr. Coachen ever mention having a pen pal? Or maintaining contact with someone in jail?”

Palaeno seemed even more confused with the questions. “No, no… I don’t see why he'd contact a criminal.” 

Miles placed the marble in its place. Covering the floor with the rug, he made sure it had a good aspect by stroking it with his hand. Then, he stood up and held the box. 

“That's what we need to find out,” Miles knew they were close to discovering what Manny Coachen was on, though he maintained his calm tone. “We're taking the box.” 

“Of course…” 

Colias knew less than they had previously thought. The confusion was clearly seen in his expression. He was probably questioning himself if he actually knew Manny Coachen– and the answer was probably no. 

Miles and Shi-Long followed Professor Palaeno to the security room. There, a guard on duty handed them the tapes. After that, they farewelled Colias in the main campus’ garden. 

“I should head to class,” he said after accompanying them outside. A dash of concern remained on his face. “I hope that what you've found will be helpful.” 

“We hope so too,” Shi-Long smirked, attempting to cheer him up. “Don't worry Mr. Palaeno. This case is in good hands.” 

Colias raised one of his lips’ corners in an attempt to smile, though all he achieved was a sad grin. “Thank you, gentlemen. Have a good day,” 

“You too,” Miles wished him. 

Leaving the campus behind, Miles followed Shi-Long to the car. Their mission had been accomplished. What's more, they had found a lead that might connect Manny Coachen with something muddy. Even though Miles should've been proud of their discovery, a strange feeling of spook made him feel goosebumps down his back. 

“What should we do now?” Miles asked.

“Visit that friend of yours,” he said with certainty as he turned the car on. “And see what he has to tell us. Where is he?”

“In Oregon State Penitentiary,” Miles wasn't so sure about if it was the best idea. “I think we should send these footage to the laboratory first. Besides, I thought that Mr. Wright could help us find any leads to Glen Elg.”

But Shi-Long didn't agree. “I don't think we should involve him in all this.” 

“Him helping doesn't necessarily imply he's involved,” Miles said, insisting subtly. 

“But should we allow him to?” Shi-Long turned his face to him. “He's a civilian now. With a family waiting for him on the other side of the country. As you said, he's dumbly blunt. Don't you think we should keep him away from all this?” 

He hadn't thought about those details. Phoenix was close to going back home to his daughter. Involving him in the case was a selfish act Miles couldn't allow himself at the moment.

“Let's go talk to Knightley,” Miles commanded, changing the topic as he didn't want to discuss it anymore. Shi-Long just nodded. 

-

A long trip awaited them. Before heading to the road, they stopped by a diner to rest and organize their strategy. Shi-Long made a few calls, informing them of their new findings at Manny Coachen’s office. 

With his food remaining untouched, Miles was looking at the plate nonstop. The sounds and smells surrounding him had shut up, and only his thoughts remained within his own self. Six years and four months had passed since the last time he visited Oregon Penitentiary. Going back didn’t strictly have to mean anything, however, the mixed feelings were making him question whether it was a good idea to go. 

“Edgeworth,” Shi-Long called. 

Miles raised his head, and instantly his senses turned on again. “Pardon?”

“I said that we should leave in an hour,” Shi-Long repeated what Miles hadn’t heard. “Celeste is already informed. Could you contact the Penitentiary?”

He nodded. “Of course.”

With his gaze back to his food, Miles took the fork. He didn’t have an appetite, but still thought he ought to eat. As he took the first bite, the flavor stimulation encouraged him to keep going. 

It was an hour-long drive to Salem. Every minute that passed, Miles felt the knot in his stomach growing bigger and stronger. Maybe he had eaten faster than usual as a consequence of his anxiety. Now he was starting to feel the physical consequences. 

He couldn't get himself to call the Penitentiary. So, instead, he texted Chief Badd, asking him if he could arrange an interview with Knigley. I'll see what I can do, was all he said. 

“I don’t know if they will receive us,” Miles confessed. 

But Shi-Long didn’t seem to care much about it. “Let’s not lose our hope so soon.”

Filled with fear and uncertainty, Miles let Shi-Long talk during the rest of the drive. Listening to him made Miles slowly forget about the things that made him nervous. Everything that existed now and then was the car, Shi-Long, and his monologue about research. 

That way the trip felt more pleasant, and at the same time felt shorter. When Miles noticed, they were already there. 

Solely observing its outside structure, he felt his body tense. Knowing that all the men he'd arrested over the years congregated in the same building was a strange thought. And his adoptive father sharing space with them made it more complicated to picture. 

He used to go visit him weekly but quickly lost the habit when he fully poured himself into the job. With time, he'd stop calling too, until contact was cut when he left for Atlanta. Father had sent him letters once, but Miles was too angry to even think of responding. 

The resentment had grown over the years, as the trials were celebrated and new evidence came to light. At first, Miles thought he'd be able to forgive him. But his father's greed had left a twenty-year-old in charge of a teenager. Two kids. His kids  Alone. 

Manfred had never been a model father. He was barely home since Greta died, relaying on Miles the task of raising Franziska. Becoming her legal guardian felt more like a legalization of what was already more than an act of changing guardianship.

But Miles wasn't visiting his father. He was about to interview a witness, so any personal thoughts of his must be stepped aside. 

“I hope they like surprise visits,” Shi-Long joked while he drove approaching the entrance. 

He didn't think so. 

“Shi-Long Lang, FBI,” Shi-Long showed his badge to the warden guarding the entrance. “We're here to visit a recluse.” 

Without any further wait, the barrier went up. Badd had made some arrangements. But something inside of Miles wished he never had. That way, he'd have a major excuse to go home. To go back to Phoenix. 

Miles took a deep breath before stepping out of the car as if he were a diver about to submerge into deep unknown waters. Though Miles knew that place all too well as it was the scenario of most of his nightmares. 

Seeing the director waiting for them outside didn't make it any better. To add up, Miles would be obliged to have an awkward conversation with her. 

“Miles!” she said as she grinned. “Welcome back.” 

Patricia Roland was a luxurious woman. Always wearing fur clothing and expensive items like golden jewelry or pearls. She was known to be a great authority within the law enforcement field– being the penitentiary's director for almost twenty-five years helped her to build a reputation. 

Her lips stood out with a deep carmine color, and her blond frizzy hair floated over his shoulders as if it was a cloud. 

“Hello, Patricia,” Miles greeted, keeping his hands inside the jacket. Retracting his body was his only chance to avoid a hug. “This is Agent Lang, my partner in the BAU.” 

“A pleasure, ma'am,” Shi-Long said, extending his hand. 

“The pleasure is mine,” Patricia shook Shi-Long's hand with strength, briefly. “Follow me. I'll lead you until we get Mr. Knightly to the visitation room.” 

Everything was just as Miles remembered. Gray walls and flickering lights shaped long hallways. The wardens used the same characteristic uniforms, with the prison’s logo printed on the left side of their chests. The same signboards in black indicated where to go, however, a subtle aroma of fresh paint let him know they were fixed recently. All of those elements infused into a sullen and cheerless space– factors you would expect a prison to bear. 

His shoes squeaked on the floor, making the noise of their arrival rumble. Miles planned in his head potential questions he could make to Knightly, trying to reach the easiest way to get information out of him. All he wanted to do was to finish up as early as possible so he could get out of there. 

“We’ll need for you to leave us alone with him. No security should be seen,” Shi-Long demanded.

Patricia frowned, clearly against what he proposed. “That’s against our security norms.”

“We have a peculiar method,” Shi-Long insisted. 

Miles understood what he was trying to imply. There will be no interrogation-type of conversation, it’ll be a profiling evaluation. And to do that, they needed Knightly’s feeling confident and trustful. 

A private talk was their usual way to interview criminals for their research, but barely done with witnesses. This time Shi-Long seemed quite convinced that this was the only way they could get information from a prisoner without needing several visitations. 

However, Patricia was far from tolerating it. “This is a prison, Agent Lang. My prison  I know the inmates better than they know themselves.”

“Maybe we should listen to her, Lang,” Miles interrupted. “Two wardens may stand by the door. But we need to build a safe space for him, so we’ll let other prisoners stay around. Could we do that?”

Patricia frowned her lips left-and-right, doubting. Finally, she smuck them open. “I guess we could.”

Miles glanced sideways at Shi-Long, who nodded coldly. He usually disliked when plans didn’t go as expected, but this time, he seemed to put his pride aside and accept the arrangement.

They were led to a room with tables, resembling a dining hall. It was a monitored visiting area, less private than a face-to-face meeting room, but typically used for visits from lawyers or close family members.

There were people around, making it the perfect setting for the scenario Miles had envisioned. It was safe while also ensuring Knightley would feel less intimidated.

"Please wait here," Patricia instructed them.

Miles and Shi-Long sat at a table in the center of the room. “What’s your plan?” Miles whispered.

“Ask him about your childhood,” Shi-Long suggested. “Talk about his family, chess, or anything familiar. Let him loosen up before we get to the point.”

Miles had only enough time to nod before Patricia returned, accompanied by a handcuffed man: Knightley.

He looked quite different. Older, of course. They hadn’t seen each other in 20 years. But he still had his blonde crest, giving him a rebellious air. His face was angular, with expressive gray eyes. When he sat down, he flashed a sly smile.

“Miles Edgeworth… It’s been a long time,” he said. “How’s your sister?”

“Hello, Horace. Franziska’s doing well. She works for the UN,” Miles replied, trying to sound amicable, though his tone retained a seriousness that was hard to shake.

“Wow, congratulations to little Franny,” Horace said, genuinely surprised. 

Somehow Miles knew it with Celeste's glance– Vera's investigation was a dead end.

Miles then turned to Patricia. “You can take off his cuffs.”

She sighed in disapproval but reluctantly retrieved the key from her pocket and removed Knightley’s cuffs. “You’d better behave today, Horace,” she warned.

“I’ll be an angel, ma’am… I promise,” Horace said, looking at Miles. “Not every day an old friend drops by for a visit.”

Miles wasn’t sure how to take those words. It was clear that Knightley’s sarcastic remarks were part of his dynamic with Patricia. However, Miles couldn’t help but sense there was something more behind them.

Patricia muttered, “We’ll see about that,” as she pocketed the cuffs and exited the room. “I’ll be nearby if you need me,” she added.

Her footsteps faded. A faint background buzz of overlapping conversations filled the room—not loud enough to be distracting. With the room’s ambiance and Patricia gone, Miles knew it was time to begin.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” Knightley broke the ice.

“Agent Lang,” Shi-Long introduced himself curtly. “A pleasure.”

“Same,” said Knightley with a subtle nod. 

“How’s prison life treating you, Knightley?” Miles asked, steering the conversation.

“Well enough,” the prisoner replied, folding his arms. He sounded genuine. “Free meals, a gym, new friends... What more could I ask for?”

There wasn’t a trace of discomfort in his demeanor. It seemed he would adjust to the conversation with ease.

“Still playing chess?”

“Of course,” Knightley said with a spark of enthusiasm. “I assume you do too?”

“I do,” Miles nodded. Now, his strategy could unfold. “Do you remember the 2002 school tournament? You wiped the floor with Bukowski.”

“How could I forget? He froze when I took out both his bishops in seven moves,” Knightley chuckled. “Though if I recall correctly, you won that year.”

“My last year,” Miles clarified. “You took the championship for the next three years after I left for university.”

“Yeah, those were the days… Though I would’ve liked to beat you at least once.”

Miles offered a slight smile. “You were very good… Quite sharp.”

“Well, life takes unexpected turns,” Knightley said, clearly referencing his incarceration.

The conversation flowed better than Miles anticipated. Knightley appeared pleased, entirely unbothered by the presence of two FBI agents. For a moment, Miles even felt as though he was reconnecting with an old friend rather than laying the groundwork for an interrogation.

“You ended up here for possession and dealing, right?” Miles ventured into more direct territory.

“Yeah. Fifteen years and four months. I’ve got six years left before I can apply for parole,” Knightley replied in a weary tone. “There’s always hope, though. No matter how well I behave, the warden doesn’t like me much.”

“Do you have a good lawyer?” Miles asked, seeing an opportunity. Perhaps offering solid legal support could prompt cooperation. “You know, I have connections to some excellent pro-bono attorneys.”

“What are you getting at, Edgeworth?”

For a moment, Miles felt exposed, as though his moves had been too predictable. Knightley’s quick intuition mirrored the chess prowess Miles had once admired. Knightley truly was a master strategist.

“We want to know about your connection to Manny Coachen,” Shi-Long interjected, breaking their agreed approach. Miles felt a twinge of annoyance.

“We’ve seen your correspondence,” Miles added. “We just want to know what he was involved in… We can make it worth your while.”

“You know, Edgeworth, you haven’t changed a bit,” Knightley said, his sly grin fading into a sincere expression. “You still have that sad, compassionate look. I’ve always liked you. But you picked the worst day to visit…”

His eyes darted around the room. In that instant, Miles sensed something was wrong. His gaze scanned the nearby prisoners, grouped at various tables. He locked eyes with a few of them, who seemed to be watching their every move.

Miles’s legs tensed, and a sudden urge to leave overwhelmed him. Glancing at Shi-Long, he noticed the agent’s clenched jaw and recognized that he too had detected the shift in atmosphere.

The sound of scuffles behind them broke his focus. It seemed the prisoners had already overpowered the guards at the door.

“Is this a mutiny?” Miles asked, managing to remain calm.

Horace chuckled. “As I said, you haven't changed a bit.” 

From his pants, he grabbed a knife and showed it to them. Miles looked around again. All of the inmates were holding some kind of weapon, most of them seemingly crafted by them. He even noticed one pointing at them with a sharp pinch that probably used to be a toothbrush. 

“I'm sorry, Miles,” Horace apologized, standing up. “But today I'm running away from this shithole. Good luck with your investigation.” 

There was nothing they could do. They'd handed their guns at the entrance, and the situation made it difficult if not impossible to engage safely in a physical fight. 

Miles knew that they had already been unfortunate enough to allow themselves to lose a relevant lead on the case. He made a gesture, intending to get up, but Shi-Long grabbed him by the arm. 

“Don't even think about it,” he whispered. 

“But we're losing our chance… I can negotiate with them.” Miles insisted. 

“No,” Shi-Long said coldly. “Let them go for now. We'll chase him after.” 

He waited, with his foot tapping in desperation. Seconds later, the alarm rang loudly, piercing his ears with a high-pitched sound. 

Other wardens showed up immediately to take down the two prisoners who had stayed to supervise the room.

“Are you two okay?” one of them asked as he held a prisoner on the ground. 

“Where’s Patricia Roland?” Miles asked. 

“She’s calling for reinforcement,” the warden explained. “The entire prison has rioted.”

The situation was critical. Knightley was right, they’ve chosen the worst day to come for a visit. However, this was the only opportunity they had to talk to Knightley. His legs were strained in unease. If he didn’t start running now, there would be no questions answered for that day. 

“Go,” Shi-Long whispered to him. “I’ll go look for Miss Roland and call for backup.”

Without thinking twice, he stood up and headed the path they’d taken to escape. In less than a minute, he’d toured half a mile. The cries of rebellion could be heard in the background, along with metallic beats. Chaos had risen in the prison, and it sounded like a big crowd cheering for their champion. Is Knightley perhaps representing their dream?

For a moment he wondered if his father had joined the mutiny too. Though all he could imagine was him trying to read a book as the others threw around mattresses and bricks. 

Miles took a moment to stop and listen to the steps. At first, he heard nothing, which almost made him lose hope. But suddenly, he heard quick footsteps in the hallway on the right. 

“Knightley, wait!” Miles screamed as he saw them turning to the left. Where are they going? Is there a secret entrance?

Miles ran as fast as he could, thinking he would be able to stop them if he arrived on time. He was going to let them go, of course, but he needed answers first. 

As soon as he turned to the left, a strong hit impacted his face, making him fall backward, to the ground. 

He hit his back and head. His vision blurred, and he couldn't even process what had happened. His body ached, but nothing compared to the overwhelming pressure in his nose. Suddenly, he felt a liquid running down his throat. He couldn't breathe and was choking on his own blood.

At that moment, all he could think about were the self-defense classes with Shi-Long—those Fridays were what kept him going through the week. But it seemed he had learned nothing, as he had just been attacked and hadn’t even seen it coming.

He whimpered in pain as he blinked, trying to regain his vision. Then, he heard Horace’s voice. “Damn it, what the hell did you do?”

“He was coming for us,” replied another voice, deep and male.

“He wasn’t armed, idiot!”

Miles sat up, groaning, holding his nose.

“Knightley…” he called, coughing up some of the blood draining into his throat.

“Leave,” Horace ordered the others. “I’ll be there soon.”

“But…” one of them protested.

“Now!” Horace barked in a commanding tone.

Miles heard the hurried footsteps as they ran off. His vision was still a bit blurred from the dizziness. Then he saw a pair of shoes approaching. Looking up, squinting against the fluorescent lights, he saw Horace standing before him.

“Just tell me… why did Coachen write to you?” he asked, almost pleading.

Horace sighed. “He wanted advice on manufacturing goods,” he paused, extending a hand to him. “He was working on a science project—on synthetic drugs.”

Miles grabbed the hand with all his strength, using it to pull himself up. Blood continued to pour, forcing him to pinch his nose. “For what?”

“I don’t know, man,” Horace replied calmly. It was as if he had suddenly transformed. This wasn’t Horace Knightley the convict—this was the man Miles had known during chess tournaments in their teenage years. “He said it was for his club. A guy from the state university also contacted me. Buddy something.”

“Buddy Faith,” Miles said with a wry smile before wincing in pain. It felt like all the muscles in his face tore whenever he grimaced.

“Yeah,” Horace confirmed. “He asked for more details and sent me money. It seemed like they were working together.”

“Do you know where they were making the drugs? Or for what purpose?”

Shouts echoed from afar, accompanied by rapid footsteps in the hallway.

“Sorry, Miles... I have to get out of here,” Horace said before running off.

But Miles wasn’t willing to let him go so easily. He still wanted to make a deal—offer him immunity, or even facilitate parole if he talked. That way, Horace wouldn’t need to escape.

Miles heard Shi-Long’s voice but rushed ahead. Yet he soon discovered those were Horace Knightley’s final words.

Just as the door opened, a group of armed officers aimed at Horace. The other inmates were kneeling on the ground, hands behind their heads. Miles wanted to shout for them not to shoot, but it was too late. Bullets flew through the air. His ears began to ring.

When the gunfire ceased, he looked at the floor. There lay Horace’s lifeless body, and a few meters away, Patricia held a gun with smoke rising from the barrel.

Miles knelt, blood dripping from his nose. His witness was dead—though years ago, Miles, without realizing it until that moment, had once considered him a friend. He could faintly hear Shi-Long’s voice in the distance, but all his senses could register was the blood drying on his face and pooling beneath his knees.

-

Sitting in the ambulance, a paramedic was measuring his vital signs. His clothes felt sticky from the mix of sweat and blood. His nose hurt like hell, but he knew for sure it wasn’t broken.

“You should come with us,” the paramedic insisted.

“It’s not broken, right?” Miles asked.

“I doubt it,” she replied. “But you’ve suffered a mild concussion. Does your head hurt?”

Everything hurts. “No.”

She didn’t seem to believe him, but she sighed anyway. “Apply ice at home; it’ll prevent bruising. The bleeding might return, but you’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

Miles didn’t consider himself a bad patient. On the contrary, he highly valued his health and always tried to follow doctors’ advice. However, this time he would make an exception. All he wanted was to go home.

He put on his jacket, zipping it up all the way. Outside the prison, police cars were starting to leave.

When he stepped out of the ambulance, he saw the paramedics beginning to pack up.

Dried blood stained his hands, reminding him of how, days earlier, he had saved Phoenix. Unfortunately, Horace hadn’t been so lucky.

There was no sign of Patricia Roland. However, he knew she hadn’t been arrested. She had shot Horace, but no one would treat it as murder.

“What are you doing?” Shi-Long asked as he approached. “You need to go to the hospital.”

“I don’t need to go to the hospital,” Miles said curtly.

Shi-Long scoffed, annoyed. “They fucked up your nose.” 

“It's not broken,” Miles pointed out. “I'm fine…”

“You clearly haven't seen yourself,” Shi-Long tensed his jaw. The answers Miles was giving didn't seem to his liking, but he didn't expect otherwise. “You're anything but fine, Edgeworth.” 

“I want to go home,” He responded bluntly. Miles was too tired to keep on with the conversation, so he just expressed his real feelings hoping for Shi-Long to understand. “I'm tired, Shi-Long. I… I just need a shower.” 

It was a simple way to express how he was feeling, but it was the truth. Miles needed to be in a safe space. Warm water to get rid of the blood and maybe to forget about what had happened. 

There were a few moments of silence where they kept facing each other. Shi-Long's expression ended up cooling down, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “Fine,” he said, finally. “Let's go.” 

Back in the car, Miles released a long sigh. The paramedics had given him some painkillers and applied iodine in his nostrils. It was the only treatment he'd accepted. That way, he'd be free of pain and blood for a while. 

Looking at the afternoon sky, Miles remembered Horace's last words. He would've been key to the case. However, a bullet had ruined it all. 

They had certainly chosen a bad day to visit the penitentiary. Miles never liked what-ifs, though this time he couldn't help but wonder what would've happened if Shi-Long decided to go any other day. Would've Horace been dead by then? Would he still be alive? His nose would certainly still be intact, that was for sure.  

Nothing of it mattered anyway. What was done was done. 

“Knightley told me,” Miles said, breaking the last-longing silence. “Manny Coachen asked him for a drug formula. Buddy Faith too. He believes… believed that they worked together on something.” 

“That was before or after he punched you?”

Shi-Long didn't sound like listening to what he was saying. 

“He didn't punch me. It was one of his sidemen,” Miles clarified. He then crossed his arms, resting his body on the seat. “It doesn't matter anyway. What we should think now is what we're doing next.”

Miles wanted to forget Horace's incident. As soon as possible. 

“Of course it fucking matters,” Shi-Long said between teeth. When Miles gazed at him, his knuckles went white from holding the wheel tightly. “But as always, you brush it off and blame yourself for something that's out of your control. I get that you have ASD and undiagnosed OCD, but being depressed doesn't give you the power to slowly destroy yourself, you know that?” 

Miles frowned, understanding why Shi-Long had suddenly said those things. “Are you profiling me?”

“I'm just telling you what I see,” Shi-Long blunted. 

His patience broke like a glass inside an opera house. “You know what I see? A selfish man who won't accept help from others and only cares about his own ‘methods’. You never let us do anything without your approval, and if we don't follow you then everything we do is wrong,” Madness hit Miles like a truck. The words started coming out of his mouth nonstop, and his headache. “That makes you a full-fledged narcissist.”

“I'm not a narcissist!” Shi-Long complained, his knuckles became white while holding the steering wheel. 

“You don't even treat us as equals,” Miles argued. “Justine and Rhoda are more skilled than me, but you refuse to listen to them. You even treat our female superiors with disrespect. It doesn't make you cooler, just sexist.” 

“And now you call me sexist…” 

“Because you are!” he breathed out agitatedly, feeling like a puncture was compressing his chest. Covertly, he squeezed the pain point with his hand in an attempt to resist it. But I already knew that feeling, and I knew it would take a while to fade. “I… I wanted to negotiate with Horace, and offer him immunity.” 

“You always do that…”

“Do what?”

“Helping people,” Shi-Long loosened his jaw and sighed. “There was no way you could've helped Knightley, so live with it.”

“It's so easy for you to say that. You didn't know him…”

“Neither did you,” his partner blunted. “He was your colleague in high school. That doesn't mean anything.”

“Maybe not for you,” Miles stated, trying to regulate their breathing. “But from my perspective, I've just seen my childhood friend die.” 

And it was true. For Miles, it was that. Maybe he didn't know the Knightley of now, but it was enough for him to have known his fifteen-year-old version to be in mourning for having seen him die.

“This is pointless…” Shi-Long seemed to understand as he sounded more eased. “Knightley is dead, so our leads are scarce… We're just stressed.”

Miles had to agree with him on that. He took a deep breath, counting down until he finally eased down. He was in pain, and angry for seeing Horace dying in front of his eyes. Shi-Long was angry too for losing a witness in such awful circumstances. Paying it on one another was no useful solution. 

Through the window, he could see how the night was starting to begin. Miles thought about Phoenix, wondering if he'd had a good day and whether he would wait for him for supper. 

Then, he perked up as the idea came to his mind. “We still have Mr. Wright,”

Shi-Long gazed at him, skeptical. “Mr. Private Detective? No.”

“Why not?” Miles asked. “He knows more than us about Vera Misham.”

“He's… A security guard of a shopping center,” 

“He used to be an agent. We should at least give him credit for that,” Miles insisted.“Think of this as an opportunity to let me take the lead.” 

“That's physiological manipulation,”

“Don't throw words at me. Just trust me. Just this time,” One way or another, he was going to persuade Shi. “You owe me for profiling me, breaking our promise.” 

“Okay, okay… You're in charge from now on.” he finally agreed. “And I'm sorry… I used your psychological traits against you.”

“It's fine. Let's just not do it again,” 

“Fine,” The silence afterward seemed to make it clear that they had both accepted the promise. But Shi-Long didn’t last much without asking. “Do you actually think I'm a narcissist?”

Miles shrugged. “Sometimes.” 

His partner just nodded. 

-

Shi-Long decided to hold an emergency meeting with the headquarters. To do so, he met with Celeste in the police station.

“Go home. I'll take a taxi later,” he said to Miles once he stopped the car. He just nodded in response. 

When Shi-Long left, Miles looked at how Shi-Long walked towards the station's entrance. Celeste was already there, with two men standing next to her. As soon as they were gone, Miles changed seats and started the car. 

Alone with his thoughts, the ride home became shorter than he expected. He could only repeat to himself how badly he needed a shower. Once he'd been clean, he could take a strong pill and finally fall asleep. 

His body felt strangely heavy as if the tiredness were about to make him collapse anytime. That sensation was surely a consequence of how overwhelmed he felt. It happened often– mental struggles developed into physical pain. 

Miles sighed, turning the keys to open the door. What he didn't expect was to find Phoenix there. 

He seemed better, which cheered him up a bit. Though he was too tired to smile. 

“What happened?” Phoenix asked, seemingly concerned.

Where can I begin? Miles wondered. A prisoner punched me. Ah! And my childhood friend got shot in front of my eyes. 

But all he could come up with was the facts. And a little bit of irony. “There has been a mutiny in Oregon State Prison,” Miles explained as he rubbed his nose with the jacket's sleeve. “I tried to stop a guy. I am not a very good fighter as you can see…” 

For some reason, Miles felt like laughing. The situation had been too unreal for it to not feel ironic. 

He felt liquid falling down his nose again. The blood hit the floor in a matter of seconds, making small dots on top of the wood.  “Oh, fuck…”

Despite his insistence, Phoenix took it upon himself to take him to the kitchen and give him a cloth to cover his nostrils. The annoyance replaced the desire to laugh, and so he sat while waiting for his nose to decide to stop bleeding. 

It didn't take long for Phoenix to ask what had happened. And, without going into details, Miles explained it to him.

“He died,” But repeating it did not seem to serve to accept it. 

Miles didn't want to explain what that meant to him. He had insisted on coming home to take a shower and take off his blood-stained clothes. And that's what I had to do as soon as possible.

Finally, the bleeding had stopped, so she took off the rag to replace it with a bag of frozen peas. 

“Wait, you still have a bit of blood here…”

Phoenix got up to wet the cloth. Miles observed him, noticing that his steps were more firm. It seemed like the wound was healing better than expected. Yet still thought he shouldn't be making so much effort for him. However, Phoenix was quite difficult to stop. 

“I took a walk around the porch and went to Mr. Grossberg's house.” 

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. An assassin might be stalking us and he goes out to visit the neighbor, Miles thought as he frowned. “You did what?” 

“I didn't think that going to visit a neighbor would be considered ‘crazy’ or ‘dangerous’. Marvin and his wife had taken good care of me while you were gone.” 

There was nothing he could argue against that statement. Marving Grossberg and how wife had always been a lovely couple. Taking care of him and his sister on the afternoons their parents weren’t home. “They are nice people.”

This is the man I love, Miles acknowledged. And he’s recklessly stubborn. 

Miles felt the wet fabric in his skin, taking away the dry blood. He hadn't seen himself yet, but he could picture the image of his tired bloody face. 

He let Phoenix clean him without any complaints. However, something in the gesture made him want to avoid eye contact at all costs. And, when Phoenix touched his lips, his breathing stopped suddenly. The heart beat too strong as if it was going to rip his chest open. Could Phoenix possibly hear it? 

For a brief instant, Miles looked at Phoenix, wondering if he… 

“Done,” 

“There are leftovers in the fridge,” he said. “Help yourself to whatever you want.”

When he reached his room, he let out a long sigh. A heavy fatigue seemed to weigh on his entire body as if his clothes had grown heavier. His nose throbbed, and he felt the dried blood on his hands. But most of all, he felt disgusted. Sweat and blood covered several parts of his body, a combination that, paired with his exhaustion, made him feel filthy. It was as if another layer of skin had formed over him, and the only way to rid himself of that feeling was with a hot shower.

He had long adopted the habit of showering in the morning to stay fresh throughout the day. This time, however, he made an exception.

He placed his pajamas on the bed and headed to the bathroom. When he flicked on the bluish light, the first thing he saw was his reflection in the mirror.

Though Phoenix had managed to clean some of the blood from his face, a reddish tint lingered over the lower half of his skin. His nose didn’t appear broken, but small bruises had started forming on either side of the bridge, faintly shadowing his already dark under-eye circles. Taking off his jacket, he noticed the white shirt beneath was stained with patches of dried crimson.

The sight reminded him of the night Phoenix was shot—something he quickly pushed from his mind. He averted his gaze from the mirror and started to undress.

As hot water cascaded down his back, his mind went blank. Closing his eyes, he waited for the repulsion to wash away. He was so tired that he believed, perhaps for the first time in a long while, he wouldn’t need sleeping pills that night.

Having washed his hair, he grabbed a sponge and began scrubbing the blood from his hands. He watched as the soap turned pink, sliding away and vanishing down the drain in seconds. Then he started scrubbing harder. Again and again, he rubbed the sponge over his skin, as if trying to send the weight he felt swirling down the drain too. But it didn’t work. All he achieved was irritating his skin in multiple spots.

When he finished, he turned off the water, knowing he’d stay there for hours if he didn’t stop himself. Strangely, the heat of the water had a calming effect.

Wrapped in a towel, he sat on the toilet. Steam clouded the mirror completely. Closing his eyes, he let the warmth seep into his muscles, relaxing them.

But with Horace’s image still lingering in his mind, his throat tightened. He covered his face with his hands and trembled, squeezing his eyes shut until the pressure brought a throbbing headache. Yet Miles could not shed a single tear.

Perhaps his body was so exhausted that he no longer had the strength to cry. Lately, he had cried too much, and two sobs were enough before he pulled himself together.

Taking a deep breath, he got up and began to dry off. After putting on some comfortable clothes, he washed his face and decided to take a painkiller.

For a while, he lay in bed with a bag of frozen peas over his nose, hoping the swelling would subside. He didn’t want to show up at work with a bruised nose. He didn’t care if Phoenix saw him like that, but the thought of Celeste’s gaze or Chief Badd’s stern look made him uneasy. No, no one else could see him like this.

Maybe he should take a week off before going out again. He had plenty of laundry to do, and he hadn’t cleaned the place since Phoenix had arrived. Perhaps he could use the week to prepare for the next mission.

Of course, Miles hadn’t yet figured out how Phoenix could help him or what role he could play in the plan. They needed to visit the University of Oregon—that much was clear. But how could Phoenix fit into the bigger picture?

Miles smiled as he remembered their first mission together—when they went undercover at Duke. Looking back, he thought that, despite the circumstances, it had been fun. He had to admit that it was during that mission that his feelings for Phoenix had started to bloom. Traveling with him, dining together, sleeping near him… His cheeks burned just recalling it. He wondered how he’d managed to keep his composure back then. Then again, he hadn’t realized at the time just how much he was in love.

After some time, he decided to head down to the kitchen to return the frozen bag to the freezer and make some tea before bed. He assumed Phoenix had already gone to bed, but to his surprise, he found him still sitting there.

A plate, a glass, and cutlery sat in front of him. Phoenix had set the table for him. 

“You're still here…” 

“I was about to leave,” Phoenix said. “I waited for you…” 

His heart took a turn. Good grief, all I wanted was to come home to him. And he was waiting. 

“I needed a shower,” Miles clarified in an attempt to apologize. 

Miles was so tired that he wasn't even hungry. The day had left him exhausted, and thanks to the shower his muscles had finally managed to relax. However, he was looking forward to sitting next to Phoenix even if it was for a while. Miles went over to the cupboard to get the kettle and make herself some tea. 

Phoenix got up, and Miles didn’t understand where he said he was going. In the meantime, he blew his cup, trying to cool down the tea. 

Once Phoenix was back, Miles took the canvas he'd handed him. The amount of details honestly surprised him. Miles had previously seen what Phoenix was capable of— he had made him a few doodles of objects from around the apartment and even made him a small postcard of the views from the living room's window. Yet nothing compared to such a piece of art. 

Miles didn't have any art knowledge, everything he knew was from Phoenix's hand. However, he could comfortably say that it was beautiful. 

"It's your front yard," Phoenix pointed out, but Miles had already noticed. 

"It's beautiful," Miles complimented, handing the canvas back. "You're very talented."

"It's for you... It's not a Monet, but I know how much you like impressionism."

Miles appreciated the painting, this time with a different perception. It was a gift. For him. The gesture had been so swift that he couldn't find enough words to show gratefulness. "You painted it this morning?"

“Wendy has spurred me to it. She’s nice. Both of them were. They even invited me to lunch.”

Mrs. Grossberg used to be his high school teacher. He particularly remembered her passion for art, which was reflected in the eager way she taught Art History. Being retired seemed to have encouraged her to commit to her hobby. Miles smirked at the memory of her sweet smile.  

“They told me about your mom,” Phoenix said. “How she died…” 

Like a bucket full of ice water, those words precipitated over him and gave him a cold shiver. Although deep down it didn't surprise him at all. Mr. Grossberg and his wife had always been friends with his parents, and they treasured the memory of Franziska's mom as if they were family. 

“Are you mad?”  

“No,” I have no reason to be, Miles though. “I just… I think you deserved to know. One way or another.” 

I don't think about the past, it's always there anyway. He repeated to himself. But lately, he'd realized that those words were just part of the excuse created by fear. If he didn't think about it, it was as if it had never happened.

“I would've liked to know it from you..."

And I would've liked to tell you myself. But I'm a coward. 

“I understand,” Miles said. “Mrs. Wendy appreciated her very much.” 

Talking about Franziska's mother brought back good memories. It even came up to him to tell Phoenix about his discoveries of the garage. After that, the conversation took a rather important turn. They talked about Franziska, although Miles didn't quite believe Phoenix when he talked about his reasons for chumming up with her. Still, he did not inquire further and decided to stick to the idea that Phoenix and his sister arrived on good terms with each other. 

Miles felt pleased to hear that things between his sister and her girlfriend were smooth sailing. Franziska barely talked about Maya when they met, but he had the pleasure to spend the last Christmas with both of them and they seemed quite content with each other. Miles was happy for his sister, although he didn't verbalize it as much as he should. 

“She's practically family by now. Trucy already calls her Aunt Franziska.” 

"I'm glad to hear that." 

Though, sort of saddened Miles. If things had turned out differently, his life could have been similar. Nevertheless, he didn't feel any regrets. I'm an FBI Agent now, my duty is my work. This reminded him of his plan.

I need to ask you something,” Miles changed the subject. “It is risky, but primordial if we want this case to be solved.” 

He didn't have anything planned yet, but there was one thing he was sure of - Phoenix had to be there.

Just as I had anticipated, Phoenix's face lit up. However, his expression instantly turned gloomy. “I'm not an FBI agent anymore… And I'm injured.”

You want to find Vera, don't you?” Miles knew there was only one way to convince him. 

“What if someone recognizes me? What if I put you at risk again?” 

Miles understood his concern. Shi-Long had not been particularly restrained that very morning. But there had to be a way... And then it came to his head. That memory of their first mission together. "You enjoyed going undercover, didn't you?”

At that moment Miles knew he had convinced him. 

- 

Shi-Long returned past midnight when Phoenix was already back in his room. Miles had waited for him on the couch, expecting news. 

"What did they say?"

"They need to move some strings and talk to them," Shi-Long explained. "They'll call in the morning to communicate the decision." 

When he got to bed, he let out a long sigh. He didn’t know if he’d be able to sleep that night, but at least he had to try. He closed his eyes, keeping Phoenix’s image in his mind. After the conversation they’d had in the kitchen, Phoenix had transformed into someone else. That was the Phoenix he remembered—active and excited to start a mission. That convinced Miles even more that this had been a good idea. Now, they just had to wait for Shi-Long to convince Celeste and Superintendent Andrews. He knew it wouldn’t be easy; after all, Phoenix was an agent who had been suspended and expelled. But if Shi-Long could persuade them, the plan would practically be in motion.

Miles took a deep breath. He had left the painting on his shelf. Tomorrow, I’ll hang it in the hallway, next to the photos, he thought. Within a few minutes, he fell asleep. That night, he dreamed of his mother.

Chapter Text

While sitting by the table, Agent Lang observed him from the chair barely a foot away. His expression remained calm, disregarding the narrow eyebrows, which usually gave him an angry, resting expression. 

Next to Lang was Miles, who rested his lower back on the counter. The dim light of the early morning brightened the entire kitchen. After a few weeks of casual drizzle and a cloud-covered sky, the sun finally came out in Portland. With it, the warm spring seemed to start settling. 

Phoenix was waiting. Though he didn't know what he was actually waiting for.

“Meet us here in ten minutes,” Miles had said to him after breakfast. “We need to discuss a few things with you.” 

Fifteen minutes later, Phoenix was still expecting them to start discussing something. They are keeping me on tenterhooks, though I already know what they will say... 

A week had passed since Miles had offered him to join them for an undercover mission. At first, Phoenix had felt reluctant, but in the end, it was a proposal he found tough to reject. Though he still had his doubts. 

Agent Lang had established himself in the house, temporarily taking up the couch. 

Phoenix had already grown accustomed to his situation. It was no longer Phoenix and Miles but Phoenix, Agent Lang, and Miles. Being alone with Miles had made him forget he was a witness under FBI protection. However, he wasn’t entirely sure if that was still the case.

Lang went out during the day. He left for work (or so Phoenix assumed) and took care of the groceries. Phoenix usually saw him in the mornings—when he returned from his morning jog with Miles—and in the evenings, when the three of them had dinner together in the kitchen. Agent Lang was rather reserved, and his usual slyness seemed to fade in a homey environment.

Miles, on the other hand, hadn’t left the house. He had spent the week doing laundry, cleaning, and organizing things. Occasionally, he would vanish, and Phoenix would stop hearing him move around the house. They saw each other during meals, but the rest of the time Miles stayed busy with something. In the mornings, Phoenix pretended to be asleep when Miles came into his room to change his bandages. He would only hear Miles’ breathing, but that was enough for him.

A few days earlier, while reading on the porch, Phoenix had seen him step outside to hang clothes in the garden. He discreetly watched him, even catching him hum a tune, which made him smile. It was clear that what had happened in the prison had deeply affected Miles—more than it appeared. And although Phoenix didn’t like seeing him more subdued than usual, he knew he had to be patient.

Luckily, only two faint purple marks remained on either side of Miles’ nose, contrasting with his dark circles. But with his pale skin, the contrast was much more noticeable.

To Phoenix, though, Miles still looked just as handsome.

“Well, Mr. Detective,” Lang broke the silence. “Tell us everything about the Vera Misham case.”

Finally... Phoenix rose his gaze. “Everything?”  

Lang nodded. “Everything.”

“All right, then…” Phoenix took a moment to gather his thoughts. I should probably start from the beginning. “On March 4th, I was at my office. It was around seven o’clock. I usually close at eight-thirty, or three on short days. But that night, I had plans and was going to close early. That’s when Mrs. Misham showed up. She told me her daughter had been missing for about six days. She had taken her savings and school backpack, and nothing else was missing from her room. Up to that point, Mrs. Misham had already visited three police stations, but no one would listen to her. She seemed desperate."

Phoenix waited an instant for any comments, but the silence confirmed he could keep going. 

"I asked about her daughter, their relationship, and whether they’d had any recent arguments. From her answers, I could rule out the possibility of her running away from home. Then, she told me Vera had an older boyfriend, Glen, whom she had started dating less than a year ago. Since then, Vera expressed interest in going to a university on the West Coast. But her parents had been adamantly against it—they have money problems. After that, Vera started behaving strangely. Late-night outings, whispered phone calls, and mentions of a group of people she was spending time with...”

“At first glance, that sounds like the usual behavior of an eighteen-year-old,” Lang remarked. “It’s not unusual for them to join friend groups, sneak out, or run away with a boyfriend...”

“That’s what I thought too,” Phoenix said. “I asked if Glen and Vera might have decided to run away together. But then, Mrs. Misham told me that a cult had taken Vera.”

“A cult?” Miles asked, leaning forward. Until then, he’d remained impassive, but Phoenix’s revelation appeared to have caught his attention. “What kind of cult?”

“She didn’t say,” Phoenix clarified. “She only mentioned a group called ‘The Darkling.’ I looked it up online and found nothing.”

“And what brought you to Portland?” Miles asked, arms crossed as always.

Phoenix had asked himself that same question many times. I came here for Maya, for Vera, for Franziska… and for you. “Iryna told me that Vera had planned to come here with Glen,” he finally replied. 

For some reason, Phoenix wished Miles could read his mind and guess the full answer. But as he nodded in response, Phoenix comprehended that it was impossible.  

“The last time Vera was seen, was in Kentucky, at a gas station,” Lang said. “We have no evidence that she actually made it to Oregon.”

“No, you’re wrong,” Phoenix argued. “The women from the Thai restaurant saw her too.” 

The agents looked at each other, seemingly skeptical of the new information. 

“Are you sure about that?” Miles asked. 

“Completely,” he confirmed. “I showed them both pictures. Glen and Vera were there three days before I arrived.”

Miles and Lang shut again. They had no idea, Phoenix thought. Where have they been looking for Vera, then? 

“First of all,” Lang voiced. “How did you get the information to find Glen Elg?”

Phoenix didn’t know how to respond to that. The truth was, he wasn’t certain about how legal it was for his best friend's girlfriend—a UN employee, (who casually was Miles’ sister) —to have passed him confidential information about a victim in a federal case. He glanced up at Miles, who subtly shook his head. At that moment, Phoenix realized that Miles knew he had collaborated with Franziska and clearly didn’t want Lang to find out.  

“I have my contacts too,” he finally replied.  

Agent Lang smirked. That wasn’t the information he was looking for. 

“And did you find any information about Vera here in Portland?” Miles asked, steering the conversation away.  

“I looked into cults but didn’t find anything,” Phoenix explained. “I didn’t have much time, though. You arrested me the day I arrived, and the next day, I got shot.”  

If he brought it up, it was because he thought they needed to acknowledge their mistake. He wasn’t expecting an apology, least of all from Agent Lang.  

“We’re sorry,” Miles said unexpectedly. “We should have considered you from the beginning.”  

Agent Lang didn’t object. He didn’t seem like the type to admit his mistakes aloud. Still, for Phoenix, that wasn’t enough. He knew this was one of many conversations they still needed to have, and he hoped to have it before being forced to leave for New York. 

“So, that night, you went to the apartment and found the body…” Lang said, wrapping up what Phoenix told them at the police station. “And the next day, you went to that building looking for her. Did you receive any additional info about her whereabouts? Any details?”

“That’s why I still think Vera was taken,” Phoenix confirmed. There was no way she’d suddenly evaporated from planet Earth, especially in the middle of a big city. “I know the call was fake, but maybe she was obliged to do it. It must’ve been those who killed Glen, the guys you’re looking for. It was a trap for you two, and they used me as a transmitter.”

Lang snapped his tongue. “We cannot be certain about that...” 

Somehow, Phoenix felt a sudden atmosphere change. Miles looked away, and Lang tensed his jaw. Is there something they're not telling me? Those reactions seemed enough to think so. 

But before Phoenix could ask further, Miles answered. “Glen Elg is not dead. Or at least that’s what we hope… The body you found was not Glen’s but another man’s who usurped his identity.”

Phoenix felt dizzy, and his stomach started to hurt. On one hand, this could mean that Vera was safe and not kidnapped. On the other hand, it was possible that she wasn't even in Portland anymore. 

“So… Why do you guys need me?” That’s the only thing I can think of asking right now…

“We’re looking for someone who’s after Glen Elg. Edgeworth thinks…” he paused to correct himself. “We think that person is connected to a current murder case. Our last clue leads us to the University of Oregon. That's where you come in. If we find those guys, we find Glen. And therefore, you find Vera.”

His reasoning sounded logical. However, Phoenix wasn’t quite sure about what he could do to help. “But you guys are profilers…”

“We need someone who Vera can trust,” Miles interrupted. “If she’s with Glen, she knows you’re looking for her. And, if you're right, they’re probably hiding somewhere, and won’t trust anyone… Anyone but you, Mr. Wright.”

Phoenix shook his head. “But I haven’t even met her…”

“Doesn’t matter,” Miles insisted. His eyes denoted conviction. “I know she’d trust you. As you described, Vera has no bad relationship with her mother. Therefore, she will trust the person her mother has hired to look for her.”

Even though Phoenix wasn’t entirely sure about his abilities or his place in this operation, the fact that Miles trusted him for this mission gave him a sense of purpose he hadn’t felt in a long time. “You’re looking for the Brand Killer, aren’t you?”

Lang looked at him, narrowing his eyes in disbelief. “What do you know about that?”

“I saw it on TV when I arrived,” Phoenix shrugged. “Though it sounds familiar. I think I heard about it years ago. The former head of Organized Crime mentioned it during a dinner... It’s an unsolved case.”

“The Portland police have been searching for him for 11 years. I was part of the first investigation as a detective,” Miles stepped forward, his arms relaxing slightly. “We believe he is back, but we’re not certain yet.”

“You think it’s a copycat or something like that?” Phoenix asked, his mind already switching into agent mode.

“A copycat, a disciple, the original killer, all three, or none of the above...” Lang’s tone dripped with exasperation. “It’s embarrassing to admit, but we’re groping in the dark. And Organized Crime? They’re even worse off.”

“I see.” Phoenix nodded slowly. He knew profiling was tough, let alone to profile anyone with so little evidence. “So, what exactly are we going to do? Go to the university to ask about Vera or Glen?”

“Leave that to us,” Miles said.

Phoenix wanted to say something more—to offer ideas or prove his worth. But instead, he fell silent, realizing he had no choice but to place his faith entirely in Miles. It was a strange feeling, to trust someone so completely...

–

Once he put on the suit, Phoenix looked at himself in the mirror. It had been days since he’d last shaved, and he felt strange being so well-groomed. This was how he used to dress as an agent—always impeccable, hiding his clumsiness behind an image of tidiness and seriousness. But that was no longer necessary. These days, he mostly wore sweats, and when working, he donned the security guard uniform.

And now, he’d even combed his hair.

I guess I’m Agent Wright again, he thought, realizing that for the first time in years, he was heading into a mission reminiscent of the old days. Even if it’s just for one day.

Then Miles walked through the door. He was dressed more casually, wearing a knit vest and corduroy pants. Yet, as always, there was a touch of elegance about him.

“You didn’t have to put on the tie,” Miles remarked.

“For once that I dress up,” Phoenix quipped, shrugging as he glanced back at himself in the mirror. “I wanted to go all out.”

Miles shook his head, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Hold on, it’s a bit crooked.” He stepped closer until his hands were on the tie’s fabric.

Phoenix held his breath. The proximity made his heart race suddenly, and he forced himself to look away. Yet, he couldn’t resist for long and found himself watching Miles intently. His concentrated expression drew Phoenix’s attention, and he noticed that the marks on Miles’ face seemed to have vanished. He must’ve covered them with makeup, Phoenix guessed.

“There,” Miles said, his hands brushing down Phoenix’s chest to smooth out the wrinkles as an automatic gesture. The contact lasted only a few seconds, but Phoenix wondered if Miles had noticed how hard his heart was pounding at that moment.

“When we first met, you were dressed like this,” Miles said, stepping back. When they first met… If only Phoenix could go back to that moment. “Let’s go. Lang’s waiting for us.”

The agent was already by the entrance, adjusting his outfit. The clothes didn’t suit him at all. They were far too formal and even slightly outdated. His suit was gray, complete with a buttoned vest, a white shirt, and a matching tie.

“I look like I stepped out of the sixties,” Lang grumbled. “Was this seriously the best you could find?”

“There’s only my clothes and my father’s in this house,” Miles replied matter-of-factly.

They hadn’t had much time to prepare the costumes. Although Phoenix was more accustomed to baggy and informal clothing (besides his work uniform), he didn’t mind dressing up for the occasion. Miles had scoured the house for shirts and suits to outfit the three of them. Neither Lang nor Phoenix were used to wearing such formal attire, which was obvious in the way they moved. Miles, on the other hand, looked perfectly at ease.

“I think we’re ready to go. Did you bring what I requested?” Miles asked.

“I left it in the car,” Lang replied.

Phoenix didn’t understand what they were referring to until they stepped outside. Lang had a rather fancy cane in his hands. It was of dark wood, with the head covered with a silvery material.

“You’ll have to use it,” Miles announced, though Phoenix had already guessed as much. “You’re not fully recovered yet.”

“I know,” Phoenix said curtly. He had accepted the state of his leg days ago. The pain wouldn’t go away no matter how much he wished it, and the wound certainly wasn’t going to heal overnight.

He climbed into the back seat, and Miles stored the crutch in the trunk along with the brand-new cane. Lang sat on the passenger seat. Once Miles was inside, he turned the car on. 

They left the urbanization. Both had to show their IDs to the officers who were there. 

”We'll be back in the middle of the day," Lang warned them, and they just nodded.

Once on the road, Phoenix knew how silent the trip would be. Miles glanced at some documents while Lang fixated his eyes on the road. 

“So… Since when do you two work together?” Phoenix asked in an attempt to start a conversation. 

“Almost two years,” Lang said. 

“Two years in June,” Miles clarified. “Though I spent most of my time doing research or with classes. Lang barely takes me on field trips.” 

“I took you to almost every state in this country to meet with criminals,” Lang berated.  

“That's research,” Miles said. “Doesn't count.”

“You're about to finish your training anyway,” downplayed it. “Once you become an SSA, this work becomes your life.” 

Phoenix couldn’t see Miles’ face, but he thought he caught a glance from him through the rearview mirror.

He knew Miles could be obsessive about work due to his methodical and ambitious nature. But Phoenix had firsthand experience with what it meant to be an agent. During his nearly eight years in the field, he had met many supervisors. They all had great salaries and a certain level of recognition within the bureau. However, just as Agent Lang had said, their job was their life. Their only friends were their colleagues, and they barely knew anyone outside that circle. None of them had stable relationships, and if they ever did get married, the divorce rate was alarmingly high. If they had families, they hardly ever saw them.

Holding a high-ranking position as an agent required sacrifices, especially in a department like the BAU. And while Phoenix knew Miles was capable of giving 100% of himself to his work, he couldn’t imagine him going months without seeing Kay or his sister, Franziska. Because despite being a melancholic person, Miles was not a solitary one.

“How long have you been in the bureau, Agent Lang?”

Agent Lang smirked. “Almost 13 years."

“Wow, that’s… a long time,” Phoenix said in atonishment. He had never met someone who had started so early in the bureau. “I was there for seven years, and I don’t remember ever seeing you.”

“The BAU is always moving around… And besides, our offices are in D.C., not Quantico.”

“He wasn’t always a profiler,” Miles added. “He used to be a linguist.” Lang shot him an annoyed look, but Miles simply prodded. “Come on, tell him. It’s interesting.”

Lang sighed, and Phoenix leaned in slightly, giving him his full attention.

“Being the son of immigrants, it wasn’t easy to find my place in a city like Washington—full of rich kids and powerful people. My parents owned a restaurant in Chinatown. Since they hadn’t learned English yet, I was the one who had to speak with the customers from a young age. Over time, I became more and more interested in languages, so I decided to study them seriously.”

So he acts tough… but he’s a nerd.

“I ended up getting a scholarship to study linguistics at the University of Pennsylvania. It felt like the American Dream was coming true for me," Lang continued. "One day, some people came to give a talk about career opportunities, and one man spoke about applying linguistics to criminology. It caught my interest, so I approached him afterward to ask questions. That’s when he told me he worked for the FBI and that they were looking for people with my skill set. Not many agents speak Chinese fluently. I trained for a year, and that was it. After a couple of years, I was invited to assist the BAU on a case involving non-English speakers. The chief liked me… and offered me training in criminal profiling. My first case was the ‘Brand Killer.’ Eleven years ago.”

Lang turned toward Miles, who did the same. They exchanged a brief yet knowing glance.

Looks like this case has brought them together…

That morning, rain fell steadily over Eugene. The spring showers brought out the vibrant green of the trees and grass lining the sidewalks. Apart from a few people clutching umbrellas as they returned from grocery runs or huddled with their dogs beneath the overhangs of buildings, waiting for the rain to pass, the streets seemed calm. At first glance, Eugene didn’t appear to be an extraordinary city. Yet its lush greenery, amplified by the rain, was unlike anything Phoenix had ever seen.

The buildings stood silently among the trees, nearly hidden by the tall pine canopies that defined the skyline. The architecture integrated effortlessly with its natural environment, as though the city had naturally emerged from the earth. In the background, the gentle hills were wrapped in a thick forest cover that extended to the horizon, fading into the misty gray of the morning sky.

It was no wonder this place was called the Emerald City. Yet Phoenix doubted he’d find any wizards here. “It’s… Very green.”

“The citizens are rather proud of the city’s sustainability,” Miles said. 

When they arrived at the campus, Miles gave Lang directions to find a spot inside. As it was midweek, the place was quite full. They ended up finding a spot, but Miles said they would need to walk a bit to get to the vice-chancellor's office. 

“This better be the last time we step into a university in a long time,” Lang complained as soon as he toed out of the car.

Sometimes it seems like he doesn't like his job.

Phoenix helped himself with the cane out of the car. It was simple to use, and not much different from the crutch. Though, as soon as he took the first step, he glimpsed that the effort was to be bigger. 

“I used to study here,” Miles said as he guided them to the building. Phoenix remembered a few things he’d told him about Oregon State University. “I came every day by bus. One hour trip.”

“I wonder why you dropped out,” Lang joked. 

Miles shrugged. “Action has always seemed more alluring than exclusively passing exams.”

Phoenix had learned that there was more to know about Miles’ reasons to drop Law School. He’d assumed that it had something to do with his father going to prison while Franziska was still underage. 

They crossed the automatic doors of a big white building. Inside, there was barely any furniture, just the table of the receptionist was located a few feet from the entrance. 

“Matthew Edwin and Shawn Lee,” said Lang, greeting with fake names. “And this is Professor Nicholas Smith.” 

Phoenix smirked, as the memories of the old days came to him as soon as he heard those names. He maintained the name I gave him, he thought. He didn’t like it the first time, and yet he kept it. 

“She’s waiting for you,” the receptionist said. “Wait here, I’ll call her.”

They waited only a minute or two by the counter until a dark-haired woman arrived from the hallway on the left. She was wearing a very serious and at the same time elegant outfit. She was tall, and the heels she was wearing made her even more so.

“I’m Head Dean Eve Belduke, a pleasure.” The woman had a slight British accent, which strangely added a sort of solemnity to her figure. “Follow me, we’ll be more comfortable in my office.”

The office was a grand yet disciplined space, exuding authority and intellect. Sunlight filtered through tall windows draped in heavy, dark green curtains, casting long shadows over a polished mahogany desk. Stacks of neatly arranged documents rested beside a sleek computer. 

To the left, a red-haired man was sitting behind a smaller desk. 

“Zackaria, would you leave us?” the Head Dean requested. 

“Sure,” the man didn’t doubt in standing up and walking out without exchanging a single word. 

“Please, sit.”

The three of them sat on the padded well-worn leather chairs. Phoenix noticed the towering bookshelf lined the wall, filled with leather-bound volumes, academic journals, and thick policy handbooks.

“I’m glad to receive the visit of such recognized science men,” she said as she sat on her chair. “The University of Oregon has invested a lot in STEM research for the last few years. The other professors would be glad to receive you as well.”

Are we supposed to talk to every science professor now? Phoenix wasn’t sure if that was the right plan. I thought they came to register a victim’s office. 

“We will be honest with you, Ms. Belduke,” said Lang. “We’re not here for the research. We’re from the FBI.”

If the Head Dean was caught off guard by the revelation, she hid it splendidly. She folded her hands on the table and directed them a soft gaze. “And what can I help you with, agents?”

“A week ago we discovered that Buddy Faith was involved in a project with another victim. Therefore, they knew each other. And, this said project, may be also related to a drug dealer,” Miles explained carefully. “We wanted to know if someone in this institution was aware of this. Perhaps yourself.”

Eve maintained unmoved. “I don’t know anything about a convicted dealer. But I think you might be referring to the inter-uni science club. The STEM building has a covenant with a few other universities within the state. They make trips, joint projects, conventions, contests… It’s been going on for almost twenty years. And the members are growing in number year.” 

“How many colleges are we talking about?” Phoenix asked. 

“Let me see,” The Head Dean clicked twice on her desktop. After a quick search, she turned the screen so they could see the list. “At least twenty. Last year two institutions from North California joined too. As I said, it’s a growing project.”

Miles and Lang remained silent. They thought this trip would give them answers, Phoenix realized. But this woman just gave them more trouble. I wonder what they’d do now. 

“You seem disappointed, gentlemen,” the Head Dean pointed out. 

“We’ll need all the information you can gather about this project,” Lang requested. “With all discretion as possible.”

“Of course,” she accepted. “I will deliver it to you myself. No one else would know.”

“We appreciate your collaboration,” Miles said. Then, between his documents, he took out one that was sealed. “I’ve also brought a registration warrant. Though you can also give us permission to investigate freely.”

He’s learned how to impose authority. 

Ms. Belduke smirked. “That won’t be necessary. You might search whatever you want.”

The Head Dean escorted them personally to the building where Buddy Faith’s office was. 

“You’ve been lucky. It’s evaluation week, so the teachers are in department meetings.” With a master key, she opened the door for them. “Call me once you’re finished.”

“Thank you, Ms. Belduke,” Lang said. 

After a nod with a reassuring smile, Ms. Belduke walked away through the hallway. 

As soon as he disappeared, Lang opened his briefcase, which contained forensic material. 

“Wait for us here,” Miles said to him while putting on gloves. “Keep an eye out if someone is coming.”

Great, I’ve gone from being the key to this investigation to the cripple that checks if someone is coming… 

Lang and Miles entered the office, leaving the door closed behind them. Phoenix released a sight, to look at both sides. The hallway was empty. 

He sat down on a nearby bench and leaned back. Barely two minutes had passed, but he already knew he was going to get bored sitting there alone.

In the middle of the hallway, he noticed a glass display case filled with photos and various awards. I don’t think they’ll mind if I keep watch from there—it’s only a few meters away.

Using his cane for support, he moved closer to the display. Through the glass, he could easily see photos of the science department. Some dated back to the 1980s, with people dressed in outfits typical of the era. Some of them look a little like Lang… Now I get why he didn’t want to wear the suit.

Then, his gaze shifted to the trophies, all engraved with “First Place – Oregon Science Competition.” They reminded Phoenix of the awards he had won in school basketball tournaments—trophies his parents still proudly kept back home in Syracuse.

For a moment, he lingered in that memory, recalling how his parents used to greet him whenever he returned home with a medal, even if it was just for participation. I’ll never understand why they leave the trophies here… The achievement belongs to the competitor, not the university.

“Pssst, Mr. Wright…”

The whispered voice startled him. For a second, he thought he had imagined it, but when he looked around, he spotted someone peeking out from one of the nearby offices. Phoenix frowned, confused.

“Come over here,” the young woman said before disappearing behind the door.

For a moment, he hesitated. There was something oddly familiar about her, but he wasn’t sure if he should trust a stranger calling him over from behind a door. But his doubts vanished the second she peeked out again.

It can’t be…There’s no way…

He limped toward the office, and as soon as he reached the entrance, she grabbed his hand and pulled him all the way inside.

She wore black-rimmed glasses and a simple violet dress, layered under a denim jacket. Her heels and subtle makeup made her look older than she was. Yet, Phoenix recognized her instantly—the image of her face had been burned into his memory.

“We don’t have much time,” she said, searching for something inside her jacket. “As soon as I found out you were leaving the house, I knew I had to find you.”

“Wait, Vera,” Phoenix stopped her. “I don’t understand… I thought you… I thought someone had you captive.”

“That was a trap, Mr. Wright,” she clarified. “The girl who made that call wasn’t me. It was a trap to hurt Agent Edgeworth. But don’t worry, Glen and I are fine.”

Phoenix recalled the voice he had heard over the phone. Now, more than ever, it was clear that it hadn’t been Vera. A wave of relief washed over him.

Vera pulled a piece of paper from one of her pockets and placed it firmly in his hand, closing his fingers around it. “I’m so sorry for everything that’s happened to you, Mr. Wright. Come see us—we’ll explain everything.”

Phoenix tried to stop her. “Wait, I don’t understand… How do you know my name? How did you know I was here?”

Vera gave him a small smile. “See you soon, Mr. Wright.”

Before he could say another word, she was gone.

Phoenix sat there in shock, still trying to process what had just happened. A few minutes later, he wheeled himself out of the office, scanning the hallway in hopes of spotting her again—but Vera had vanished.

The door to Buddy Faith’s office swung open, and Miles stepped out, carrying a laptop. He said something, but Phoenix didn’t hear him.

“…Are you okay?”

Their eyes met. Miles was watching him, waiting for a response.

I wish I knew what the hell to say to him. What should I say? "Hey, Miles, I just saw Vera Misham. Turns out she’s not actually kidnapped! And she gave me a piece of paper because she wants me to go see her."

Phoenix almost laughed at the sheer absurdity of the situation. He’ll think I’ve lost my mind. Or worse—that they’ve set me up again.

“Did you find anything?” Phoenix dodged the question, moving closer to Miles.

“We went through everything, but there was nothing related to Knightley. We’re sending a few things to Washington, and forensics will come to collect the rest of the documents,” Miles explained.

“I’m just surprised no one came sooner,” Lang commented, stuffing plastic evidence bags into a larger one.

“Buddy Faith is a victim. The Oregon police don’t send people out for searches like these.”

“That’s exactly why. We’re taking way too long to connect the dots.”

“I’ve been on this case for eleven years," Miles snapped, but subtle as always. "Two months is insignificant from the perspective of the Portland Police.”

Lang didn’t argue after that.

He shut him down completely.

Phoenix found it interesting how Miles didn’t quite seem to fit in with the FBI’s way of doing things—fast investigations, endless resources, and countless contacts. No, he was used to this. After all, Miles knew firsthand what it was like to be stuck at a dead end that slowly turned into a black hole. He knows answers don’t come easy. And yet, he doesn’t give up.

The dean walked them to the car. Most of the students had already left; it was almost lunchtime.

They packed everything into the trunk while Phoenix said goodbye to Belduke. Holding his cane for hours had exhausted him more than he had expected. His arm felt stiff and tense. The thought of the hour-long drive back was a relief.

The moment we get home, I’m heading straight to bed. He was already picturing Miles setting down a tray of food, watching him from just a few feet away, waiting for his reaction. I need to figure out what the hell to do about Vera.

He pulled the paper from his pocket and read it again. It looked like an address. But Phoenix didn’t know Portland at all, and that was assuming Vera and Glen were even hiding there.

He leaned against the window, watching the mountains stretch out toward the horizon. With a sigh, he tucked the paper away again, leaving it as an open-ended thought he’d deal with later.

As he settled in, the rhythmic motion of passing cars and the sound of the tires against the wet road began to lull him into drowsiness. His eyelids grew heavy.

-

“Phoenix…”

A gentle shake was enough to wake him.

Blinking awake, the first thing he saw was Miles, standing just outside the car, his expression calm. Miles pulled his hand away from his shoulder and took a step back.

“We’re home,” he announced.

Phoenix blinked a few times more, slowly realizing they had arrived at the house. Lang was nowhere in sight.

With the help of his cane, he stepped out of the car. “I fell asleep,” he said, almost laughing.

“You pushed yourself a lot today,” Miles reassured him. “The least you deserve is a nap.”

They entered the house together, and Phoenix wasted no time heading straight for his room. Even after sleeping for a couple of hours, he still felt drained.

Walking took more out of me than I expected.

It seemed ridiculous, but part of him still hadn’t fully accepted that his leg would take a long time to heal. The wound wasn’t even fully closed yet, and going out for so many hours had been a risk.

He took off his suit and changed into something more cozy. The moment he lay down on the bed, he let out a deep sigh of relief.

Closing his eyes, he took a slow, deep breath. He could have stayed there all day.

But then, his stomach growled. At that moment, his body was debating itself between eating or sleeping.

I should eat something at least... he thought. But the sole idea of walking to the kitchen exhausted him.

Suddenly, he heard a knock on the door.

“Come in,” Phoenix called.

The door opened, and there was Miles, holding a tray. On it were two plates.

“I thought you might be hungry.”

Sometimes, I swear he reads my mind, Phoenix thought.

“Yeah… Thanks.”

Miles stepped closer as Phoenix sat up, adjusting himself for the meal.

With the tray resting on his lap, he looked down at the sandwich Miles had made for him.

Miles let out a quiet sigh. “I didn’t have time to make much else,” he admitted, almost apologetically. “I’m exhausted too.”

At first glance, the sandwich looked simple, but the layers were perfectly arranged. When cut, the vibrant colors of the vegetables, protein, and sauce created a striking contrast. The bread had a uniform golden-brown crust that glistened slightly from the butter.

Whatever he cooks, it always looks like it was made by a magician.

“It’s perfect. Thank you.”

Phoenix picked up the sandwich and took a bite without hesitation. It tasted even better than it looked. Miles took his own, and for a while, they ate in silence. It was the first time Miles had stayed to eat with him in the room—normally, he would leave Phoenix to eat alone.

I hope this means things are changing.

He devoured the sandwich as if he hadn’t eaten all day. Once finished, he regretted not savoring it more, but then he noticed that Miles had finished his at almost the exact same time.

“Where’s Lang?” he asked, only now realizing the agent’s absence.

“He stayed at the station, waiting for the university documents to arrive,” Miles explained. “He also needed to discuss today’s mission with the head of Organized Crime.”

“Did today’s investigation help at all?”

Miles lowered his gaze, stacking the empty plates onto the tray. “If I’m being honest, it was useless. The only lead we had were the last words of a dead man… And I doubt we’ll find anything related to Knightley among Buddy Faith’s belongings. The dean promised to send us all the club’s documents, but it’s just a college activity where twenty-year-olds go to science fairs and work on chemistry projects. There’s nothing criminal about it. And even if the people we’re after are involved, we’d have to interrogate over a thousand students. The BAU doesn’t have that kind of manpower.”

He’s frustrated, Phoenix realized. He knows they’re at a dead end, and that history is likely to repeat itself, just like it did eleven years ago.

“I don’t even know why I insisted on bringing you along,” Miles muttered, furrowing his brows. “I thought maybe…” He trailed off. “I don’t know what I was thinking. You could've stayed and kept on investigating Vera's whereabouts."

Phoenix thought of Vera, and the note hidden in the pocket of his jacket.

His presence had made a difference. It had made him feel like he was part of something important again.

Miles stood up to take the tray away.

“Will you come back?” Phoenix asked impulsively. “I’d like to read with you for a bit.”

Without saying a word, Miles nodded.

A smile crept onto Phoenix’s face as Miles turned away. He settled under the blankets and waited.

It took longer than expected, but when Miles finally returned, he had changed into a loose shirt and sweatpants.

He sat down in the chair and reached for the book on the nightstand.

“Wait,” Phoenix stopped him, shifting to the left to make space. “You’ll be more comfortable here.”

He expected Miles to hesitate, or even refuse, but to his surprise, he climbed onto the bed, sitting cross-legged in the space Phoenix had left. Then, he opened the book.

“Where did we leave off?”

“They were about to escape by boat.”

Miles nodded. “Then we’re almost finished.”

For a while, Phoenix simply watched him read, a silly smile creeping onto his face from time to time.

He barely made it through three pages before he drifted off to sleep again.

- 

There was barely any light left in the room. An orange glow filtered through the window, casting long shadows across the furniture. Phoenix shifted slightly, intending to fall back asleep. He was far too comfortable to abandon that warmth so easily.

He turned to the other side, trying to find a better position, but his foot brushed against something in the process. When he opened his eyes, he found himself face-to-face with Miles, barely a few inches apart. He was sleeping peacefully, his soft breath warming Phoenix’s skin. The sight stirred old memories—so many that he immediately felt heat rising to his cheeks.

His gaze lingered on Miles’ lips. If he woke up right now… if I could kiss him… I’d be the happiest man in the world.

That thought made him hesitate. He loved Miles, and because of that, he couldn’t lie to him or hide anything. I did it once, and I swore never to do it again.

He was in this situation because of a string of unlikely events that had led him to one conclusion: it was time to regain what he had lost—his dignity. If Vera and Glen were in hiding, Phoenix was the only one who could help them. But he couldn’t do it alone. I’m here for Maya. I promised Franziska… And the only one who can help me now is him.

Miles had removed his makeup, revealing the bruises on either side of his nose once more. The image of him bleeding was still fresh in Phoenix’s mind. This case must be affecting him more than he lets on. And I have the opportunity of helping him written down on a scrap of paper.

When he lifted his gaze, he found Miles’ eyes already on him. Phoenix had been so lost in thought that he hadn’t noticed he was awake.

They stared at each other for what felt like forever.

Miles parted his lips slightly before speaking. “I fell asleep…”

Phoenix smiled at the obviousness of the statement, amused by the innocence of the moment.

He dared to point at the bruises. “Does it hurt?”

Miles touched the area lightly. “Not much. I hope they fade soon.”

“You know… They don’t look that bad on you.”

“You’re just saying that to tease me.”

“Not at all, I mean it,” Phoenix insisted. “You look like you walked straight out of a boxing movie.”

Miles gave him a small shove. “Idiot…”

That made Phoenix laugh, and for a fleeting moment, he saw a brief smile cross Miles’ face. He could swear he even heard a chuckle.

Before he realized it, their hands were entwined. He wasn’t sure how it had happened—he had simply left his hand resting between them, and Miles’ had somehow shifted into the same position, resting gently atop his. With a delicate motion, Phoenix intertwined their fingers.

I wish I could freeze time right now.

“I need to apologize to you,” Miles admitted. “I haven’t been entirely honest.”

Phoenix remained silent, listening.

“I insisted on bringing you along, thinking your presence might change something. I thought…” He hesitated. “The truth is, I don’t even know what I was thinking.”

Phoenix tried to meet his eyes, but as always, Miles kept his gaze downcast.

“I thought that maybe if the three of us went together, even undercover, the people we’re looking for would make a move. Though at this point, we still don’t even know who we’re looking for,” Miles continued, frustration laced in his voice. “And all we’ve managed to do is find another dead end. I just hope your leg didn’t suffer too much because of it. And for that, I apologize.”

Phoenix offered a small smile, glancing down at their still-intertwined fingers. No trembling, no nervous sweating. Just warmth—like that was how things were always meant to be.

Phoenix gave a small smile and glanced at their intertwined fingers—no trembling, no sweat. As if this was their natural state.

You were right, Miles, he thought, feeling foolish for keeping the meeting a secret.

"I need to tell you something," he admitted. "There's a folded piece of paper in my jacket pocket. I want you to take it."

Miles furrowed his brow, puzzled.

"Trust me."

Those words seemed to be enough for Miles to get up from the bed. He searched through the jacket until he returned with the paper in hand. Miles unfolded it.

“An address? Where did you get this?” Miles asked, his voice steady but laced with an unmistakable edge.

Phoenix sat up, gripping the sheets as if they could anchor him. “Vera gave it to me.”

Miles looked at it again, with bewildered eyes. As soon as he opened his mouth to talk, Phoenix interrupted the upcoming speech. “Before you say anything, listen to me.”

And so he did. 

I know what he’s thinking, but he needs to know the truth first.

He took a deep breath. “While you and Lang were inside the office, she came to me and we hid in an empty room. She was dressed in disguise, but I swear it was her,” Miles lowered his arms and approached the bed, then he sat down again. “She told me that Glen and her are hiding, and they’re okay. She also confirmed that the call was a trap made by someone who’s trying to hurt you.”

Again, Miles looked at the note, now resting in his hand on the sheets. 

“Vera came to look for me Miles, just as you planned,” Phoenix took him by the hand in an impulsive act and squeezed it. “She trusts me… And now it’s my turn to find her.”

Miles' response was slow to come as he, pensive, kept his look down. 

Come on Miles, I know you trust me too… 

“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

Phoenix hesitated. “Because I wasn’t sure if it was a trap. Or if you’d believe me. But… I realized that keeping it from you was a mistake.”

Miles ran a hand through his hair, his mind clearly already working through the implications. “If Vera is reaching out, it means she wants us to find her. But if she and Glen have been hiding all this time, it’s for a reason.”

“Exactly,” Phoenix agreed. “Which is why we need to be careful.”

Miles nodded, glancing at Phoenix again. His eyes, usually filled with skepticism and calculation, softened just slightly. “I know this address, it’s near Laurelhust Park,” then, their eyes found each other. “Lang won’t come until late at night... Do you want to go now?”

With his eyes filled in determination, Phoenix nodded. 

Chapter Text

He closed the door, leaving Phoenix outside. Part of him thought maybe they could have let him in. After all, he didn’t need to keep watch in the hallway. But Lang wouldn’t allow it. Phoenix wasn’t a cop. Still, he had let him come with them. And Lang wasn’t easy to convince.

At first glance, the office seemed utterly ordinary. It was relatively small, even claustrophobic. There was a small round table with several chairs, which Miles assumed was meant for when students came to see Faith to go over exams or have tutoring sessions. Less than a meter away was the desk, with a black chair behind it. 

To the left, two shelves full of books and folders, their bulk and weight significantly reducing the space. It reminded him of his classical law professor’s office, which, being part of a small department, had been stuck with one of the most tucked-away offices in the university.

“What department was Buddy Faith from?”

“Organic Chemistry. He was doing his PhD on a research fellowship,” Lang replied while rummaging through the piles of papers on the shelf. “We’ll have to call CSI to take all this. We could spend hours going through papers.”

Miles nodded, crossing to the other side of the desk to check the drawers. Quite some time had passed since Faith’s death, and yet the family had agreed to leave the office untouched. Everything would be returned once the case was over—or so they were always told. But knowing that a family was waiting to receive their son’s belongings sometimes overwhelmed him.

In the third drawer, he found a red laptop. Carefully, he placed it on the table and opened it.

“Think it has a password?” Lang asked.

“We’ll find out soon enough.” Miles stood up, watching as the screen powered on. When the user icon finally appeared, a single click brought up the password prompt. “It does.”

Lang leaned over his shoulder, arms crossed. “Think you can crack it?”

“I’m not a hacker.” 

“But you’re a profiler.”

Miles didn’t answer right away. His eyes were fixed on the screen, but his mind was already elsewhere—running through everything he knew about Buddy Faith. Birthdays. Favorite authors. Pet names. Anything that could be a password. He was an Organic Chemistry student…

“I can try,” he murmured, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “But if we get it wrong too many times, we could lock it for good.”

Lang exhaled through his nose, straightening up. “Better not mess it up, then. If there’s anything useful in there, we need it.”

Miles typed slowly. Six letters. Pause. Then backspace. Incorrect password.  As he’d said, he was no hacker or technology savvy, though a wince of disappointment showed as the answer appeared to be wrong. 

He tried it again. Incorrect password. Miles wasn’t guessing randomly, he was testing an instinct, his logic. Yet, at the third try, it turned out that his mind wasn’t enough. 

“I told you, I’m not a hacker,” he said sharply as he stood up. “Let’s take a few things. The CSI will do the rest.”

Lang didn’t say anything, he didn’t even express an ounce of dissatisfaction. And still, Miles felt like he’d failed. 

-

“You seem disappointed,” Lang said. 

“This case… It's starting to give me headaches.” 

During the first thirty minutes of the journey, they had not exchanged a word. Miles had hardly noticed, for he was so absorbed in his thoughts that until Lang opened his mouth, he could think of nothing to say. After rummaging through Buddy Faith's office, he'd lost all hope of finding something related to what Knightley had told him. If only he'd been alive, this investigation wouldn't be a mess. 

“Me too…” Lang said before sighting. “I'll go talk to Celeste as soon as we arrive. I think we need to rethink all this.”

Again? Miles was tired of rethinking. They needed actions, not thoughts. He was usually the one who looked for the logical solutions, though this time, he had another perspective. If only they gave more attention to Vera Misham… 

“Do you trust Knightley?” Lang asked, to which Miles nodded confidently. 

I would be a fool if I didn't. Or at least that's what his sister would've said. 

The words of a dying man hardly carried any weight, but Miles believed that Knightley would never lie to him. At least that's what he hoped, that their years as rivals in chess would have been enough for them to trust him.

“We cannot give up yet,” Miles said. “I won't let this case go cold. Not again.” 

They were both exhausted by encountering dead end after dead end. Investigations were supposed to be smoother– they would travel to the destination, gather evidence, make a profile, and catch the guy. The longest Miles had been staying in a place was barely two weeks, though the reason was the culprit had killed himself a week after the last murder. His corpse was rotting as he hung from a girder in his wood's cabin. When they found him, the house was filled with fleas, and the putrid smell made Miles feel sick. 

If we're lucky, this time, death isn't the reason this investigation is such a quagmire. 

Miles looked out the window to admire the landscape. It was then that he saw Phoenix reflected in the rearview mirror.
He turned the other way to confirm that, indeed, he was asleep. The sight made him smile faintly. He must be tired.

“What is it?” asked Lang.

“He’s fallen asleep,” Miles whispered, settling back into his seat.

Lang nodded. “What are you going to do with him?”

“What do you mean?” The question struck Miles as odd—he didn’t consider that there was anything to do with Phoenix.

“Well, he’s not technically in witness protection anymore. He can go home whenever he wants.”

“I told you I wanted him involved in the investigation,” Miles shot back. “He has experience. And he can help us with the Vera Misham case.”

“I know, but if things get ugly, he’ll have to leave,” Lang said, his voice more serious now. “No matter how much experience he has, he’s a civilian now. And he’s already been injured once for sticking his nose too far in.”

Miles narrowed his eyes. “Let me remind you that bullet was meant for you,” he snapped, his voice low and sharp. “And be glad the other one didn’t hit me in the head.”

Immediately, Miles knew he’d gone too far, but he couldn’t contain his anger. Lang treated Phoenix’s presence like it was some kind of whim, and he didn’t seem to understand why Miles wanted him there. Though I’m not entirely sure I understand it myself…

They drove in silence for the rest of the trip, save for a few casual remarks from Lang about the scenery outside.

When they arrived in Portland, they headed straight to the police station, where Lang stepped out of the car.

“I’ll grab a taxi. I’ll be late,” he announced before walking off. “Don’t wait for me.”

Miles nodded. Once Lang was gone, he moved to the driver’s seat. He tried not to make any noise since Phoenix was still asleep. 

On the way home, he realized it was already midday. I haven’t made anything for lunch, he thought, going over everything in his mind. The exhaustion seemed to be catching up with him too—driving felt heavier the closer he got to the house. I’ll make something quick when I get in.

In the days following the Knightley incident, he’d barely been able to sleep. He had gone back to using sedatives, but deep down, he knew it wasn’t real rest. The dark circles under his eyes were just as visible. And with the bruises on either side of his nose, his face looked even more gaunt.

It was true that sleep had been elusive for some time now, but this case was making it worse.

When he finally parked in the front yard, he glanced at Phoenix—and for a moment, he felt a twinge of envy at how peacefully he slept. I wish I had that ability—to fall asleep anywhere.

He got out of the car carefully and opened the back door. With a gentle shake, he murmured, “Phoenix…” When he opened his eyes, Miles stepped aside and watched him from outside the car, his expression softening. “We’re home.”

Phoenix blinked a few times. As soon as he perked a bit, he stepped out of the car. “I fell asleep,” he said, slightly smiling. 

“You pushed yourself a lot today. The least you deserve is a nap.”

Already inside, the first thing Miles did was head to the kitchen. Without giving it much thought, he pulled out everything left in the fridge, along with a nearly empty bag of bread. It’s been a week since I last went out… Though technically, he had left the house—it was just that he needed time to come to terms with what had happened with Knightley.

Though he was starving, he took his time cutting everything up with care. He didn’t want to risk cutting himself. He made two almost identical sandwiches, and though they looked a bit chaotic, Miles hoped they’d be tasty. 

He put them on a tray and headed to Phoenix’s room. I hope he’s awake. 

After knocking on the door, he heard.  “Come in.”

When he opened the door, Phoenix was already in bed and had changed clothes. 

“I thought you might be hungry.”

“Yeah… Thanks.”

Miles stepped closer as Phoenix sat up. “I didn’t have time to make much else,” he apologized. “I’m exhausted, too.”

“It’s perfect. Thank you.”

He felt calmer and smiled slightly at the compliment. They ate in silence. Miles knew he was biting and chewing a bit faster, but he wanted to change his attire as soon as possible. 

In the beginning, he planned to leave after lunch and let Phoenix sleep. Though Phoenix didn’t seem to match his plan. “Will you come back?” Phoenix asked. “I’d like to read with you for a bit.”

Miles didn’t think it much and nodded in response. After leaving everything in the kitchen, she went to her room to change and wash his face, without standing too much before the mirror. I should probably shower later. 

When he came back, Phoenix was still in the same place. 

“Wait,” Phoenix said when he sat down on the chair. “You’ll be more comfortable here.”

He left some space for him at the bed. Miles was thinking about refusing. No thanks, it’s fine. He’s about to say. However, this time, he let his heart lead and sat on the fluffy breadspread. “Where did we leave off?”

He read for a while, just as he had been doing for several weeks. He had gotten used to it, and it even brought back memories of when his sister used to read to him at night when they were little. Although that had been different. This was a way of sharing a hobby with Phoenix, as they sometimes discussed what they had read and reflected on their favorite characters.

At one point, Miles yawned. I'm more tired than I thought. When he looked up from the pages, he saw that Phoenix was already asleep. Carefully, he set the book down on the table and got up to leave. He was so exhausted that he knew if he went up to his room, sleep would leave him right away.

I should probably go to bed, he thought. Though he knew that, once he started moving, the sleep would abandon him as fast as it came. If I lay down here, Phoenix won't mind… I will make sure to wake up before him. It's just a brief nap. 

He had found himself looking into Phoenix’s eyes the moment he woke up. He immediately realized he had slept longer than planned. But he was so comfortable, he saw no reason to waste that moment. “I fell asleep…”

Phoenix smiled. When he did, Miles felt like smiling, too, as if his expression was contagious.

“Does it hurt?”

Miles grazed his bruises. He’d tried not to pay much attention to them as it was a visible memory of the happening from the week before. “Not much. I hope they fade soon.”

“You know… They don’t look that bad on you.”

He knew the tone of the joke that Phoenix used to say to annoy him back then. “You’re just saying that to tease me.”

“Not at all. I mean it,” Phoenix insisted. “You look like you walked straight out of a boxing movie.”

He thought about fighting back, but it only came out to give him a little push to shut him up. “Idiot…”

When Phoenix laughed, the happiness of the moment spread to his lips. 

Without thinking, he approached his hand to Phoenix's, placing it on top. Miles felt risky by exposing himself to the uncertainty of the response. Luckily, Phoenix interlaced their fingers. And just like that, the pieces of her heart seemed to start rebuilding. It wasn't a simple repair, but simple actions were enough to make it start. 

“I need to apologize to you,” Miles said. “I haven’t been entirely honest.”

He felt bad that he had not achieved anything with the research that day. He wanted Phoenix to accompany them, but his desires also had to have a limit. Phoenix wasn't a cop, and his leg wasn't fully healed yet. And for that, he apologized.

What Phoenix told him after turned everything upside down. 

- 

Miles holstered his gun. I don't think I would use it. But I'll take it just in case. Phoenix's revelation about his encounter with Vera had caught him by surprise. He didn't think the missing girl would show up in those circumstances, in any circumstances. In his plans, there was no space for such a possibility. Now, I have to take this opportunity, no matter what. Maybe Glen can clarify a thing or two. 

Phoenix was waiting for him in the living room, already dressed in baggy clothes. 

“Ready?” Miles asked. 

Phoenix stood up, taking the crutch with him. “Ready.” 

Before jumping into the car, Miles texted Lang an excuse in case he came back before they did. 

“We decided to go out and grab something for dinner. If we are not there by the time you are back, call me.” 

That excuse would serve him well until they returned from visiting Vera. It's just an alibi. I'll tell him everything as soon as we get back.

He waited until Phoenix had his belt on to start the engine. 

There was no issue in convincing the security guards about them going to grab takeout. Miles wasn't much worried about how much time they'd be out. After all, the location was nearby, and it was barely seven o'clock. 

As he drove, he glanced again at Phoenix’s hand and wished they could touch again soon. “Did Vera say anything else?” Miles asked, trying to compile as much info as he could before encountering the missing girl. “How did she find you, or when did she want you to go to the address?” 

“Not really,” Phoenix said. “As I told you, she was in a rush.” 

I wonder how she knew we were there in the first place. 

They crossed the river and drove through the park, arriving at the buildings that were gathered in a nearby neighborhood. 

“Can you repeat the number to me, please?”

Phoenix got the paper out of his pocket. “Sixteen.” 

Miles nodded, searching the number they were looking for through the window. Once he saw it, he parked the car in the nearest spot he could find. 

He handed Phoenix his croutch and gave him a hand to get out of the car. Less than thirty feet away, the building that was written in the note stood in front of them. After walking up the few stairs, Phoenix rang the doorbell, but there was no answer. For a moment, Miles thought they might be mistaken or that Vera wasn't there at the moment, but the automatic door opened for them. 

Puzzled, they looked at each other and, without hesitation, stepped inside the hall. 

Strangely, Phoenix wasn't saying anything. Which made Miles assume that he was a bit nervous. 

“You're carrying the gun…” he said abruptly. 

“It's for protection.” Hopefully, I won't need to use it. 

The hallway was fairly quiet. They walked up to the door with the letter F written in gold.

Then, Phoenix knocked on the door.

And when it opened, Miles held his breath.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Wright," said Vera with a brief smile. Her large eyes looked at Miles. "I'm glad to see you too, Mr. Edgeworth. I trusted you would come as well. Please, come in. Glen is in the living room."

Phoenix had told him, and yet he still couldn't believe it. Vera Misham was standing in front of them, inviting them into her apartment.

Now I understand why he didn’t want to tell me. That girl I'd seen so many times through surveillance footage and police reports was alive and well.

Phoenix stepped in first, following Vera through the entryway. Miles lagged slightly behind, carefully observing the inside of the house.

There was hardly any decoration, and the furniture was rather basic. He noticed some sealed boxes piled in a corner. Anyone would say they had just moved in.

The most astonishing moment came when they reached the living room, and there, sitting on the sofa, was Glen Elg. Alive, breathing.

He stood up and gave them a warm smile. "Mr. Edgeworth, Mr. Wright. Welcome."

When he looked at Phoenix, he seemed surprised too—his eyes wide as saucers. Up until a few hours ago, he thought Glen was dead.

"Can I offer you something?" Vera asked. "We don’t have much. But I can make you some coffee."

"No, thank you," said Miles. Phoenix still hadn’t spoken.

Vera smiled kindly. "Please, sit."

The couple sat on one sofa while he and Phoenix took the one directly across from them.

Miles couldn't take his eyes off Glen. Initially, he’d thought that the man was dead. And then, he’d lost the hope of ever seeing him alive. 

"I know this must be a shock," Glen said, folding his hands in his lap. "Believe me, I didn’t expect this reunion either. 

"How?" Phoenix finally spoke, voice low and slightly hoarse. "Everyone thought you were dead."

Glen let out a soft chuckle, the sound oddly bittersweet. "So was I. In a way."

After, he cleared his throat, recovering a focused position. “We know that we owe you an explanation…”

“A few, indeed,” said Miles with a cutting tone. I don't know why, but I'm mad at them. 

Seeing Vera and Glen in such conditions made Miles feel an indescribable anger. He'd originally thought that Glen was dead, too. As for Vera, she was either kidnapped or hiding somewhere. And yet, none of them seemed scared while the entire FBI was trying to find them. Had gone intending to be sympathetic. I’ll keep a cool head for now. 

“Vera I… I thought you were… You were kidnapped. Your mother has been desperately looking for you,” Phoenix said, his voice choppy. “I crossed the entire country to find you.”

“I'm sorry for all the inconveniences I've caused you, Mr. Wright…”

I hope she means the leg, Miles thought. 

“I left on my own, knowing which consequences that would cause. But it was for a major reason.” 

“It was my fault, not Vera's. I'm the one who convinced her to leave,” Glen interrupted. “I'm very sorry for your leg, Mr. Wright. And Mr. Edgeworth… I hope you can understand.” 

No, I don't. 

Their pity seemed genuine, as both adopted a blue expression and inclined forward to show vulnerability. 

“I will understand once you explain yourselves, though I cannot promise anything,” Miles said, furrowing his brows. “I have the entire Organized Crime Unit looking for you both. The BAU has considered you, Mr. Elg, as a plausible suspect in an ongoing murder investigation. I also could charge you both with a few federal crimes: staged kidnapping, identity fraud, evidence manipulation–”

“Miles,” Phoenix stopped him by putting a hand on his. “Let them speak first.”

At that moment, he understood that maybe he had surpassed himself a bit. In front of him, there was nothing but two children, hiding from someone. 

With a nod, he permitted them to talk. Phoenix’s hand went away, leaving the heating sensation on his skin for a few seconds. 

Vera and Glen looked at each other, debating about how they should start. She squeezed his hand, and they smiled at each other. 

Glen sighed, crossed his hands, and hunched over. “I work for the CIA. And I took Vera with me as a training agent.” 

And I'm the fucking Steel Samurai. Maybe Miles was exaggerating in his thoughts, but that statement caught him completely off guard, which made it difficult to believe. Instead of protesting right away, he let them continue. 

“I was previously working in New York, compiling information from big companies. Two years ago, my boss gave me this mission. At first, we were looking for a trafficking network of minors. I ended up making a connection with a drug dealer that's operating here in Portland. But I needed a girl to infiltrate and find information among past victims.” 

“And that's where I come in,” Vera said. 

This has to be a joke, he thought. He almost laughed after hearing it. A bad joke. 

Miles gazed at Phoenix, who seemed invested in their story. Analyzing their corporal language, Vera and Glen didn't look like they were lying. 

He crossed his arms. “Wait, how old are you again?”

“Twenty-two, sir,” 

I also started with twenty-two. Still, he had a lot of questions. 

“Isn't that within the jurisdiction of Narcotics and Crime Against Children?” 

“It usually is… But I work as a hacker, and they needed me to find where the masters were hiding.” 

That made sense to Miles. In the FBI, they usually work with hackers to find information about suspects, encrypted files, and dark web stuff. Without Lisa Basil, the BAU would work way less agilely. I'm still wondering why the CIA would be taking over a case of this nature…

“Vera, your mom told me that you acted strange, talking about new people you'd met, sneaking out at night…,” Phoenix said. “That was all about the CIA?”

Vera nodded. “Glen told me everything after Christmas. I thought he worked for a big company, but I would've never imagined he was a spy. When he asked for me to come with him,” she looked at him. “I didn't doubt it…”

Oh, young love… Goes above any logic. 

“I knew that there would be consequences, that my parents would never let me go,” she said. “And I tried to convince them to let me study here. But the situation was such that I had to make a tough decision.” 

As I thought. Completely illogical. 

“Your mom thinks you've been kidnapped, Vera,” Phoenix said, subtle frustration through his teeth. “She came to me because the police wouldn't listen to her…” 

“I'm aware of it. And I will contact her as soon as I can,” Vera said, seemingly concerned about how her mother would be feeling at that moment.

“We're close to finding the person we're looking for,” added Glen. 

Now that’s a surprise. He couldn't abstain from asking.   “Any clues about their identity or whereabouts?”

“Not yet… We had been trying to find you guys for the last few weeks,” Glen confessed. 

“Mr. Elg, if I'm not mistaken, your sister was a victim of the Brand Killer.” Maybe he'd rushed into that topic, but it was key for his investigation to know Glen’s implication. 

“Yeah, I remember you from that time, Mr. Edgeworth. I was eleven back then. You haven't changed a bit,” he said with a blue smile. I wish I could say the same. Miles rarely forgot faces, but he interrogated so many people that it was difficult to recognize an appearance after that long. “My sister was murdered on March 6th, eleven years ago. After it happened, my family and I moved to Eugene. I studied informatics there and then got an internship in New York. My parents still keep Ava's picture in the living room.” 

It had been more than ten years of that.

“Have you ever investigated your sister's case? With all your knowledge and skills, being tempted to look for her files…” 

“I won't deny that I've been curious before about it. However, all I do is ethical hacking. I would never get into the police or the FBI's archive.” 

At least he’s ethical with his work. 

“You had an apartment near downtown, right Glen?” 

“I used to, but I sold it once I left for New York.” 

“When was that?”

“Around two years ago.” 

“Have you two been around there in the past month?” 

“He took me to a Thai restaurant about three weeks ago,” Vera said. 

“Yeah. Even though I no longer live there, I like to go to my favorite restaurants.” Glen admitted. 

"I won't lie to you, Mr. Edgeworth. We needed to be seen around to seem less suspicious."

"You knew Vera was being searched?" Phoenix jumped into questioning, too. 

Glen sighed, rubbing his hands. "I discovered it after that guy was killed in my old apartment..."

"You know?" Phoenix asked as he leaned on. 

Glen nodded in response. "I cannot find an explanation either. I had no idea that there was someone impersonating me." 

"Why didn't you contact us then?" Phoenix asked further, conveying disruption for the obscurity that he'd been going through during the last month. 

“Since I saw the news about a body being found in my old apartment, I thought that the best thing we could do was to collaborate with the FBI. Although, of course, I couldn't just call…”

Miles was able to commiserate with his situation. 

"I was afraid... Someone killed me. Or at least they thought they were killing me."

Glen lowered his head, and Vera squeezed his hand tightly to comfort him. At that moment, Miles realized something else, too. They're just kids. Frightened kids.

One thing was clear: as far as their killers were concerned, Glen was dead. So, indeed, he was in danger—if anyone found out he was still alive, they’d come after him. And so, Vera and Glen were perfect candidates for the witness protection program.

Still, Miles had many doubts about the couple’s alleged ties to the CIA.

"You said you're close to finding who you’re looking for... Has your boss given you any instructions for when you do?" But that wasn’t exactly what Miles wanted to ask. "More precisely, is he aware of what’s currently going on in Portland?"

The FBI was everywhere—it was strange they hadn’t contacted Andrews yet.

With the change of topic, Glen seemed to calm down a bit. Vera was still holding his hand as she looked back at Miles.

"I contacted him two weeks ago… He rented this apartment for us and told us to stay here. He never mentioned anything about the FBI. But we’ve been seeing everything on the news..."

"What’s your boss’s name?"

"We call him Mr. Big. His real name isn’t known."

The next thing he’ll say is the mission’s called Sex and the City.

While it was true that the CIA was involved in espionage, publicly speaking, most people in the U.S. knew who led the agency. Anyone could search the internet and find out the director was someone named William Burns, not John Big.

Miles wasn’t entirely sure how far he could go in questioning the story's credibility. After all, most CIA personnel were secret, and their files were classified—out of reach even for the FBI.

Maybe I was too skeptical. I should probably leave room for doubt. 

"And… how did you know we were going to Eugene today?" Phoenix asked.

Vera and Glen looked at each other. There was a certain hesitation in their looks. 

“I’ve been following you, Mr. Edgeworth. I heard you were heading to Eugene, so I thought it was a good moment to talk to you. And when I saw Mr. Wright in the car too... I decided that it was best to talk to him first, ” Vera admitted. “I’m sorry.”

That doesn't even surprise him anymore. He might even have expected it. 

“It’s fine,” Miles thought it was better to downplay it. “What matters it’s that you found us so we could find you.”

There were still many unknown facts that Miles couldn’t wait to uncover. However, something was telling him that there was something odd about the whole situation. 

“May I talk to you in private?” he asked Phoenix after standing up. 

He took him to the kitchen after politely asking Glen and Vera for a moment alone.

"What’s going on?" Phoenix asked as soon as the door closed behind them.

"We have to get them out of here," Miles said in a low, firm voice. "There’s something about all this I don’t like..."

"Why do you say that? They seem fine to me. The head of the CIA is protecting them."

"Oh, come on, don’t act like you’ve never worked for the FBI," Miles replied, rubbing his temples. "CIA agents don’t operate like this."

"And what would you know?"

For some reason, he refuses to listen to me.

"Need I remind you that just a few days ago, you thought Vera was setting me up?"

He still resents me for that. I don’t blame him.

"Phoenix, listen to me," he said, pulling him closer, gently. "I’ve got a gut feeling. Something tells me they’re in danger. Tell me—if this actually is a safehouse, why aren’t there undercover agents crawling all over the place? And more importantly, if the CIA knows—and they should know—that both the BAU and Organized Crime are after them, why haven’t they reached out? You and I both know how much they love meddling in federal cases."

Phoenix’s expression changed completely. He looked doubtful, his gaze falling to the floor.

"Do you trust me?"

Phoenix nodded.

"Then we’re taking them home."

Phoenix stopped him before he could come back to the living room. "Wait, wait. Are you sure about this?"

"Absolutely," Miles said, confidently. And Phoenix had no more objections.

They returned to the living room. Vera and Glen were speaking quietly to one another, comforting each other with gentle touches.

"Glen, Vera, you need to come with us," Miles said as he entered, voice steady and resolute.

Both of them looked at him, stunned.

"Are you going to arrest us?" Vera asked.

"No." Maybe I was too blunt… "I have access to a temporary safehouse… Well, it’s my family home. And I need your cooperation on this case. I’m sure the FBI will understand your situation and do everything possible to help you. I can convince my partner to contact your boss and clear this up."

"I’ve been living with him," Phoenix added, unexpectedly taking Miles’ hand. "He’s taken care of me. You can trust him… he’s not like the rest."

Miles’s heart skipped a beat. He looked at their joined hands and swore he could melt right there and then. I’m thirty-five years old and blushing in front of a couple of kids.

Glen and Vera debated the decisions through bare looks. In just a few seconds, Glen nodded. 

“We’ll take our stuff,” Vera announced.

However, as if fate itself were playing a cruel joke, someone knocked on the door—hard.

"GLEN ELG, FBI!" shouted a voice from the other side.

Miles froze in place and felt Phoenix’s hand slowly slip away from his.

He turned just in time to see Vera and Glen curled up on the sofa, their faces twisted in fear and disbelief. Then, with a thunderous crash, the door was kicked open. Lang and Celeste stormed in, guns drawn, bulletproof vests flashing under the harsh hallway light.

"Nice work, Agent Edgeworth," Celeste said coldly, not lowering her weapon.

Miles turned to her, but before he could say anything, he caught Phoenix’s gaze—and it hit him like a punch to the gut.

That look... That look was enough to make him feel like they were stepping once again on the shattered glass that made up the fragile pieces of his heart.

-

The street had been filled with patrol cars, with their blue and red lights painting the adjoining buildings' walls. Miles saw how they took Glen, handcuffed inside a car, while Vera cried and sat on the sidewalk. 

What the hell is happening? Was the only thing he could think about. 

Lang approached him after sending a few agents to register the apartment. “We got him. Your idea of taking Mr. Wright with us wasn’t as bad as I thought.”

Miles lasted a moment to process those words. And yet, he was startled. “What?”

“Glen Elg is the Brand Killer. Or at least he’s the copycat. Just as we thought from the beginning,” Lang explained. “We found the email address that sent those threats to Coachen and Faith. Bottom line, he thinks they were responsible for his sister’s death and decided to take revenge.”

“But… Knightley…”

“He probably helped them to design the drug which the girls were suministrated back in the day. We’re still not sure; that’s why we’re taking him for interrogation.”

No… This makes no sense. Knighley would never help to kill someone. However, up to this point, Miles started to question everything he knew. 

“You did great. Celeste is happy, and so would be Andrews,” Lang said, as if he wanted to cheer him up. “We’ll start the round of questioning tomorrow. Hopefully, we’ll be back in Washington in a couple of days. And you can get your promotion.”

“I haven't even done anything.”

“You found Glen Elg.” Lang placed his hand on Miles’ shoulder. “Maybe not intentionally. But you helped us a lot.”

I guess I did. 

“Wait, Lang. How did you know I came here?”

“We saw Vera on the security cameras. It was as easy as to zoom in the note she gave Mr. Wright. As soon as you sent me that message, I guessed you were coming here,” he explained. “You never let opportunities like this go.”

I guess I don’t. Miles was in such a stage of disbelief that he started to think that maybe Lang was right. He had collaborated since the beginning of Glen’s arrest, pretending that his feelings for Phoenix were the reason he acted like that. But, in reality, he was just following a plan. 

Lang walked away to join the rest, who were starting to cordon off the zone. He glanced at Vera again, she was now joined by two paramedics who were trying to calm her. Miles thought of approaching and apologizing, but instead, he lowered his head like a defeated dog.

The last straw that broke the camel's back was when the forensics took a cattle marker outside.

“We found it!” one man claimed in victory. 

From that moment, Miles didn’t want to see anymore. He turned around, faring away as he headed his car. He could hear Vera screaming, “That’s not his! That’s not his!” from the back. 

Away from the police butstle was his car, with Phoenix already inside. He had demanded Miles the keys as soon as the police took them out of the building. Miles gave them to him right away. 

He got in, not knowing what to say. Lowering his head, Miles tried to clear up his mind. 

“You knew?” Phoenix asked soon after. 

Miles kept his hands on the wheel, still in shock. He knew he ought to respond, but words didn't seem to want to come out. 

“You knew… That's why you insisted on coming.” 

His assumptions felt like hot bullets. I should've known; that's why I deserve his hatred. 

“I didn't know…” Miles muttered. 

“And how do you explain what happened, huh!?” Phoenix was obviously angry, as his voice  You should've known some way, he's your damned partner.”

“I DIDN'T KNOW, OK? Fuck...” He wasn't a person who was used to being angry. Moreover, he despised it. However, Miles exploded. As soon as it happened, he felt terrible and took a deep breath to let the anger fly away. Phoenix remained silent. “How the hell was I supposed to know if Lang had been crafting this… scheme behind my back?”

His voice cracked at the end as he felt his throat closing in anguish. Miles tried to swallow his tears, but everything that came out of him was a deep sob. 

“I'm sorry, Miles, I…” Phoenix sighed. “I'm an asshole.” 

He shook his head. “I understand. I'm sorry too… I shouldn't have screamed at you.” 

“It's fine.” 

Drying the imminent tears with his fingers, Miles took a deep breath– trying to calm himself. “They think that Glen killed Manny Coachen and Buddy Faith,” Miles revealed. 

“But that’s impossible!” Phoenix was just in disbelief as he was. 

“I know,” he admitted. “Tomorrow, it’s the questioning round. I’ll try to convince them that Glen is not their man. Lang confessed to me that there are a few loose ends… I have little to no evidence, but I’m sure I can get something out of it.”

“I want to go with you,” Phoenix said. “I want to help you.”

Miles nodded; after all, he owned Phoenix that. Then, he started the car. I have a lot to think about. He needed a plan. I have to convince the entire FBI that they have the wrong guy.  

A tough day was waiting for him.

Chapter Text

Miles drank his coffee in silence. Phoenix didn’t say anything either, but he wished Miles would say something just to keep him from thinking about what lay ahead. Glen’s arrest had taken him completely by surprise. It had been a long time since he’d struggled to sleep, but that previous night, falling asleep had been a battle. He tried to blame it on the nap he’d taken the previous afternoon. However, the anxiety of the whole situation was the main trigger of his insomnia.  For Vera, for Glen, and the situation with Miles—still undefined. Today, he hoped to resolve at least two of those worries. If Glen Elg turns out to be guilty, then maybe it’s my time to go home.

“I’ll go get dressed,” Miles announced as he stood up from the table. “We leave in half an hour.”
Phoenix just nodded.

He remained seated, staring at his now-empty plate. He still didn’t know how to process what had happened the day before. The excitement of finding Vera and Glen, of knowing they were both alive and well, had been shattered by the police’s sudden appearance. Seeing the FBI aiming their guns… and Celeste congratulating Miles— It had felt like a bucket of ice water dumped over his head.

The small fight they had in the car kicked him. I still cannot believe I accused him of such a thing… And the truth was that, for an instant, he’d pictured Miles going behind his back. Sometimes, Phoenix noticed there were things they hadn’t resolved, and therefore, it caused resentment towards him.  They’d spent almost a month together, yet they had barely talked. Well, they’d talked about the case, books, and home chores, but not about them. There were lots of things Phoenix wanted to tell Miles, yet he felt the opportunity to do so was fading away. 

Phoenix didn't put much effort into dressing up. He wore a blue sweatshirt Miles had bought him weeks ago, his usual pants, and sneakers. This time, Miles wasn't as fancy as he usually was. He wore a white shirt and maroon pants. 

“Do you… Have a plan?” Phoenix asked upon arrival

Miles maintained his eyes on the road. “I guess I do.”

Phoenix remembered the Portland PB station from the first time he'd been there. Seems far, but it has barely passed a month. Time with Miles had passed fast, though it also felt like an eternity. When they were together, time couldn't be measured in a rational proportion.  He gazed at Miles as they took the elevator. His clenched jaw and cold gesture, gentle and pensive. I wonder what he’s thinking about…, Phoenix asked himself. Miles never showed fear on dealing with challenging situations, yet it didn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t afraid. 

When the doors opened, Phoenix was shocked at the number of people there. It appears that the FBI has taken the building. The first time he’d been there, the office was as ordinary as any other police station. Now, everything was enabled for the function of a large operation. Phoenix had seen it on numerous occasions, especially when it came to a unit with grand resources, such as Organized Crime. 

“Come with me,” Miles said. “I want you to meet someone.”

They crossed through the tables. Phoenix had to be extra careful not to trip accidentally with the crutch. A few feet further, two men were standing. One was big, grayer, and wore an old jacket. Initially, it looked like he was holding a cigarette in his mouth, but it was a lollipop. Trucy loves those. The ones that leave your entire tongue red… What an odd habit for an old man. The other man was taller, thinner, in his fifties, and wore a hat. What an old-fashioned outfit… Just like his haircut. Phoenix remembered seeing them the last time. 

“Chief Badd, Mr. Shields,” said Miles. “This is Phoenix Wright. I didn’t introduce you formally.”

“Chief Tyrell Badd, a pleasure.” The Chief gave Phoenix his hand. “Is your leg better?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Detective Raymond Shields.” The other man did the same, though he shook Phoenix’s hand frantically instead of a tough grip. “Miles has talked a lot about you.”

“No, I did not,” Miles denied instantly. Phoenix laughed it off awkwardly. 

“Come on, Miles. Don’t treat your friend like that… You should be nice to him.”

“Leave the kid alone, Ray,” Chief Badd demanded. “We have more important matters than the his social skills.”

What an odd couple… 

“I used to work with them when I started here in Portland,” Miles explained, ignoring what they’ve said. “We were the original team that started searching for the Brand Killer. They are willing to help.”

Phoenix understood the objective of the introductions. These two are part of his plan. “Have you talked to Glen Elg?”

“I’m afraid not,” Badd said. “The FBI is all over him right now. And, technically, we’re not part of the case. But we’ll provide you with all the resources needed.”

Well, that’s disappointing. Phoenix was able to understand. He’d spent seven years in the FBI and knew how things worked. “Thank you for your help.”

“Agent Edgeworth,” an agent had approached them. “A couple has arrived at the building, and they claimed to be looking for their daughter.”

When looking above the people, Phoenix noticed Vera’s mother, accompanied by her husband. They came. “They’re Vera’s parents.”

Miles turned around. “And where is Vera Misham?”

“She spent the night in the hospital, sir,” the agent explained, as if Miles should’ve known already. “The paramedics took her in due to a panic attack.”

“Go talk to them,” Miles said to Phoenix. “They will need a known face.”

Phoenix didn't doubt it a second. He walked through the chaos again to meet the Mishams. 

“Mrs. Misham…” he called. 

“Mr. Wright!” Iryna exclaimed, hugging him right away. Phoenix gladly reciprocated the hug. “Oh… What happened to you?”

“A small injury, nothing to worry about.” There’s no way I'm telling them that I was involved in a shooting. At least not now. 

“This is my husband, Drew.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Wright,” greeted Mr. Misham. “The FBI contacted us. You've found our daughter?” 

“Yes, yes, she’s alright.” I’d better keep them serene. “But she was a bit anxious last night… so they took her into the hospital.”

Though the choice of words couldn’t make it better. Iryna’s lips started to tremble, and Drew’s eyes got watery. Phoenix felt empathy for them both. If somebody told him what he’d just said about Trucy… I would’ve fallen to my knees and started crying. 

“Wright,” Miles called from behind as he approached them. At least he doesn’t call me “Mr.” anymore. “Good morning. I’m Special Agent Miles Edgeworth, BAU. Thank you for coming so fast.”

“Thanks to you for contacting us, Mr. Edgeworth,” Iryna said, brushing a tear away. “When can we see our daughter?”

Wait… He called them?. Phoenix turned to look at him. He felt glad to see the fruits of Miles’ effort to help him… But at the same time, Phoenix resented him for not doing it from the beginning. He thought he’d already forgiven him, but some of his actions were hard to forget.

“Mr. Wright would accompany you to the hospital,” said Miles, unexpectedly. The Mishams’ faces changed entirely, gazing at each other with hopeful eyes and holding hands. “We have already called a taxi, you may wait in the hall.”

“Thank you so much,” Drew Misham said with a bright beam. Miles tried to smile back at him, though all he could express was a wince with his torn lips. 

Before going into the elevator, Phoenix had to ask Miles why he was suddenly doing so much for him. “Miles…”

“Go with them,” Miles interrupted. “They trust you. And I'm sure that Vera would be glad to see you.”

Phoenix didn’t want to question it. He just turned around and followed the Mishams to the elevator. When the doors closed, his eyes locked with Miles’ until he disappeared behind the iron gates. 

The taxi arrived five minutes later, and as the hospital was nearby, the trip was short. As soon as they arrived, they rushed into the reception. 

“We're looking for Vera Misham,” said Drew. 

The nurse looked at them with doubt. “Are you her parents?” 

“Yes,” Iryna nodded. 

“I'm afraid you need to visit with a police officer present,” the nurse explained. 

“Agent Miles Edgeworth sent me to come with them,” Phoenix said, expecting it to be enough. “I'm Phoenix Wright.” 

The nurse, still doubtful, looked at a list that said “allowed personnel ”. After, she raised her sight. “Room 5C. Fifth floor, to the right. You may take the elevator.” 

“Thank you,” both the Mishams said. 

On their way to the elevator, Iryna and Drew weren’t talking, they just rushed to find their daughter. Phoenix walked behind them. 

Reached the room they came inside to find Vera lying on the bed. There was a moment of silence as she saw her parents. And then, Vera cried. “Mom! Dad!”

“Oh, my dotchka!” Iryna didn’t hesitate to go and hug her daughter. 

Finally reunited, the family hughed for a while as the three of them cried. Iryna caressed Vera’s head as her father couldn’t stop kissing her on the cheeks. Phoenix observed them from a distance with tenderness. 

“Mom… They arrested Glen,” Vera sobbed. “He didn’t do anything… I came with him because I love him…”

Iryna tried to calm her, murmuring things in Ukrainian that Phoenix couldn’t understand. He took a small step back, giving the family space as Vera wept into her mother’s shoulder. Phoenix felt like an intruder, standing at the edge of something so intimate, so long-awaited.

“It’s alright, my love, shhh... You’re okay. That’s what matters,” Iryna whispered, gently rocking her daughter. Her voice still held a Ukrainian accent as she brushed Vera’s hair from her tear-streaked face.

Her father, stoic just moments ago, was wiping his own eyes. “We thought you were kidnapped. Vera, do you understand? You disappeared. There was no message, no goodbye... Your mother…” His voice broke. “We almost lost hope.”

“I had to… Glen needed me,” Vera said shakily. “And I didn’t want to worry you…”

Phoenix bit the inside of his cheek, unsure if he should speak. But then he heard himself say it anyway, softly, “She came all the way here with Glen for a good reason. Please, don’t be mad at her.”

Iryna approached him, taking his hands gently. “Thank you, Mr. Wright. I knew we could trust you.”

Phoenix smirked, feeling grateful for their trust. “Thanks to you for trusting me. Though I have to admit that I didn’t do it alone.”

I could’ve done this without him… I have to admit it.

Before he could explain further, Vera asked with a spark of urgency in her voice, “Where’s Mr. Edgeworth? ”

Phoenix hesitated. “He’s at the station. They’re preparing the interrogation.”

“No…” Vera shook her head, voice trembling again. “He knows Glen didn’t do it, doesn’t he? He promised—”

“He’s trying,” Phoenix said carefully. “Things aren’t that easy. There isn’t much evidence in Glen's favor... But Miles is doing everything he can.”

Vera sharpened her sight. “I want to go with you. I want to be there when they question him.”

Her mother gasped, already shaking her head. “No. Vera, you need to rest—”

“I don't need to rest!” she said, her voice steadier now. “Glen needs me. And I’m not going to let him face this alone.”

“May I have a moment with her? Alone.” Phoenix requested, though he made it sound like an order. 

“But we've just arrived…” Drew said. 

“It's okay, Dad,” Vera stroked his hand. “Mr. Wright needs my help. It'll be a moment.” 

Vera's parents walked out of the room, obviously reluctant. Though they seem to understand the situation. 

“Mr. Wright, what happened yesterday?” Vera asked, worried. 

“The FBI played with us…” There was no other way to say it. “They knew you were following us all along. They just waited for the best moment.” 

Vera couldn't believe it. “But- Mr. Edgeworth…” 

“He didn't participate. They also lied to him… Because they needed me to trust him.” 

Vera nodded, still processing the information. “And what about Glen? Are they going to accuse him of murder?”

“Probably,” Phoenix admitted, sighing. “But the only evidence they have is the cattle. And anyone could've put it there without you noticing… So, we should wait for the advancement of the investigation.” 

“Okay… I will help you.” Vera's sadness was substituted by fierceness. “I know everything regarding Glen's investigation.” 

Phoenix smirked. She's keen to help. “Thank you, Vera.” 

The Mishams were allowed in again. After them, a nurse walked in. “I will come to check on Vera in a minute. Would you mind waiting?”

“Sure,” Iryna said, approaching her daughter’s bed again. 

“Mom, Dad. I want to go with Glen,” Vera said. “I'm fine. I'm sure I can get discharged after this checkout.” 

“We’ll talk about it later, okay?” Drew said, caressing her daughter’s hands. “The nurse has to check on you first. As soon as you get discharged, we’ll talk about it.”

But Vera shut down, mad at her parents’ response. She crossed her arms and looked away. Her reaction made Iryna and Drew give up and resolve to leave her alone for a while. 

When the nurse showed up for a routine checkup, the three of them headed to the hospital’s cafeteria. They needed a coffee urgently. 

Already sat down with a warmed caffeinated drink in their hands, Drew Misham glanced at him. “Tell us, Mr. Wright… What happened?”

Phoenix narrated everything that happened since he arrived in Portland, omitting the shooting’s details and focusing on as far as the case was concerned. 

“But Glen is a good boy,” Iryna defended him. “I admit that I thought he’d taken Vera… But with you’re telling us, I’m sure he had nothing to do with those murders.”

Try to convince the entire FBI of it. “I know… I’m trying to do everything I can, but I’m not a cop, so they won’t take me seriously.”

“Agent Edgeworth, it’s on our side, isn’t he?” Drew asked. “He called us after all.”

“Yes, he is,” Phoenix nodded. “But things are more complicated than that… You can trust him, though.”

“If you trust him, Mr. Wright, I’m sure he’s a good man,” Iryna said in a serene voice. 

“He is,” Phoenix confirmed confidently. “I guarantee you.”

When they finished their coffee, the couple stood up to go back to their daughter. 

“We will take Vera back to New York as soon as she gets discharged,” Drew announced. “We were wondering if you’d like to come with us… Vera might need someone to feel safe.”

“I’ll… think about it.” And, for a moment, he thought of actually considering. He missed Trucy and Maya. Though he hadn’t accomplished what he’d promised Franziska. 

When Vera’s parents said goodbye, Phoenix went back to the station. Most of the people who were there before seemed to be taking their fifteen-minute lunch break, as there were barely any agents left in the office. 

There was no trace of Miles. 

Feeling a bit tired of walking, he decided to sit down on an empty chair, giving his leg a break. He took the chance to think in retrospect. 

A lot of things had happened since he’d reunited with Miles. They had even lived together… And yet, he felt the distance had grown bigger with the last events. Maybe it was time to stop —to leave things in the FBI’s hands and come back to his home, with his daughter. Go back to his two jobs, to pay rent, to admire paintings at three AM while listening to The Cure. That had been his life for the last two years. He couldn’t find any realistic reason not to go back to it. 

Franziska would kill me. But I can survive it. 

“Phoenix Wright,” A known voice called. Phoenix rose to his sight, finding Celeste Impax standing a few feet away. “Long time no see.” 

“Hi, Celeste,” he saluted back. 

“Are you looking for Agent Edgeworth?”

“Yeah. You know where he is?” 

“He's having a meeting with the BAU team before beginning the questioning,” she explained. “Have you eaten yet? I've ordered Japanese food to my office. Would you like to join me?” 

“Uh… Sure.” 

Her lips pursed into a smile.

Phoenix knew Celeste quite well. They've worked together on more than one occasion. There was a time when he even liked her —But that was almost seven years ago. She'd been present in his trial for evidence robbery, insubordination, and incorrect use of resources. He remembered her impassive look, whispering with the other member of the jury to make their decision. Though Celeste and Phoenix had a past, she voted yes to his and Maya’s suspension. I don’t blame her, she’d always been Andrews’ lap dog. 

He wasn’t surprised to see that Celeste had taken the Chief’s office temporarily. At least she’s learnt to keep her space clean. The first time they met, almost eight years ago, Celeste had her entire desk full of used coffee cups and paperwork she’d forgotten to archive. Of course, back then, she was only a subordinate. 

When the food arrived, Celeste invited Phoenix to sit down and offered him a box of sushi. “Keep them. I always order more than I eat.”

Phoenix didn’t refuse. 

“Have you taken Vera’s parents to the hospital?” Celeste asked as she finished chewing her food. 

“Yes.”

“How cute… A Reunited Family. I’m sure they were so touched,” she expressed, but with a slight disdain. Celeste had become colder with the years, cruel even. She never cared about families —her work was to put drug dealers and mob bosses behind bars, not rescuing little girls. “Has the fact of being a normal citizen been treating you well? I’ve heard you work as a security guard in a mall.”

“I work for a security insurance company,” Phoenix explained. He wouldn’t let Celeste make him the object of her mockings. “And I’m also a PI, that’s why I’m here.”

“You may want to change jobs after all this.”

Phoenix didn’t want to answer, even if it meant losing. “How is being the chief of Organized Crime? I didn't see you again until the day of the trial.”

“I was very busy,” she said coldly. “As I am now.”

She says as she’s eating takeout food in a stolen workplace… 

“Do you still hate me, Celeste?”

“Why would I hate you?”

“Because of how things ended between us,” Phoenix said. Then he sighed. “Why didn’t it work?”

Celeste stirred the food with the chopsticks, thoughtfully. “You should know why…”

“I don’t. I really don’t.”

Celeste set the box down on the table, her carmine lips parting with a sigh. “People become weak when they love someone. And your weakness, Phoenix, is your family. You wear your love for them openly… and that makes your job harder. Every time you saw a dead girl, you empathized too much with the parents—you got too involved in the case. But for people like me, showing vulnerability is painful. That’s why I couldn’t be with you. Because if I ever let myself be vulnerable, I wouldn’t be able to do this job.”

Phoenix remained silent. Seems like a good explanation. “Why did you vote against me, tho?”

“You are not made to be an agent,” Celeste revealed dryly. “And don’t get me wrong. You were very, very good… That’s why, unlike others, you want to save and forgive. Like you forgave Ron Delite. And, Phoenix, your worries have always been focused on the people that surround you. Not the dead.”

Partly, Phoenix wanted to laugh ironically after such a lecture. But also, he wanted to cry. Cry because he’d been mistaken for so many years. Although if he thought it thoroughly, of that mistake, wonderful things had happened to him. Meeting Maya, Apollo, Miles… At the end, he just finished eating his sushi. 

They stayed for a while, exchanging anecdotes and recalling old memories. Celeste even gave him an update on Apollo, who seemed to be doing well while working in the Security Department. 

“Mrs. Impax,” Miles had opened the door. “Oh… Mr. Wright.”

The “Mr” again? Seriously?

“We were just talking about the old times,” Celeste said. “What’s wrong, Edgeworth?”

“The CIA on the phone.”

Celeste’s expression became serious instantly. “Pass him to me. Meanwhile, you may proceed with the questioning.”

Phoenix stood up, knowing that he was out of place, but Celeste interrupted him while picking up the phone. “By the way. You may go back home, Mr. Wright. We appreciate your collaboration, but you’re safe now. Leave the rest to us.”

Miles and he came out of the office right after. It seems like everyone wants me to leave, he thought.

“How was Vera?” Miles asked. 

“Better. They are taking her back to New York as soon as she gets discharged,” he said. “Though I don’t think Vera would agree on that. She was willing to come to see Glen.”

“No wonder,” Miles smirked momentarily. “Uhm… Glen’s lawyer is already here. So we will begin now. You can observe from behind the one-way mirror if you might.”

Phoenix followed him into the interrogation room. It had been some time since he had been involved in a police questioning, aside from the time they questioned him. Standing behind the mirror, he felt like a police officer again, but his role was different this time. Having experienced what Glen was going through, he understood how cold and suffocating that room could be.

Glen was sitting next to an older man, whom Phoenix guessed was his lawyer. Then, Miles and Agent Lang walked in. Both of them with documents under their arms. When they sat, Phoenix could only see the back of their heads. Please Miles… Fight for him. 

“Hello again, Glen,” Miles greeted. “Have you slept well?”

“The bed here is a bit uncomfy,” Glen responded. His arms were crossed, and his eyes were tired. “But they gave me a pillow at least.”

“If you tell us what we need to know, you may sleep in a better place tonight,” Lang said, and Phoenix rolled his eyes. 

“My client has decided to cooperate,” the lawyer stated. “With the condition that you’d let him see his girlfriend after this.”

“We’ll do everything we can to make it happen,” Miles said. Though it didn’t sound like a promise, Glen nodded. 

“Mr. Elg, we need you to tell us what you told Agent Edgeworth yesterday.” 

After gazing at his lawyer, Glen started with his statement. “Since I was sixteen, I’ve been quite computer savvy. Unintentionally, I started to get in trouble by accessing the dark web and encrypted web pages, but nothing serious. Around four years ago, the police started contacting me to help them with open cases, like kidnappings and such. Portland PB paid me two hundred bucks one time, the chief must remember.”

“Chief Badd remembers you, Glen,” Miles confirmed in a hushed voice. “Don’t worry about that.”

Glen seemed to be eased by that as his voice became more confident. “Then, two years ago, a man called Mr. Big contacted me and offered me a job in the CIA. At first, I doubted his credibility. Not every day the CIA calls… But he gave me more information, and I ended up accepting. He gave me an apartment in New York and commanded me to compile info about pharmaceutical companies in the state. I met Vera in a cafe at that time,” Glen smirked, remembering his girlfriend, which Phoenix found so cute that it caused him to smile too. 

“Then, last Christmas, my boss called again and told me that the plans had changed, and I needed to help him dismantle a trafficking network operating here in Oregon. I… I thought it was a huge thing, so how could I refuse?” Glen made a pause. “I asked Vera to come with me. Mr. Big told me it was fine, that she could work with me as an infiltrator. She said yes. So, on February 25th, I picked her up at her home. We took Route ninety-five, the sixty-four, the seventy, and followed the fifteen and Route 84 all up here. It took us seven days as we made a few stops to rest.”

If I'm not mistaken, they have pictures of them in a few motels and gas stations all around the country… But, as Miles had said, all was against Glen. He could’ve arrived in Portland on March 4th and killed Buddy Faith and Manny Coachen. 

“When we arrived, we went to the apartment Mr. Big had rented for me. I sold my old apartment when I left for New York… But I didn’t know it was still in my name.” Glen swallowed. “I just went in the neighborhood to say hi to old neighbors. No one asked me if I was still living there.”

“While you were here in Portland, did you go anywhere else?” Lang asked.

“No, I spent the days working on the apartment. Vera went out to do groceries, and then we cooked together. She has also been studying to finish her studies. She likes it here and wants to study art or linguistics…”

Now that he’d finished his story, Lang took two pictures out of the folder. “Did you know Manny Coachen or Buddy Faith? Buddy Faith was a college friend of your sister, maybe?”

“No,” Glen denied instantly. “I’ve never seen them in my life.”

“Glen, did your boss ask you to send emails to anyone? Maybe someone who you thought was implicated in the case?”

“No… I never contact suspects by email. I never contact them by any means. My work it’s to spy. They must not notice.”

“Of course,” Miles nodded. “And you’ve never seen Mr. Big in person, right? He only contacts you by phone.”

“Yes. He’s busy in D.C, so he only calls when delivering instructions.”

“Do you have his number?” 

“No, ehm… He uses a hidden number. I always pick up just in case.”

Of course… Why would he doubt a boss from the CIA? Phoenix started to doubt if Glen was working as a spy. Or at least he thought he was. Now I understand Miles’ worries… I bet he wasn’t misguided with his hunch. 

Miles stirred his papers while the room became silent again. Just as Phoenix thought, there were quite a few doubts about Glen’s culpability. But the uncertainty can have different interpretations. 

Suddenly, the door opened, and Celeste walked in. Both Lang and Miles turned to look at her as the sound of her heels hit the floor. 

“The CIA just called,” she said. Glen's face, filled with hope, didn’t last much. “They confirmed that you don’t work for them, Mr. Elg. The hackers that they work with are in their offices. And they do not know about a man called Mr. Big.”

“No… It… It can’t be…” Glen’s eyes started to get watery.

Miles’ suspicions were confirmed then. Phoenix felt powerless, standing in front of Glen, with him unable to see it. He’s not lying. Someone must’ve manipulated him —probably the real culprit. 

“We found a cattle marker on your apartment. Exact to which was used on the victims,” Lang said. “You wanted revenge on your sister’s murder, Glen?”

“My client won’t answer more questions,” said the lawyer, putting his hand on Glen’s shoulder while the tears ran down his eyes. 

Celeste was the first one to walk out while Lang started to gather his things. But Miles stayed still. “Glen. This Mr. Big... Would you recognize his voice?”

The lawyer didn’t seem to approve of the question, but Glen nodded. “He’s surely an old man. Like… He has this voice of when you’ve smoked for too many years.”

“Thanks, Glen.” Then, Miles stood up. 

Phoenix stood there, pensive. There were things that the FBI wasn’t taking into account. Vera’s fake call, the shooting, the incident in the jail… And yet, they were convinced that Glen was their man. It wasn’t the first time he experienced a situation like that. Phoenix himself had been guilty of easy accusations and misguided culprits. But this time, something felt different… Someone wants this case closed, he thought. 

Glen had stopped crying, instead, he hid his face between his hands. Phoenix felt so bad for him that he was clenching his fists. Not wanting to see more, he walked out of the small room, expecting to meet Miles. Instead, he saw him and Lang arguing at the end of the hallway. 

“You are not listening to me. It’s not him,” Miles said with an insistent voice. “Have you seen his body language? He is not lying.”

“The cattle marker is a definitive proof, Batman,” Lang said with disdain. “I know you want to be on your private detective’s side. But it’s time we let him go. Once he’s gone, I’m sure you’ll see things clearly.”

The fight seemed to have ended there, as Lang walked away. When he passed next to Phoenix, he barely looked at him. Asshole…

With a gloomy stare, Miles stayed in his place for a few seconds until he raised his head and saw Phoenix waiting. 

“It’s time to go,” Miles said as he approached him. 

Phoenix just followed him out. 

-

The ride back felt long. Too long. There was silence, but Phoenix felt like there were plenty of things to say. He’d spent the entire morning wondering what Miles was planning to do. Phoenix had seen him treating Glen like he used to –with kindness and compassion. That gave him proof of Miles’ position. However, the turn of events wasn’t favorable. Not to Glen, or Vera… Or them. It appeared that his options were over. 

“Are you leaving?” Miles asked suddenly. 

Phoenix shrugged. “That’s what everyone is telling me.”

Miles nodded. “Okay.” 

Somehow, that response annoyed him. He does not care? Bullshit. 

So, when they arrived and Miles left his keys on the entrance side table, Phoenix decided it was time to end the silence. "Aren't you going to say anything?" 

Miles didn’t look at him and took his shoes off. "What do you want me to say?" 

Phoenix didn’t have a clear answer. 

Then, Miles sighed. "I'll help you pack… If that’s what you want." 

"No." Phoenix toed, unwilling to keep letting things flow. 

Miles finally turned around and looked at him in confusion. "What?"

"No," Phoenix insisted. And then, his rage blew up. "No, no, no. I'm not letting this happen. You ghosted me. You vanished without an explanation. Yes, I messed up badly, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't give ourselves another chance." His anger was escalating, and his words were no longer restrained. "Now we meet again, and you point a gun at me, interrogate me, and track my phone. Then, after taking care of me for weeks and asking for my help with your investigation, you act like you don't care that I'm leaving?"

As the words spilled out, Miles lowered his eyes. But then, with a sharpened gaze, he looked directly into Phoenix’s eyes. “You’re not the only one who can complain. You came back, and… I'm done with it. I told you I didn’t want to see you anymore. Ever. I wanted you out of my life,” Miles said, tightening his jaw. “And now you come here to interfere in my case while hurting yourself in the process! Do you know how hard it has been for me to support you this entire time? That’s why I wanted you to leave Portland; I cannot protect you and do my job at the same time!”

“Oh, come on!” That angered Phoenix more. “Don’t pretend to be on their side!”

“I have to! It’s my goddammed job!”

“It was also your job when we arrested Kristoph Gavin. But it seems that you’ve forgotten.”

Miles shut down. When they argued, he was keen to use the silent treatment rather than screaming. But Phoenix had to let it all out. "I've been waiting two years… Two fucking years! As soon as I was expelled, I went back looking for you, Miles. After all those trials, everything I could think of was how bad I wanted to be with you. I went to Atlanta to give you a surprise... But Gumshoe told me you were gone. After that, I spent months mourning for what I did to you... I even called your sister drunk because I was so desperate to find you that I couldn't even control myself." 

Miles’ eyes expanded, declaring that he had no idea of the circumstances. Phoenix grabbed a moment to breathe, as his throat had become dry from talking. He felt stupid, blaming Miles for his own actions. 

"Just tell me what you want. What you really want." Phoenix said, almost begging. "And if you want me to leave your life, I will. You won’t see me again." 

Saying those words made his heart ache. He knew it was painful, but he couldn't wait much longer. He needed answers, and he needed them now. 

With his eyes down, Miles replied. "I'm scared.”

Phoenix frowned. "Why?" 

"Because I think that one way or another, I'm going to lose you." Miles closed his eyes, sighing. "So why even bother to try?" 

Phoenix finally understood everything. His rage changed to sadness and compassion. "Your fear does nothing but hurt you... Hurt us ." 

"I know," Miles smirked. "I'm such a coward... Why let others hurt me when I can hurt myself?" 

"I won't hurt you, Miles. Not like others did." he gave a step forward, showing himself confident. "But you will never know if you don't let us try. Remember the time we spent together in Atlanta..." 

"That was different," Miles shook his head. "Things have changed since. I've changed." 

"I don't care," Phoenix said firmly. "Things have never been easy, I know that. We met over a horrible situation and still managed to make it work. Why would it be different now?"

There was a moment of silence between them. Come on, Miles... 

"I'm hard to love," he said. 

Phoenix couldn't help but smile ironically. "Well, it's been painfully easy for me during the last two years... You make it hard sometimes. Lucky for you, I'm stubborn and I don't know when to stop." 

Miles raised his gaze, and a soft blush could be noticed under his eye bags. Phoenix's anger had gone away, replaced by ease. "Miles... And I'm tired of waiting."

"Then kiss me," Miles demanded. “And I will surrender.”

Phoenix didn’t expect that response. At all. But the details didn't matter anymore. He approached Miles, who stood and observed his moves. In a question of seconds, they were inches apart, so close that he could feel Miles' breath on his face. 

With one hand, he reached Miles' cheek, which he caressed, taking the time to feel his soft skin under his fingertips. Their eyes met like they never did before. Phoenix took an instant to appreciate Miles' eyes, eyebrows, nose, and lips —Everything in him was beautiful. 

The proximity started to make Phoenix's mind rush. He intended to take things with care, but the arousal seemed to be stronger than him. He didn't have to wait long as Miles pulled him by the shirt and made their lips crash into each other. 

Phoenix let the crotch drop, grabbing Miles by the head and pulling him backward until they hit the wall. The kiss was hungry and violent, as if neither of them could contain themselves anymore. Phoenix tasted Miles’ lips like it was the first time, delighting himself with the wetness and the soft coffee flavor.

The temperature went up rapidly, so they took a moment to breathe. 

"In this, you have not changed one bit…” Phoenix muttered as Miles grabbed him strongly.

Phoenix smirked before approaching Miles again. This time, he started softly licking the surface, waiting for permission to come in. Once Miles opened his gate, Phoenix could deepen the kiss and explore the taste he'd been missing for so long. 

His hands went down to Miles' hips, and he uncontrollably thrust his body against him. Phoenix was starting to feel the heat travel through his face and limbs. Even a well-known tickle was announcing his arrival under his pants. 

However, a sudden cramp in the leg made him grimace and back up. 

"Are you okay?" Miles asked as he grabbed him by the arm. 

"It's just my leg..." Phoenix said. “I’ve been walking around the entire day, and I think she doesn’t want to keep making efforts.”

Miles observed him with concern. For a second, Phoenix thought he was about to make him stop. But there was no way he would. "Do you want to have sex?" 

Oh fuck yes. Phoenix wanted to scream yes like a hormoned teenager, but he contained himself. Miles' honesty had always been hot to him. "Yeah, I mean... Do you?" 

"I do." Miles' answer was enough to make Phoenix shiver. "Why don't you wait for me in your bed as I grab a couple of things?" 

Nodding energetically, Phoenix loosened the grabbing so Miles could reach the crutch and hand it to him. Every move he made gave Phoenix the urge to kiss him again. And so he did. 

"Phoenix..." Miles reproached, putting a hand on his chest to put him away. "I'll be there before you realize it." 

Phoenix felt dumb. He was dumbly in love with Miles. So much that he observed him as he walked upstairs, his mouth almost watering. 

As fast as he could, he limped to the room. Leaving the crutch aside, he quickly arranged the sheets to make it seem like the bed was made. However, he put them away, thinking that they were going to mess them up anyway. 

Phoenix stayed sitting on the edge, not knowing how exactly he should wait. He glanced at his palms, feeling the tickling travel through his body. The last time he'd felt so nervous and horny about someone it was more than fifteen years back. 

He raised his sight as soon as Miles walked in, carrying condoms and a bottle of lubricant with him. Phoenix dried the sweat from his palms, rubbing them on his pants. Miles left the things on the nightstand and then sat down next to him. 

"If your leg hurts, let me know," Miles said. Phoenix nodded, though he didn't actually care about pain. At all. 

Automatically, their lips reach each other with need, this time kissing with tenderness. 

They lay in bed, facing each other as they continued exploring each other's mouths. In a question of seconds, Phoenix's hands were all over Miles again. Grabbing him by the waist, he approached their bodies until there was no space between them. On his part, Miles caressed his arms and torso, slowly directing his hand under the fabric. 

Phoenix groaned in response to the cold touch on his abdomen and back. His lips left Miles' behind to reach his cheeks and jaw, as he released sighing moans. 

"You have no idea..." Phoenix said between kisses. "...How long I've been waiting to kiss you, to touch you..." 

"When you stroked my hand that one time, in the kitchen..." Miles murmured. "I would've let you make love to me right there...". 

Phoenix smiled slyly, picturing how the situation could've been. "Guess I'll have to compensate for such a missed opportunity." 

Suddenly, he felt Miles fidget against him. Phoenix knew it was a usual response of his to arousal due to overstimulation. And he couldn't find it hotter. 

But what seemed a simple fidgeting turned into something else. Miles had directed his other hand to Phoenix's pants, introducing himself there with little to no warning.  Phoenix grimaced as he felt Miles' touch over the boxer's fabric. His cock was already hard. That's why, when Miles trespassed the barrier between clothes and skin, Phoenix released a soft moan. 

Raising his gaze, he met Miles'. Those beautiful eyes looked at him and no one else. "Keep doing that," he commanded, then kissed his lips again. 

The cold and slow touch around his member made him keep moaning, but he silenced the sound with Miles' mouth. Soon after, Miles' hands went to his own pants, trying to remove the belt. Phoenix observed him with a stupid smile. He's so messy… 

Once Miles’ pants were off, he helped Phoenix get rid of his. All of it without stopping, looking at each other. 

Slowly, Miles parted away while Phoenix got on his back. Then, Miles got seated between his legs, a bit above his lap. With a soft flush in his cheeks, he took off his shirt, letting his toned torso be seen. 

“The FBI has treated you well…” Phoenix said, admiring the naked skin. 

“Shut up.” Miles wasn't shy, but responding to compliments wasn't his strength either. 

Phoenix giggled, though it didn’t matter how Miles’ body was. They kissed again, and their bodies seemed to move by themselves, looking for any minimal touch. In a moment of desperation, they decided to get rid of everything else, leaving only the socks on. Phoenix grabbed the bottle so the magic could begin. At first, they tried to start slowly, though as much excited as they were, both wanted to enjoy the moment.

Phoenix covered his fingers with lube. First he started with one, and added another one when Miles' moves seemed to be begging for more. 

"Alright. That's enough," Miles commanded after a couple of minutes, grabbing the condoms and opening the box with exasperation. 

But Phoenix kept moving his fingers inside him.  "When did you buy those?"

"Uhm..." Miles moved uncomfortably. "When I went for groceries... Two weeks ago." 

Phoenix still didn't remove the fingers and smiled mischievously. "Since when have you been thinking about sleeping with me?" 

"I've told you... Since that night in the kitchen." 

Phoenix chuckled. "Really? I would've fucked you the first night. You look so sexy in the FBI attire." 

Miles put a hand on his mouth, forcing him to shut up. "Why is it that you get the most irritating when I'm naked?" 

But Phoenix took his hand off and pulled him until they were face to face. "Admit it. You love it." 

"Maybe..." Miles mumbled before they kissed. 

Besides distance and time, the trust they had in each other hadn't gone away. Their intimacy remained just as it used to be. 

In that position, Miles grabbed Phoenix's member to start introducing it inside his hole. He groaned a bit in the process, but Phoenix was there to give him kisses. Already in, Miles sat up. 

Phoenix observed him from below. He was heated up and decided to let himself go. The moans filled the room as Miles moved on top, while Phoenix caressed his thighs. 

“I've missed you…” Miles whimpered. “So much…” 

"Me too..." Phoenix said, arching his back. 

He’d missed that kind of connection, where the pleasure didn’t come from the stimulation but also from seeing how their bodies became one. Phoenix had been in love before, but no one filled his chest with such happiness. 

When Phoenix couldn’t stand it anymore, he sat up, pulling Miles towards him. If his leg hurt, he didn’t mind, as all he wanted was to kiss his beloved while they made love. 

“Phoenix… you leg…” 

“I don't give a fuck… Just kiss me.” 

Miles grabbed him by the head, kissing him while they tried to move at the same rhythm, though all they got at the beginning was erratic motion. 

After, they hugged each other, trying to finish what they’d begun. He felt Miles' fingers pressing on his back while their eyes locked again. Phoenix had missed seeing him like that. Flustered by pleasure, but also focused on him and no one else. It was a matter of minutes before the last loud moans came out of Miles’ lips, before Phoenix felt his legs clenching around his waist and fingers strongly pressing his skin. But he didn’t stop, though his moves had become tight and slow, which made Phoenix feel a wave of pleasure traveling around his whole body, ending in his cock and legs. He grabbed Miles roughly, performing the last moves before stopping. 

They kept hugging for a moment, recovering their breath. Miles caressed Phoenix’s nape of the neck, while Phoenix left kisses on his collarbone as he caressed his back. When they finally looked at each other, Miles kissed him curtly on the lips a few times before moving away and lying on the bed. 

Phoenix sighed as he lay back, too. When he turned to the left and saw Miles again, everything felt perfect. 

“That was… Great.” Miles said between breaths. 

“Yeah… It was.” Phoenix confirmed, still shivering. 

Miles turned around, disheveled and a bit flustered still. “You’re not leaving, right?” 

“After this? Are you kidding me?” Phoenix asked, incredulous. “Now that I have you, I won’t let you go.”

Miles grinned a shy smile, something he didn’t show to anyone. But Phoenix’s privilege of seeing him happy was back. “Did you seriously call my sister drunk?”

“I did…” Phoenix said, embarrassed for admitting it. “Maya has hated me since. Franziska only thinks I’m a loser.”

“And what did you say?”

“I don’t remember. I was very, very drunk.” At that moment, Phoenix even found it funny. 

“Good grief… Now I’ll have to ask her next time,” Miles had a slight tone of irony. “She must find you disgusting… And a fool.”

He chuckled. “I guarantee you. She does.”

Miles laughed a bit too as he crawled to hug Phoenix. They put their arms around each other, relishing the mutual comfort after such an intimate moment. 

Phoenix glanced down,

"Are you going to make me change the sheets?"

"Not yet," Miles said, improving his position in the cuddle. "Let's just stay like this for a moment."

I could stay like this for hours…

After a while of exchanging caresses, Miles turned around. “Are you hungry? We can make something together.”

That question made his stomach awaken. “I could die for noodles now.”

Miles seemed to agree. “Peanut butter sauce?”

He'd hit the spot. “Gosh, you know me too well.”

“You always crave noodles when you’re tired,” Miles said. 

Phoenix shrugged, smiling. “They’re comfort food. And so are you, apparently.”

Miles rolled his eyes fondly. “Flattery won’t get you extra sauce.”

“It might,” Phoenix said, following the joke. 

Miles shook his head, smiling. Then he stood, stretching slightly. “I’ll boil the water. You can chop the veggies. Unless you’ve forgotten how.”

Phoenix smirked. “Rude. I’ve leveled up since having to feed a teenager.”

A pause hung between them.

“You really do know me,” Phoenix added, quieter this time.

Miles glanced back at him. “I never stopped.”

Chapter Text

When Miles awakened, he became aware of how pleasingly he'd slept. The sheets felt heavy and comfy over him, keeping his body warm. There was not a single trace of migraine. And, he had no intention of getting out of bed. 

Upon opening his eyes, he saw Phoenix lying beside him, still asleep. He'd stayed with his mouth open, and there were traces of saliva on the pillow. Miles smiled at that image. 

The night before, after showering together, they made dinner. It was weird –The wall between them had fallen, leaving no distance anymore. Miles grinned stupidly when their shoulders grazed each other in the kitchen while cooking. And he laughed until his stomach ached when Phoenix got his mouth full of peanut butter. It was the kind of conviviality he’d been yearning for too long. 

After drinking some wine, they abode on the bed, arms around each other. 

“I still cannot believe you came back to Atlanta…” Miles said, thinking about their previous argument.

“Yeah, well… I couldn't forget you.” Phoenix said, turning Miles’ heart around. “I didn't even have time to mourn my firing.

“How was that, by the way? Franziska mentioned it to me. She was pretty angry about Maya being fired, too…”

Phoenix sighed heavily. “I was never a good agent. And I know what you're going to say. And no, I was not.” 

Miles crawled over the cushion until he faced Phoenix. Carefully, he got the hair out of Phoenix’s face, in a gesture of comfort. 

At that moment, Phoenix relaxed his posture. “We stole evidence. Actually, Maya accidentally took a file from the laboratory, and I insisted on keeping it. After all, we knew there was something weird about Payne… And I was very suspicious of Kristoph.”

It had been a while since Miles had heard that name. Last time he'd seen Kristoph Gavin was in Alabama, when he was sentenced to death in July two years prior. A shiver came down his back. Miles remembered his eyes, cold, as they struggled to take the gun. Two feet apart was Phoenix, bleeding. 

He had never admitted it out loud, but sometimes that scenario was in his nightmares. But instead of shooting Kristoph in the leg, Phoenix ended up being shot in the head. 

“And when you caught me investigating Prosecutor Skye… It was the end for us,” Phoenix continued. “Andrews had me on probation long before that. You and everyone else knew me for my failures, not my accomplishments. Letting go of Ron DeLite was a big mistake. So, I had to walk on eggshells. Following the rules, acting like the agent they wanted me to be. 

So when we returned to Washington, the head committee put us on a real trial. We were accused of evidence forgery and improper use of resources. In two days, we were kicked out. Maya… Maya was really affected. She'd worked very hard at the academy.”

Miles caressed Phoenix’s chest. He wasn't aware of the full story. Phoenix took his hand and caressed the reverse. 

“But I didn't care. I don't think I even do now. After all, Kristoph fucked up my head… A lot. And somehow I was glad I didn't have to encounter criminals anymore,” Phoenix squeezed Miles’ hand. “Since then, I just want to have a peaceful life. Even though you pretty much whirlwind it.”

Miles smirked shyly, though he couldn’t ignore how harsh Phoenix had had it for the last two years. The ex-agent could brag about not caring, but Miles knew his life was affected by it. “After Atlanta… I felt depressed. I couldn't stop regretting having Kristoph on the station, so close to us. I couldn't even feel accomplished, even when they offered me a ton of raises or promotions. Besides, our last words wouldn't stop repeating in my mind,” Miles confessed. “I visited Regina every day until she spoke to me, thinking it would help me to heal.” 

“I know. I read the book. Twice.” 

“You did?” Miles widened his eyes.

“Yeah, my therapist recommended that I do so. Seeing it from the outside was supposed to help me somehow.”

Miles frowned slightly, curiously looking for a further explanation. 

“I got diagnosed with PTSD,” Phoenix revealed. “With psychosomatic headaches. I took medication for a while.” 

It doesn't even surprise me…  When Miles arrived at the scene two years prior, Phoenix had already been alone with Kristoph for around an hour. Miles had interviewed enough criminals to imagine what kinds of things Phoenix had felt at that time. 

“I'm okay now, tho,” he said with a tranquilizer tone. “I had an episode when I saw Glen's fake body. But it had been a year or so since I had one. Besides, I think my body is too busy with making my leg hurt to even focus on my trauma.” 

Miles was used to Phoenix making jokes to smooth over problems aside. However, he wanted to comfort him —make him know that he wasn't alone in his suffering. 

“Often, I dream about Kristoph winning me in that fight. Sometimes he shoots me, sometimes he… shoots you. And sometimes he just makes me watch while taking Regina away,” Miles said. “In the BAU, I've talked to men worse than him. Things I'd never imagine a human could do to another. That's why I take sleeping pills, otherwise, I wouldn't be able to sleep.” 

At that moment, Phoenix caressed Miles’ hand. 

“And still, I cannot forget about that night. How, for a moment, I thought I'd lose you… And that same feeling came to me when you were shot. At that moment, I knew I couldn't let the story repeat itself. Not this time.” 

“Hey, we’ll solve this,” Phoenix reassured him. “Let’s just focus on ourselves right now. Just for tonight, okay?”

“No case talking on the bed. Got it.” It had been a long day, with a storm of emotions falling over them. Phoenix was right. It was a moment about them, not the case. 

“How is it being a PI?” Miles asked out of curiosity. 

“Entertaining… Sometimes,” Phoenix shrugged. “I mostly get jobs like finding purses, jewelry, or dogs.” 

“What about cheaters?”

“I always tell my clients that, if they think their partner is cheating, they probably are.” 

“Mmm… I guess it's a good point.”

“Not being able to exercise out of New York State is a hazard, though… I might get arrested.”

“Sorry about that,” Miles was able to catch the reference. “I was… Mad at you.”

“I get it,” Phoenix said. “Next time, just don't point at me with a gun.” 

“I promise.”

To seal his apology, Miles caressed Phoenix’s hair and leaned in search of his lips. As they melted in a kiss, Phoenix hugged him with passion. Back to their cuddling position, the conversation continued. 

“How did you enter the FBI, anyway? I thought you weren’t a big fan of the feds…”

Miles waved for a moment, reflecting on his own decision. “Andrews called a few days after you left. She wanted me to recruit me for Crime Against Children… I refused.”

“She jumped quite quickly to replace me,” Phoenix said, ironically. However, Miles wondered if he could be bothered by it. 

“Then she called again. That time, she wanted me to join the Organized Crime Unit. ‘It’s a huge oportunity’, she said. But I was too busy to leave Atlanta.” Miles sighed, “Four months after, a former teacher of mine invited me to give a conference in Los Angeles. Lang was among the attendees… And the rest is history.”

“So, he convinced you, huh?” 

“Lang is pretty smart. He knew what I wanted to hear. So I said yes.” Miles justified it. Yet, he’d ended up having everything Lang had promised. 

Phoenix kept silent, caressing Miles’ back with the tips of his fingers. The touch made him feel goosebumps. In response, he shoved Phoenix’s chest. 

Miles didn’t know if he should be expecting any reaction. Right when he was about to raise his head to ask, Phoenix spoke. “Are you happy?” 

Miles didn’t know what to think. He’d never recognized happiness. Or emotions in general. Miles was aware his body could have odd reactions to feelings or none at all sometimes. The urge to cry all the time was one characteristic he could attribute to sadness. So, he guessed that the lack of that feeling was happiness. Yet, he doubted that feeling a certain emotion could be recognized with such a simple method. 

“I don’t know,” he responded sincerely. He poked his head up, meeting Phoenix’s eyes. “But I like what I do, if that’s what you mean.”

Phoenix smirked at him and kissed his forehead. 

Miles had stayed in Phoenix's room to sleep. They exchanged kisses until they fell asleep in each other's arms. His heart had been through too much. But Phoenix had begun to gather the pieces. Miles trusted that, step by step, he could rebuild it entirely. 

He passed an arm under Phoenix's, approaching him in a hug. Phoenix reacted to it by pulling him closer. Miles hid the nose in Phoenix’s clothes, delighting in his aroma. He wasn't a big fan of smells but could melt out of pleasure with the mix of men's cologne, sweat, and detergent. Sometimes, with a touch of acrylic paint. 

“Are you smelling me?” Phoenix asked with a rough morning voice. 

There was no reason to deny it. Miles restregó la cara sobre su ropa. “You smell good. Like… A freelance painter.” 

Phoenix chuckled, and Miles felt the vibration of the laugh on his face. “I guess Trucy has used my shirts to paint.” 

“You smell like… An English aristocrat. I doubt anyone else smells like tea and lavender.”

Miles smirked against Phoenix’s clothes before poking his head up. “Good morning,” 

Phoenix smiled. “Good morning.”

“I'd kiss you, but I haven't brushed my teeth yet.” 

“I know. I guess I'll have to wait until breakfast.” 

Miles smirked. The trust between them had come back as if the snow had melted at the sudden arrival of spring. “I'll go make coffee,” Miles announced, shoving Phoenix's arm. “I will heal your wound after.” 

“My teeth would be clean by then,” Phoenix winked at him playfully, and Miles gave him a last smile before getting out of bed.

Miles went upstairs and freshened up before going to the kitchen and making breakfast. He washed his face, brushed his teeth, and applied a healing cream to his bruises. They've been slowly disappearing, changing from a bright purple color to green to almost yellowish. I hope they don't leave a mark, Miles thought every time he looked at himself in the mirror, which hadn't been too often for the last week. Those cardinals were a recall to Knightley’s death. And he hoped that once his wound had healed, he would move on. 

Miles walked down, ready to start the new day with a strong cup of coffee. Suddenly, as he walked through the hallway, Miles heard the doorbell ring, and approached the door. 

He headed to the hall, wondering who could be there at that time. Though there were a few possibilities. Once the door opened, as he'd expected, Lang was standing outside. 

“Pick up your things. We're leaving,” he said, stepping inside right away and stamping a file in his chest, which Miles picked up.

“What is this?” 

“Our new case,” Lang said while heading to the living room. A few of his things were still there. “Our flight to New Orleans takes off in an hour.” 

Miles frowned in haze. “New Orleans?” 

“We have a killer. The local media calls him “the vampire”. He murders his victims and takes their heart out with a single wound,” Lang explained. “New Orleans PD called last night. They need our help.” 

Miles opened the file. The gory images made him swallow hard. The victim, lying on a mossy soil, had a big hole in their chest, which opened a cavity, leaving space where their heart was supposed to be. The guts were exposed, being able to see the ribs and what remained of the lung, half rotten by then. What’s worse, there was no blood or other sign of violence, which made it terrifying to see. 

“Good grief…” Miles muttered. “How many victims?”

“Two by now. But, by judging their methodology, it’s hard to believe they won’t go for thirds.” Lang took off his shirt and put on a new one. “We have to establish victimology, scenery characteristics… Rhoda and Justine are catching a flight from Baltimore. We will arrive altogether by noon.”

Miles would’ve rushed upstairs, changed clothes, and packed his luggage if Lang had knocked on his door a month ago. But this time, the thrill of a new case wasn’t there. 

“But what about the Brand Killer case?” Miles asked. 

“Glen Elg killed the Brand Killer, Batman,” Lang said after a sigh. “It's not our business anymore. Celeste is responsible now. Our job here is done.”

As much as that case excited him, Miles couldn't leave. He stayed in his place, doubtful. 

“Miles, what's wrong?” Phoenix asked from the hallway. 

Lang's face changed entirely. “Why is he still here?”

Miles didn't answer. But Lang seemed to understand the subtext instantly. 

“No way you've slept with him…” Lang said, unbelieving it. Miles shrugged, letting him know the answer. “Well, what's done, it's done. You're responsible for your own actions.” 

Those words made him feel bad… As if having sex with Phoenix had been a mistake, a whim even. 

"I thought you were finally going to get rid of him...”

“Agent Lang,” Phoenix said, standing by the door. “What's happening?”

“We're leaving, Mr. Detective. And you should too,” Lang said. “The case is over for us.” 

Phoenix gazed at Miles, who stood with his arms closed. He was debating himself. “Where?”

“Lang, what about the men that shot him? And the inhibitor? Someone got us into a trap.” Miles said. “There's no way Glen Elg did that. At least not by himself.”

“We don't know that,” Lang insisted. “But, as I said, now is Celeste's business.” 

I shouldn't be doubting this. 

“We haven't solved the Brand Killer's case,” Miles said firmly in his conviction. “Someone tried to kill Glen Elg and killed a doppelganger instead. And the girls from back then haven't received justice yet.” 

“Not every end of a case can be life-changing, Batman. You should know that by now,” Lang put his back on the shoulder. “We have established a profile. 

The Brand Killer was organized, in his forties, had close relationships with the victims, and was involved in something related to drugs. Manny Coachen was their teacher at some point. The one who killed him and Buddy Faith was disorganized. His methodology shows rage and spontaneity, probably in his twenties. That's Glen Elg. See? Now we go.”

Fuck… Miles hated that situation. But he kept his head cold. “I want to stay,” he said. “Organized Crime could use a profiler to find what happened with the girls eleven years ago. Once we finish, maybe I can…” 

“That's not on us to say. If Andrews says we leave, we leave.” 

Right when things seemed to be on the right direction, everything had been fucked up. Miles still remembered how Lang and Celeste had lied to him –manipulated the information he was given solely to trap Glen. It was something Miles hadn't been able to forgive yet, as they never gave him an explanation further than: We needed Mr. Wright to trust you. But, deep down, it felt like they were saying that they didn't trust Miles. And used him as a pawn to manipulate Phoenix unknowingly. 

That disappointed him in a way he couldn't put words to. Though he had it clear that Lang was acting by following orders, not by his convictions. If I go, I will lose Phoenix… But if I stay, it could mean the end of my career. It was a fucked up situation. But this time, his heart and his instinct coincided. 

“Then I quit,” Miles said. 

“What?” Lang asked, incredulous. 

“I quit,” Miles repeated. “I don't want to follow Andrews’ orders, or Celeste's. And I don't want to go with you. I stay. If helping Glen Elg means I’m no longer in the FBI, then I quit.” 

“Not so fast, Batman. You're joking, right?” Lang chuckled, ironic. “Come on, Miles. Be serious.” 

“I am being serious. Shi-Long.” 

Lang's expression became sharp, with his brows furrowed, which made him look more animalistic than usual. 

“You're going to quit… Because of him?” Lang said, pointing at Phoenix. “You know that our work requires separating work life and personal life. And now you are throwing it all away because of a past situationship? Come on… Think about these two years! You've always been cold, stone-hearted, distant… Even angry. That's what makes you a great profiler.”

He says that because I’m disappointing him… But I won’t let him hurt my feelings. 

Miles handed him the file. “I stand by the truth, Shi-Long. Not by what others say. If that makes me weak, I’m not qualified to be a profiler.”

Lang took the file violently. “You’ll regret this, Edgeworth.”

Miles kept his expression neutral, though the tears threatened to come out, pressing his tummy and chest. “Goodbye, Lang.”

And just like that, Shi-Long took his things and walked out without looking back. 

Phoenix stood by the door, perplexed. “Wow… What was that?” 

“That was me quitting,” Miles crossed his arms, squeezing them against his chest. Though I still cannot believe I’ve done it. “From now on, we will investigate by ourselves. Do you agree?” 

“Uh… Of course, yeah.”

“Great.” Miles stepped out of the living room. He headed to the kitchen, striding with his fists clenched. He picked the Italian coffee maker and started to fill it with water. Miles wanted to forget what had just occurred and hold firmly to his decision. But, as he scooped the coffee grains into the filter, the regret tightened his gut. He grabbed the counter with anger. What have I done? 

He'd decided without thinking about the consequences. There would be no more classes, no more house in Alexandria, no more research, no more internships for the girls… Ema would stand by me, but Kay… She's going to kill me.

Their life in Alexandria was nice. Even with the usual arguments with Kay, the girls seemed happy. Ema had her work in the lab, Kay was finishing her studies in criminology. Miles enjoyed his trips with Lang and the field work with Justine and Rhoda. He had also become attached to his students. His classes were filled from the beginning for a reason; they considered him a great teacher. 

Miles had just thrown away his career for what he believed. But was it worth it?

“Are you okay?” Phoenix asked from behind. 

“Yeah, it's nothing…” Miles replayed his conversation with Lang, again and again. Shi-Long's sight was full of anger and disappointment. 

He sensed Phoenix's hand on his shoulder, giving him a soothing sensation. “You… didn't have to do that. I would've understood if you needed to leave. This case is over, anyway.” 

“No, it's not,” Miles closed the coffee maker and turned on the heat. “I don't know what Lang thinks he's doing... The BAU doesn't work like other departments do. Yes, we're supposed to do our field investigation, establish a profile, and go. But for the last decade, profilers have stayed until the real culprit is caught. We also work as negotiators, and if the culprit changes his plans halfway through, we know… And I know Glen Elg was supposed to be framed. He doesn't even fit the fucking profile.” 

As Miles spoke, the rage made his temple pulse. “Vengeance for his sister's murder? That's too easy. We've established it was all related to drug use… And now the culprit is a twenty-year-old kid who has manipulated the entire FBI for months. It's… Too simple.” 

For a moment, Miles asked himself if he was being sincere with his words. Is it because I believe in Glen, or I refuse to accept that the case that's been haunting me for years cannot be solved to my liking? 

“Maybe you can convince them,” Phoenix said, shoving the hand down Miles’ back. “I understand your reasons. Maybe they can too. I know Celeste isn't easy to convince, but I'm sure she can give you a chance.” 

“Celeste and Lang had played enough with me. I won't let them get me out of the case.” 

I will solve it later… First, I have to end this. 

“Are you sure?” Phoenix asked. 

Miles turned around and nodded confidently. “I've never been so sure about anything. I… Want to do this with you. Even if it's a mistake, I don't care.” 

“Okay,” Phoenix caressed his cheek. “We will solve this. Together.” 

Miles nodded, reaffirming the idea of them becoming a team again. Then, they smiled at each other. 

“I've brushed them already,” Phoenix said before approaching his lips. And Miles leaned up to receive the kiss. 

—

“Alright,” Miles brought two boxes to the kitchen. One was full of the Brand Killer's case files. The other was his father's files. As for now, I see no connection. “We have to revise all this. If a question arises, we can go to the detention center. Glen Elg was transferred this morning.” 

“Those are… A lot of files,” Phoenix said, with his coffee still in his hands. 

“Four victims back then. Four now. Different victimology and performance… That's why we doubted we were talking about the same man. However, the cattle mark remains.” 

“Even on Glen’s doppelganger?”

“No, that’s the only exception.” Miles opened the top box and passed Phoenix a pile of files. “I have the theory that whoever did it didn’t have time to finish. Maybe because of a lack of time or a mistake.”

Phoenix spread the pages over the table. When he reached the pictures, he made a pause. “Oh God… You saw this at twenty-two?”

Miles gave a sharp nod. “I’ve seen worse while on the BAU… But I have to admit that back then, those corpses gave me the chills.”

And a horrible sense of nausea that made me puke every time I came back home. 

“The victim from a few days ago was identified as Miranda Jones, a chemistry student at Portland University,” Miles explained further. “We've established that the victims are girls in STEM. However, the killings of Coachen, Faith, and our doppelganger are… Confusing.”

Phoenix nodded, reading through the files. “Did you have a suspect back then?” 

“A few, actually. First, we suspected it could've been a lone killer –a sadist, with sexual motives, as I would classify it now. We interviewed a ton of sexual offenders, but none of them seemed related to the crime in any way. Then, we had to interview the families, college partners, teachers… And nothing came to light. Chief Badd, back then Inspector, called for help to the FBI office. They sent two profilers who established that the scenarios and victimology could be part of sexual trafficking. Organized Crime took charge after that, and we were pushed apart from the case.” 

“And then it went cold, right?”

“Indeed,” Miles confirmed. “And now, with Manny Coachen's murder, the case is open again.”

Seeing those pictures again brought Miles back to that time. He couldn’t wrap his mind around how a decade had passed since then. All the experience he had started to seem distant. 

“What were your conclusions during this investigation? Should we be looking for something concrete?”

“It's two males, probably white. One methodical, organized, and sadistic. He's older, around his sixties. I think he might be the original killer. The water is his sign of identity. Then, there's this… apprentice, some kind of sidekick. He's younger, in his thirties. Unlike his teacher, he's brutal, thirsty for blood. It's what I would call a textbook psychopath. Thus, with a rebellious personality, he won't follow his mentor's method. But, someone left him free will to execute three men.” 

“Someone?” 

Miles sighed, doubtfully crossing his hands. “If we're talking about a criminal organization, there has to be a leader.” 

Phoenix nodded as he rubbed his chin. “Ms. Misham told me Vera was involved with a group called The Darkling. Now that we know that she was with Glen… Maybe that was the name of the people they were looking for.” 

Miles was skeptical when Phoenix mentioned the so-called cult days ago. However, there were other factors to consider before concluding. I cannot discard that possibility that soon. 

“We should ask Glen about it. But, the thing about cults…” 

“I know, I know. Criminal Cults aren't a thing,” Phoenix said, acknowledging what Miles was about to say. “But, have you ever considered it? It wouldn't be so odd.” 

“The thing is,” Miles paused, glancing briefly at the other box still on the floor. “I found my father’s old documents. And there's a case he investigated regarding a violent cult during the eighties. Maybe we can find some clues. I was supposed to go through them with Lang, but that won't happen.” 

He twisted his lips in disappointment. Lang had been his work partner for the last two years. Miles even considered him a friend. He’d taught Miles to fight, showed him Washington’s beauty, and squeezed out all his potential to make of him a great profiler. 

“Hey,” Phoenix reached his hand, intertwining their fingers. “He’s your friend. I’m sure you can solve it.”

“Thank you,” Miles let their skin touch. Gestures like those made him forget all the troubles, helping him to find peace among the chaos. “Though I know you despise him.”

“I mean, he’s kind of an asshole. And a bit full of himself,” Phoenix spoke that time sincerely. And for Miles, that was better than comforting words. “I bet he regrets not being here as soon as we solve this case.”

“He’s envious of you.”

“I  know,” Phoenix shrugged, proud. “I was of him before, so… We’re in a tie.”

Miles smirked at Phoenix’s joke. As much as the New Orleans case sounded thrilling, he’d chosen to stay and fight for what he believed in. This is my opportunity to show Lang what I’m capable of. 

Putting aside that conversation, Miles handed Phoenix the same newspaper he’d read when finding his Father’s files. 

“Peter Darke arrested for leading a cult,” Phoenix read the title. “I’ve never heard of this…”

“Cults became quite common during the seventies. Overall, here on the West Coast. In Oregon, we had the case of Heaven's Gate or the Rajneeshees.” Miles explained. “While studying in California, it was common to hear about wellness gurus and new-wave churches. The FBI doesn't bother to look much into it. Most of them are inoffensive.”

“Well, this one sounds like a Charles Manson wannabe,” Phoenix said as he kept reading. “His followers entered a man's house and killed him and his wife. They claimed it was because that man's blood was the key to immortality… What a fucked up motive.” 

“That’s what cults are about: desperate people following a charismatic leader who promises them what they most yearn for,” Miles said. “In nineteen eighty-two, a man was arrested when he tried to enter a man’s house. He had a manic episode that same week, where he assaulted a store armed, and screamed something related to the end of the world. There are tons of articles with the same topic.” 

Phoenix passed through a few articles. “All of these are your dad's cases?”

“He was a prosecutor at that time. I assume he was in charge of most cases and compiled all the info he could. Including articles,” Miles explained. “I went through them vaguely. But it seems that it all ends with Darke's arrest.” 

After reading half of the files, Miles started to feel that his hunch couldn’t be as misguided as he initially thought. “Maybe it's a coincidence. But ‘The Darkling’, ‘Darke’… There could be a connection.” 

Phoenix seemed to agree. “Is there someone we can ask about these files?” 

Miles thought about it. All the police staff from that time were already retired, and looking for all of them was a waste of time. Chief Badd was merely an officer, and probably didn't know anything. There are only two possibilities that remain… 

“We could ask Mr. Grossberg. He worked as an assistant at the Prosecutor’s Office before becoming an independent attorney. He met my father back then.” 

“Okay… So let's talk to Glen first, and then we can pay a visit to your lovely neighbors.” 

There had passed a long time had passed since Miles had seen Mr. Grossberg and his wife. They'd taken good care of him and his sister while they were kids. But, with all that happened, distance, and time… It makes me feel awkward to look him in the eyes. 

–

Multhoma’s County Detention Center was as rusty as it’d always been. The cheap paint on the walls had peeled through the years, leaving the concrete to be seen between the red traces. Though from the outside, the building was fancy. With the cream-colored façade and the warped glass case, which reflected the sky and the neighborhood’s tall buildings. 

Fortunately, they were able to go in without a permit. 

“Miles! Badd told me you were back,” said the County’s Sheriff. “How’s the FBI treating you? You look better for sure.”

“It’s… Different.” That was all Miles could think of responding. “Sheriff, we need to speak to Glen Elg.” 

“Of course, of course… The bailiff will guide you to the visiting place.” 

They walked through a long hallway, following an uniformed man. Once they got to one of the glass cabins, the bailiff asked them to wait. In less than five minutes, Glen came inside the room behind the glass. 

“Hello, Glen,” Miles said. 

The boy was sleep-deprived, with sadness in his eyes. 

“Oh, it's you, Mr. Edgeworth. And Mr. Wright.”

“How are you, Glen? Have you already contacted your family?” Phoenix asked, with concern in his tone. 

“Yeah… They're coming by tomorrow.” 

This poor kid, Miles thought. I don't want to torture him further, but we need his help.

“Glen, Vera's mom thought you were involved in some kind of cult called The Darkling. Does it resonate with you?” 

“I don't know anything about cults… Maybe you mean Noir Nature, formerly Darke Inc.?” Glen said. “It's one of the corporations Vera and I were planning to investigate. It's like a natural bio-products producer and manufacturer. They’ve been tributing strange ciphers, and no one really knows what they do in their offices.” 

“Darke… With an e?” Phoenix asked. 

“Yeah. William Darke was the founder in the 1950s. They started as a soap company, then evolved into all kinds of wellness products. His grandson was arrested, but I don't remember why. But Joe Darke, his great-grandson, is now the owner. The main enterprise is here, in Oregon. But they've expanded through the West and now they're in South Korea and China.” 

And there it was. The answer to his hunch. If I can prove this company is related to the girls… 

“Glen, why were you invested in digging on Darke Inc?”

“Mr. Big said… Well, I don't know if I should call him my boss. Anyway. He said that it was likely for companies that worked with biological material to hide the purchase of illegal substances in their accounting. For instance, if they buy poppy seeds to make an elaboration, it's a smokescreen for opium. Nowadays, almost every cosmetic company uses cannabis for elaborations, so it won't raise suspicions if it's actually bought to make hash.” 

Miles stood in silence. I wasn't aware of it, but it makes sense. He wondered if Organized Crime knew about those suspicions. 

“Glen… Did your sister work for this company by any chance?” Miles asked. 

The boy frowned his lips and looked down. His eyes filled with doubt made Miles know that he was approaching the truth. 

Phoenix stepped closer. “Glen, this is not a questioning. Agent Edgeworth wants to help you; he believes in your innocence,” he said confidently. “Everything you tell us here will be private. But you need to help us too.” 

Glen fidgeted on his seat, finding a better posture for himself. Miles could notice how his eyes became watery. “Ava did an internship there. When the company transitioned to bio production, they needed chemists to supervise the elaboration method. To make sure that it was all natural and safe, y'know?

“You suspected that company was related to her murder, Glen?” Miles asked steadily. 

The kid sobbed, with a mucus sound. “I did. And yes, I lied to you. I knew that it would make me more suspicious.” 

“We understand,” Phoenix said. 

Miles knew at the moment that he'd faced Glen in the interrogation room, that something was hiding. Of course, he involved himself in this thing for his sister, Miles thought. 

“Do you think that company is related to her murder?” 

“I know it, Mr. Edgeworth,” Glen said with security. “Because they used my sister…” 

His eyebrows frowned, sensing something obscure behind those words. “What do you mean?” 

But Glen didn't answer. “You can find all the information I compiled on my computer. I guess the FBI still has it.” 

Miles nodded sharply, understanding that the kid wasn’t going to speak further on the topic. “Thank you, Glen.”

“Mr. Wright, Vera came here this morning. They're taking her back to New York…” Glen said, looking at Phoenix. “Please, find the one who set me. I don't want her parents to think I'm a criminal.”

“Don't worry, Glen. They know you aren't. The Mishams are just scared, that's why they're traveling back.” 

“Vera told me that you were probably going back too… Why did you stay?” 

Miles exchanged a glance with Phoenix, who smirked at him momentarily. “There are still things I have to fight for here.” 

Glen nooded. “Thank you. Both of you.”

Back in the car, Miles sighed. Part of their plan was already done. Yet there were questions needing answers. If he was right in his suspicions, Darke Inc. had recruited those girls for something. Drug addict women working for an undercover substance trafficking company… Still, he questioned the existence of the Brand Killer. Was he someone within the workers, or a client? What's more, what made him kill again a decade after? 

Phoenix held Miles’ hand. He'd been so absorbed by his thoughts that he’d stayed blankly staring at the wheel without noticing. 

“Do you have a new theory?” 

“I'm still building it,” Miles said. “We should talk to Mr. Grossberg. If my father investigated this company back then… I'm sure there's more information on the files that we're overseeing.” 

“OK. Let’s follow your plan.” 

Miles wasn’t entirely sure about how far his hunch and Glen’s testimony would take them. The ex-agent had already faced the FBI once, and meddling in a federal investigation could jeopardize his security. Still, Phoenix seemed to be willing to follow him on whatever idea Miles had. 

“Thanks for lending me a hand. I've lost my habit of talking to people I believe to be innocent.” 

“You did well,” Phoenix said, taking Miles’ hand off the wheel and interlacing their fingers. “Glen just needed reassurance.” 

Miles nodded slowly. “You… Have things to fight for here.” 

“Well, Glen's innocence and finding the asshole who shot me,” Phoenix smirked. “You. Us.” 

Miles rejoiced in that feeling of affection and trust. He leaned and gave Phoenix a short kiss. His partner giggled, making the moment more intimate. 

“Let’s go,” Miles started the car, ready to travel to their next stop: his neighbor’s house. 

– 

Having left the vehicle in the front yard, they walked towards Grossberg's place. It had been a long time since Miles crossed that fence. That journey on foot seemed to him like miles. Miles hadn’t planned what to say or how to bring up the conversation. Moreover, he didn’t know if he was ready to listen to what Mr. Grossberg had to say about his father. He felt a sudden swirl in his stomach, the consequence of the whirlwind of emotions. He tried to calm down by admiring the garden, which the Grossbergs took care of quite thoroughly. I still don’t know how he managed to grow bougainvillea in a Pacific weather…

Phoenix, however, walked as if it were his home. He’d been there a few days ago, and it seemed that he liked the neighbors, and they liked him. When the door opened, Mr. Grossberg smiled under his mustache. 

“Oh, Nick, my boy! How are you?” Mr. Grossberg said, not noticing Miles at first. In a matter of seconds, his gaze met Miles'. “Miles, it’s you.”

“Hello, Mr. Grossberg,” Miles greeted, climbing another step. “Uhm… May we come in?”

“Of course, of course…” he said, inviting them to enter. “Welcome.”

“Thank you,” Phoenix said. 

The house had not changed at all. Miles noticed the same aroma of wood, vanilla, and old people. Some of the furniture looked renewed, but in its essence, things were still the same. There was the fireplace where he and Franziska used to sit in winter afternoons. The bookshelf was full of books from which Miles picked biology encyclopedias and spent hours learning the scientific names of flowers. The corners where Franziska used to hide when playing hide-and-seek. When they arrived at the kitchen, there was a table where Miles and his sister used to do handicrafts with Mrs. Wendy. That house had been his second home during his entire childhood. Entering after so long made his eyes watery from nostalgia. And to think that I’m ashamed to come in… 

“Wendy, dear. I have a surprise for you,” Mr. Grossberg said, and his wife came downstairs in a matter of seconds. 

“What is it?” she asked. Her mouth opened as she stepped inside. “Oh, Miles, dear. What a long time!”

She came closer to look at him. Mrs. Wendy had not changed a bit. Miles noticed her hair was grayer because she had stopped dyeing it, and new wrinkles had appeared on his face. But, for Miles, Mrs. Wendy would always be the same woman who made raisin cookies for him when he was barely seven.

“Look at you! So handsome!” she said, picking his cheek. Miles was used to that motion, so he didn’t complain. “But you’ve lost weight. Do they even feed you in the FBI?”

“I have to work out a lot, Mrs. Wendy,” he said, feeling like a child. 

“Still! You remember when he was chubby, Marvin? So cute!” 

That was twenty years ago…

“And you came with Nick, what a great surprise. How's your injury?” 

“Better, thanks. Luckily, I have the best nurse.” Phoenix said. Miles had to look down to hide his blush. Wendy smirked sweetly. 

“And what is the reason for this surprise?”

“Uhm…” Miles pondered how he could bring up the conversation. His neighbors’ smiles made him back up. “He convinced me to come. I took the day off, so…” 

“Oh, that's great,” Mr. Grossberg said. “How's the case going? I saw on the news that you found a girl by the river.”

“Marvin, don’t bother him. Haven’t you listened? It’s his day off.” Mrs. Wendy stopped him by asking further questions, which Miles felt glad for. He wasn’t in the mood to talk about the Brand Killer. At all. 

“Sorry, Miles,” Mr. Grossberg said, lowering his head. “We’re delighted for your visit. Please sit down.”

They sat at the table. That wooden table seemed huge when he was a child. And now, his knees almost touched the bottom part. 

“Are you guys staying for lunch? I was going to make curry. Miles, honey, I can make it vegetarian for you. We’re starting a low-meat diet. Now it’s very trendy in California. All of our nieces drink oat milk and that kind of stuff. When you were little, it was such a weird thing. Of course, you’ve always had trouble with textures and smells… But nowadays everyone must be more understanding! Not only with veganism and all that. I’ve read that now the government is encouraging the inclusion of disabled people in high-profile work fields. Isn’t that great?”

Miles had almost forgotten how chatty Mrs. Wendy could be. He rubbed his forehead with two fingers while she spun around the kitchen. Phoenix cracked an awkward smile, and Mrs. Grossberg (already used to his wife’s eccentricities) just shook his head.

“Anyway. Last time I went to an asian local store. Their prices are so cheap! So I bought like two pounds of tofu, and I would like to try a new recipe with it. And what better time than to do it now that you've come to visit?”

He was about to refuse. However, he also knew that it wasn't going to be easy to bring up his father. And the old couple was surely delighted by their presence. Somehow, Miles knew he owed them a prolonged visit. “We will be glad to stay for lunch. Thank you, Mrs. Wendy.” 

The woman's eyes sparkled with excitement. “Great! I'll start immediately.” 

“She wasn't this… talkative the other day,” Phoenix whispered. 

“She's overexcited,” Mr. Grossberg said. “And she didn't know you very well.”

Wendy got the pots and pans out of the counter, preparing everything as if she were about to make a big meal. His husband stood up slowly. “Maybe we should leave her.” 

Phoenix and Miles followed him. But before he could set a foot out of the kitchen, he heard Wendy's voice. “Miles, would you mind helping me? I could use a couple of handy hands here.” 

He sighed, gazing at Phoenix helplessly. “Of course, Mrs. Wendy.”

“Come, Nick. You said you liked basketball, right? I have a stamp collection.” 

Phoenix gazed back at him, smirking to cheer him up. 

Miles stepped back to the kitchen, where Mrs. Wendy was handing him an apron. “Put it on. You can cut the veggies while I start sauteing the spices.” 

He put the cloth on and approached the countertop to start his assigned task. 

“So… Since when have you two been dating?”

Though he was caught off guard, Miles kept chopping the veggies. Dating… He'd never considered Phoenix his boyfriend. It wasn't like that. Their situation couldn't be described as a common relationship. Miles had fallen for Phoenix, and Phoenix had fallen for him. Their connection was profound and irrational. They understood each other like no one else did, as though having different life experiences and personalities, he felt like they shared a view on life and people. Besides, they were both too young when they became adults. Miles had become Franziska's guardian at twenty, and Phoenix had a daughter around the same age. Responsibility had fallen over their shoulders too soon. Sometimes, Miles questioned if that was the reason his love felt so hectic and intense. Phoenix was like a boyfriend he'd never had in his teenage years, but at the same time, a person with whom he saw a future. 

“It's complicated,” Miles said, putting the carrots aside. 

“When is it not?”

Miles knew there was no way he could avoid the conversation. “We met in Atlanta two years ago, he used to be an FBI agent… It's a long story. I guess we started to like each other at some point.” At that moment, Miles felt like a child, explaining with dubitative words and awkwardness how he'd fallen for a boy. “Things didn't turn out well. I told him I didn't want to see him ever again. But now we've reunited and… I cannot ignore the fact that I want to be with him.” 

He'd never expressed his feelings for Phoenix sincerely to anyone. Somehow, he felt relieved and glad to reveal how his love worked. “We're not dating formally. He never asked, I never asked… We are just together.” 

The terms boyfriend or dating felt a bit childish for Miles at his age. Phoenix and he were a team, partners… Lovers . 

“So, you love him?” The woman’s words sounded more like a verification than an open question.

“Yes, I do,” Miles noticed it was the first time he admitted it out loud.

She smiled, giving him a short nudge. “How cute… My little Miles is in love.” 

“Mrs. Wendy, I'm thirty-five…” Miles fussed, trying to avoid further tackiness.

“Oh, come on. Love has no age!” Mrs. Wendy said, focusing on cooking again. With it, her tone became solemn. “You’ve never brought a boyfriend home, so let me tease you a bit. It’s been a long time…”

Miles understood what she meant. After all, she and her husband had essentially raised him after Franziska’s mom’s death. And he’d paid them back with coldness and distance. 

“Mrs. Wendy, I’m sorry. I…”

“No, don’t be sorry with me,” she cut him off. “I’m not mad at you. Let’s just cook, okay?”

He nodded. “Okay.”

Once the food was ready, Miles set the table while his neighbor called Mr. Grossberg and Phoenix back. They came through the door chatting about New York. 

“Smells amazing, honey,” Mr. Grossberg said, kissing his wife on the temple before sitting down. 

“Has he annoyed you too much with his collection, Nick?”

Phoenix shook his head. “No, no. He also showed me the front garden.”

Mrs. Wendy chuckled at the joke, and his husband smiled. While they served the food, Miles glanced at Phoenix. 

“This wasn’t the kind of visit I had planned…”

“Don’t worry. I like them. He resembles my dad,” Phoenix grazed their hands under the table. “I think they’re happy to see you.”

Miles smiled shyly, looking down while the neighbors came back with the plates. The meal elapsed peacefully. Mr. Grossberg asked Phoenix about New York and the museums he’d work for. Soon, the conversation about his education turned up, and with it, Phoenix named Trucy. Miles had to avoid crackling when his neighbor almost choked in shock. His wife knew how to maintain her composure, though her eyes widened. He had never been bothered by Phoenix being a father, and enjoyed seeing how others reacted in such a manner when Trucy’s age was revealed. 

“Well… You had a pregnant student in class once, right, dear?” Mr. Grossberg added. “I mean, it’s not weird to become a parent at a young age.”

“No, no… Of course not.”

“Don’t worry. I was too young, and so was her mother,” Phoenix admitted. “But she’s the best thing to ever happened to me. So I guess something good came out of it.”

Miles’ neighbors nodded, ditching the topic. Miles took a moment to admire Phoenix with a brief smile. He’d seen him respond to those reactions before and felt proud of hearing him express his love for his daughter with that much reassurance and pride. 

When they were finished, Wendy invited them to rest in the living room while she made some coffee. Miles took the opportunity to finally talk about the matter that had brought them there. 

“Mr. Grossberg,” Miles called his attention while his neighbor sat in an armchair. “We came because we wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Of course, son,” he said. “What’s the matter?”

Having had enough time to think, Miles didn’t hesitate. “It’s about my father. He prosecuted in a case that might be related to the Brand Killer case. We wanted to ask you if you had any information about Peter Darke… And the cult he led during the eighties.”

Mr. Grossberg froze, clearing his throat after staying a few seconds. Miles knew that his neighbor knew exactly what he was asking about. 

“Manfred was quite secretive about his cases…” Mr. Grossberg said finally. “What makes you think the Brand Killer is related to Darke?”

How can I explain that it’s a hunch?, Miles questioned himself. After speaking to Glen, the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. He had his doubts about the cult factor. Yet, Darke Inc. raised suspicions of trafficking. 

“I came here to Portland looking for a cult that had allegedly kidnapped a girl,” Phoenix interjected. “She ended up being involved in an investigation involving Darke Inc., Mr. Darke’s grandfather's company. It seems that there are suspicions of them hiding narcotic trafficking under their accountability.”

“The girls were drugged,” Miles blurted. “And the male victims were involved with a convicted drug dealer. And somehow they all ended up dead with a ‘D’ marked on their backs. I doubt that's a coincidence.” 

Mr. Grossberg moved his mustache in a doubtful gesture. It was clear as water that he knew something. What Miles didn't understand was why he wouldn't speak about it. 

“What's going on?” Wendy asked as she carried the coffee tray to the table. “Why the long faces?” 

Mr. Grossberg sighed. “He's asking about one of Manfred's cases. Peter Darke…” 

His wife frowned. “Marvin, you know I don't like to hear about Manfred.” 

“But he deserves to know, darling,” Marvin said. “He's not a kid anymore. He's seen more than we can even imagine.”

He's right on that.  

At that moment, Miles became aware that his neighbors were trying to protect him from any information related to his father. But, as Mr. Grossberg had said, he wasn't a kid anymore. And whatever Miles needed to know, he deserved to. There's nothing that can shock me, anyway. 

He looked at Phoenix simply to find a reassuring gaze accompanied by a smile. 

“Please, Mr. Grossberg,” Miles almost begged. “Tell us what you know.” 

His neighbor released a sigh before taking the first sip of his coffee. When the cup teared from his mouth, he spoke. 

“That case marked Manfred. Some say it was the beginning of his path to madness, even though it happened decades before he did what he did,” with summon care, he left the cup on the table. “Peter Darke was supposed to inherit his father’s company, but after a cancer diagnosis, he became obsessed with alternative medicine. Then, he started research on life-prolonging methods… Including human blood.”

It wasn’t the first time Miles had heard something like that. Phoenix, on the other hand, coughed while drinking. 

“After taking every possible drug, he became convinced that he was the messiah and knew the secrets of eternal life. That's how he started indoctrinating people. People of all ages came together, all of them very susceptible. He got them hooked on drugs and made them commit crimes. In the end, everything came to light when one of its members was identified while robbing a store. They had already killed five people then. Peter committed suicide in prison before the trial. Many of its members were admitted to psychiatric hospitals. Most have died or have changed their status.” 

“I assume the company was prejudiced by it,” Miles said. 

“Not really,” Manfred responded, rubbing his chin. “His father and wife stayed out of it. And so did the company. The CEO position passed to the vice president, Quercus Alba, who was supposed to stay in charge until Peter’s son finalized his studies. Now they’re quite prolific. Wendy was gifted one of their soaps once.”

“And I threw it away,” Miles sensed the disgust in Ms. Wendy's voice, as she frowned with her lips with the cup in her hands. “When Marvin was at the Prosecutor’s Office, we had just started dating. I remember Peter Darke and the fear he brought to the city. He was a lunatic man, and your father worked hard to have him behind bars.”

Miles had gone ready to talk about Peter Darke, but not so much about his father. For a long ago, he'd overcome the awkwardness of Judge Manfred Von Karma being brought to the conversation —working at Portland PB had contributed to it highly. He'd learn to stay quiet and wait for people to shut up about it. 

Yet, in intimate spaces, Miles never could find the right words to express what he thought about his adoptive father. He didn't feel anything, really. As his mind went blank every time he was mentioned. 

With Franziska, it was different. It was their father, after all. Not a prosecutor, not a federal judge, not a criminal. 

“Over the years, have suspicions arisen about Noir Nature?” Phoenix questioned, resuming the conversation. 

“That I cannot answer. When I left the District Attorney’s office, the case had been closed for a few years,” Marvin said. “Tyrell might know more about that than I… Unless you're planning on visiting your father, Miles.” 

The cups jingled against the porcelain plates in an almost melodic sound, leaving space for the silence after they were put down. 

He'd thought about it that same morning. However, as much as it could sound like a good idea, Miles wasn't so sure about it. He didn't want to drag Phoenix into his mess like that, at least not for now. 

“I have thought about it,” Miles said sincerely. “But I haven't visited for years… And Franziska told me he has worsened lately. I don't know how much he will remember.” 

“Well… You don't lose anything by trying.” 

Miles was sometimes surprised by how Marvin Grossberg seemed to still like his father. He attributed it to age. Now that he's old, it's probably easier for him to forgive… 

After the coffee, Miles announced that they should be leaving, as Phoenix needed rest. And he looked at Miles, bewildered. 

“Do I?” he asked. 

Miles frowned. Follow my lead, for god's sake… 

Mrs. Wendy chuckled. “You haven't changed a bit, Miles. You know, Nick? When Miles wanted to go home, he said:‘I have homework. And then we saw him reading with headphones on through the window.” 

“Oh, really?” Phoenix gazed at him with a smirk. Miles repressed the urge to give him a nudge. 

“I guess we're boring elderly people,” Mr. Grossberg said. 

“No, it's not…” Miles tried to find an excuse. He didn't find anything. 

“Oh, please, Marvin. They probably just want to do their own thing.” 

To all this, Phoenix was giggling. 

Miles surrendered. When he tried to help his neighbors tidy up, they refused his help. Both walked with them to the door, and farewell to them briefly by exchanging words of gratitude for their visit. 

As they walked out of the front yard, Phoenix opened the fence for Miles.

“Did I just meet your parents? Because it kinda felt like it.” 

“They took care of me when Franziska’s mom was sick.” Miles had to admit it. He liked the old couple. And sometimes he felt like they were more of a family than his aunts and uncles. “I appreciate them.” 

“You like them,” Phoenix affirmed. 

Miles just shrugged. “I do.”

–

They decided to spend the afternoon in the living room. Miles had worn out a lot of energy on his neighbors’ visit, and Phoenix wanted to give a rest to his leg. 

Sitting on the sofa, Phoenix had started a new book, while Miles entertained himself with a crossword. Their legs were interlaced, and sometimes they rubbed their skin against each other. With the jazz playing in the background, it all felt so soothing for Miles. It had been a while since the last time he'd wind down after a day of investigation. 

He glanced at Phoenix from above the book. With him, he could chill and stop thinking about his concerns for a few hours. 

“Can I ask you something?” Phoenix asked suddenly. 

Miles put the crossword book down. “Sure.”

“What did your father do?”

The lack of expectation left Miles with a dry throat. It was only a matter of time before he asked that…, Miles acknowledged to himself. He cleared his voice. “Uhm…”

“You don't have to answer if you don't want to,” Phoenix backed up, probably due to Miles’ dubious attitude. 

“No, no. It's fine.” Miles said confidently. He got more comfortable by placing himself near Phoenix. Before speaking, he took a deep breath. “He forged evidence and manipulated testimonies. As a federal judge, you can imagine how huge that is… Some said that, even as a prosecutor, he committed crimes just to find a guilty verdict.”

Phoenix nodded, resting his head on his fist as he observed Miles. 

“He was also accused of murdering a man. It was a reporter who was trying to uncover his illegal actions. Years later, a bullet inside his shoulder exposed him as the primary suspect.” 

“How old were you?”

“Nineteen, when the police did the first raid at home. I was about to enter Stanford Law School, but I changed to Oregon University. Being closer to home permitted me to take care of Franziska. She was fourteen at the time.” 

“That must've been… Really tough.” 

Miles nodded. “The worst part was the money. We had to pay the lawyers, our school fees, food, gas… I ended up dropping out of school and applying for Portland PB. I trained in the mornings and studied at night. Honestly, Father had a pretty big amount of savings, but I became afraid of having to ask for a mortgage.” 

“But you did it,” Phoenix said, caressing his leg. , agent had grown afraid of showing himself vulnerable. Though Phoenix made him feel secure. 

“Thanks for telling me,” Phoenix reached Miles’ hand to hold it. “Are you thinking about going to talk to him?” 

Miles doubted. “I’ve thought about it. He might give us more information about Peter Dark and his company. I'm sure he knows more than Mr. Grossberg. But… It's been a while since the last time I visited him in jail.” 

His voice faltered, the weight of old memories surfacing behind his composed demeanor. Phoenix watched him quietly, probably sensing his hesitation. 

“I understand,” Phoenix said. “We'll do what you decide. You lead this time.” 

Miles raised his gaze, studying Phoenix with a neutral expression. His tone, when he spoke, carried something between disbelief and curiosity. “Are you seriously going to follow me on this until the end?” 

“Why wouldn't I? You're the FBI Agent.” Phoenix offered a brief smile. He showed reassurance, not humor.  

“Ex-FBI Agent.” Miles corrected, almost bitterly. His words with Lang still weighed on his consciousness. 

“Okay, so two ex-agents. We sound like a great team.” Phoenix joked, making Miles shake his head in amusement. But his tone turned serious right after. “Seriously. I will follow you, Miles. Now that I have you, I won't let you go.” 

Miles felt his heart beat faster, as their eyes locked with each other. If Phoenix was willing to fight, so was he. 

Silence ruled between them as Phoenix caressed Miles’ skin with the tips of his fingers. His touch suddenly felt warmer, making Miles shiver. By leaning further, their lips finally met. 

Chapter Text

The two were sitting in the car, parked in the fast-food restaurant's parking lot. It was past lunchtime, but they had decided that eating before work would be the most appropriate time.

Joe didn't have a good night's sleep. Even with all the years of experience, something in his brain wouldn't let him close his eyes at night the day before a murder. Nervousness, one might say. But what Joe felt was expectation. Cold, pinching expectation of a nice done job. 

“A menu with extra fries…” said the oldest, taking the food out of the oily paper bag. “And a half-coke, half-cherry slushie.”

“Thanks.” The young accepted his order – his stomach already growling. 

Joe compared his salad with his partner’s food, misunderstanding how he could eat such an amount of fats and sugars in one sitting. “I cannot comprehend how you can eat all that and not be diabetic.”

“Fast metabolism, I guess.” His partner shrugged. “I have to take advantage of it while I’m young.”

The two had worked for a long time by then, and both remained unbothered no matter how mean their comments could be. 

Joe's preferred order was a Caesar salad, in which he barely added the sauce. And there he was at almost sixty years old, thin and athletic. As the younger started to gobble down his hamburger, a silence was created inside the car. By the time he had eaten half a hamburger, the other man had barely taken two bites of chicken.

"Hey, Joe. You know how they call the quarter pounder in Europe?" asked his partner, ending the silence. 

“I told you not to call me Joe, Scarface.” 

“There’s nobody around…”

“Still.”

Scarface rolled his eyes. “Alright… Mr. White, do you know what they call the quarter pounder in Europe?”

"How?” asked Joe back. 

“Royal with cheese,” Scareface took a deep sip of his slushy. “They use the decimal system, so they don’t know what a ‘pound’ is.”

“Wow…” Our man tried to act genuinely interested. “And what do they call the Big Mac?”

“Uhm… Big Mac, I guess.”

Mr. White stirred his half-eaten salad. “How disappointing.”

"Yeah.” 

Scareface shut down due to the anticlimactic end of what was supposed to be a funny conversation. But, as usual, Joe wasn’t in the mood for jokes. 

The two used code names, obviously. And, though the boss thought it was useful when acting in public, in private, it could be strange and awkward. But Joe took it quite seriously. 

Joe Darke, also known as “Mr. Black”, trained his acolyte to teach him in the assassination world. Joe was a tranquil man who took his job quite seriously. At first, he didn't understand why the Boss had chosen such a messy boy to help him now that he’d grown old. But as they knew each other, Joe had learnt to tolerate his acolyte’s presence. 

His apprentice, John, was called ‘Scarface’ due to the huge scar that parted his face in half. Every time someone asked how he got it, John told a different story. 

“A lion attacked me while I was working at the zoo.” 

“I fought a guy with a machete.” 

Joe barely knew anything about him. But it was the best. Keeping work and personal life separated had always been something he chased. 

"Can you show me the photos again?"

Joe handed him the folder, from which he took out both photos. One of the men had gray hair, though he didn’t look old—on the contrary, he seemed quite young. Had he gone gray from stress? That man had a solemn gaze, and objectively speaking, more than one person would say he was handsome.

The other was Asian with blond hair, cut in a rather peculiar style. ‘Punk’ is how Joe would describe it. Unlike the other, his gaze gave off fierceness.

"This is Miles Edgeworth," Joe said of the man with gray hair. "Don’t let that pretty boy face fool you. He’s a son of a bitch. He visited Siran Dogen in prison and played chess with him."

"He’s the one from the book, right? Got famous because of Regina Berry."

"That’s what they say, yeah. But ever since he joined the FBI… I’ve heard he has no scruples."

Scarface looked at him again. “Appearances are deceiving,” he guessed.

"When I killed the first girl…” Joe took some air as flashing images ran through his mind. His first perfect victim. Olive skin, young, addicted… Beautiful. He could never get rid of the memory of her face, as her eyes slowly got empty of glow. While the drugs reached every corner of her body, making her puke and convulse. 

Joe had to quickly clear his mind to keep talking. He cleared his throat. “At that time, he was still a detective here in Portland. So he knows everything about the case," he explained. "The other one is Shi-Long Lang, son of Chinese immigrants. Became a translator and later an agent. Even though he looks like an underground fighter, he’s a pretty decent guy. He’s put away terrorists, murderers, kidnappers… He’s currently the head of the BAU."

Scarface nodded. "Do I have to kill them?"

"No, damn it. We’re just going to scare them," Joe said, irritated. "Killing two FBI agents is too much. The boss only wants us to scare them—hurt them at most. We need to stun them for a couple of days, just enough to make them retreat and buy us time to find the girl."

Three days ago, the two had killed a man. They had broken into his apartment and ended his life from behind. It had been a bloody spectacle. His skull caved in with each blow, as tissue flew off or stuck to the bat. In the end, part of his brain was exposed-pink and raw. Scarface had stared as the blood soaked the carpet and part of the couch. His partner preferred clean, bloodless kills. But he was grateful that this time they let him do it his way.

John took the gun out of the glove compartment and checked that it was loaded. If only he could blow that Edgeworth’s brains out… Destroy that perfect face. But unfortunately, John had to follow orders. Or he’d be the one to end up faceless (or what was left of it).

"Okay, what’s the plan?"

"We go in, drop the signal jammer, and head back to the car. Then we wait for the intel on their location. If that Phoenix Wright guy were smart, he would have gone to his federal friends. Once they’re in the building, we wait, and I activate the jammer. As soon as they set foot outside, I start the car and you shoot."

"Got it."

At first, everything was going smoothly. They ensured nobody was there, placed the inhibitor, and waited in the alley next to the abandoned building. Since the boss knew the FBI was in the city, he ordered them to bug dispatch’s communications. Thanks to it, when Agent Edgeworth's walkie reached the signal, the two were ready to act. Joe turned on the jammer and waited. When the light turned on, he knew the device was ready. 

“Now,” he said in a whisper. 

Joe drove as fast as he could, hearing how his acolyte charged the gun. Then, two clean shots. And they drove far from there. Everything had happened speedily, just as Joe wanted. After that, he pressed the remonte’s button to destroy the inhibitor. The police wouldn’t take much time to arrive, so they had to go back and report to their boss. 

Although his reaction was not what Joe had expected. 

Joe was a businessman. A professional. Someone who took his job very seriously and couldn't handle it when others acted. Although he didn’t consider himself the best, he could admit he did his job quite well. He was one of the few who could proudly say he had never made a mistake—or at least, he used to be.

Scaring FBI agents wasn’t an easy task, that much was clear. However, that night he got overconfident. He trusted that this time he could take the wheel; he trusted the mole in the police force, and he trusted the plan. But most of all, he trusted his new disciple.

That overconfidence was what led him to slip up.

The infiltrator—whose identity he still didn’t know—hadn’t been particularly sharp, having failed to take into account that the “bait” would be there instead of one of the top targets. If the plan had gone as intended, the loss would have been regrettable for about five minutes. But his disciple missed one of the shots, almost killing one of the targets. 

They had lost their one chance to get rid of those who were bothering the Boss. And, unsurprisingly, the Boss did not take the news well.

“Did no one think to tell me that Von Karma’s son was there?”

“Sir… Because of the last name, we didn’t know…”

“Then you should’ve done your damn research… I told you to scare them. And you almost put a bullet right between the eyes of Von Karma’s fucking son! What do you think he’ll do when he finds out?”

The infamous federal judge Von Karma, who for nearly 30 years had terrorized criminals across the state of Oregon, had been in prison for almost 15 years, on charges of corruption. And murder. Yet that didn’t make him any less dangerous. It was said he still had contacts outside—goons who kept his dirty business running. If he found out, he’d have them crippled.

“But I didn’t kill him!” John insisted. “I gave him a scare. Just like I was told.”

“But you hurt Phoenix Wright. Who, by the way, happens to be a former agent and very close friend of Edgeworth.”

Great. He’d nearly killed the friend of an FBI agent. Just great.

“With any luck, he’ll survive,” the boss said. “Though it doesn’t matter anymore. You failed—mistakes happen. Now focus on finding the girl.”

“Yes, sir,” Joe said firmly.

John was more hesitant. “Yes… Sir.”

“Fix this. And don’t screw it up again.”

Chapter Text

Phoenix observed Miles from the table. The night before, he’d discovered new things about his lover. Which, though he thought it impossible, made Phoenix love him more. Miles had suffered a lot. Having to take over his sister and the house at such a young age obliged him to grow up faster than he should’ve. And Phoenix related to him for that. Both were so young when behaving in their twenties built them differently than any other, and he strongly believed part of their connection emanated from it. 

Miles brought the coffees to the table. Even seeing him walk made Phoenix’s heart whisper. 

“Are you alright?” Miles asked as he sat. 

It seemed like he’d dumbly stayed looking at Miles too long. “Yeah… It's just that I can’t stop looking at you.”

Miles hid behind his cup of coffee, pausing to sip. “Hmmp.”

Phoenix smiled before drinking too. He loved to make Miles feel nervous. It wasn’t an easy task, but he’d learnt that stupid fluttery was effective when caught off guard.  Since the beginning of the week, things have changed between them. The prolonged tension had fallen like a wall of sand in the rain. Once solid but fragile, it had finally collapsed, bringing back peace. It had almost made him forget the reason that brought him to Portland. But when talking to Mr. Grossberg and his wife, Phoenix remembered. And he was ready to fulfill his promise. 

“Chief Badd is willing to receive us at the station,” Miles said. “I told him about what we discovered. And he’s on our side.”

“What about Celeste?”

Miles shrugged. “At this point, Lang must’ve told her everything. However, with Badd’s permission, you might investigate as a PI.”

“What about you?”

With a look down, Miles moved his eyes both ways as he stayed silent. “You could hire me.”

“Hire you?”

Miles nodded. “I could be your business partner.”

Phoenix couldn’t miss the opportunity to make a joke, slightly curving his lips. “Are you offering yourself to be my secretary?”

Just as he’d predicted, his partner seemed irritated. “I said business partner.”

“Secretary sounds more accurate,” Phoenix teased. “It’s Wright & Co., and I already have my assistant: Maya.”

Miles hesitated and then sighed in resignation. “Alright. I’ll be your secretary.”

The joke had to be dropped after that. “Miles… Babe.” Phoenix had never said that to him, but somehow it felt right. “Seriously. Why do you need me to hire you?”

“I’m no longer in the FBI, remember?”

Though the BAU agents had argued the morning before, Phoenix wasn’t entirely sure if that counted as a formal quit for Miles. Sure, he’d fought for himself and his beliefs, and Phoenix was greatly proud of him for that. However, he doubted the FBI would let him go so easily. Nevertheless, he couldn’t turn down the offer to work formally with Miles. 

“In that case, welcome to Wright & Co., Private Investigator Agency,” Phoenix offered Miles his hand, and he grabbed it to shake it briefly. 

“Thank you.”

Phoenix smirked. “Now I’ll have to buy you a company phone so you can take my calls.”

Miles smirked before sipping his coffee. “Shut up.”

—

Down at the perimeter, they had to climb an extra floor to meet Chief Badd. As Miles had explained to him, the police had been moved so the FBI could have space for the people and their equipment. 

Typical Celeste, Phoenix thought. She never has enough space to have her people controlled.  

Chief Badd was waiting for them at the desk at the end of the hallway. The tables were packed, giving a sense of claustrophobia. 

“Chief Badd,” Miles greeted. 

“Morning, kid,” the Chief of Portland PB said. As usual, a lollipop was between his lips. “Do you like my new office? I'm thinking of bringing a plant to add some color.” 

The desk was recessed next to a window, from where the dim light of the morning created a soft shadow. On top of their heads, a fluorescent light. And barely two feet away, the officers were doing routine roll call. 

Phoenix smirked due to the irony, receiving a chuckle from the Chief. “How's your leg, Mr. Wright?”

The ex-agent glanced at his leg instinctively. “Oh, better. Thanks.” 

“Glad to hear it,” Chief Badd got the sweet out of his mouth as he stood up. Then, he placed a hand on a giant yellow box. “I've taken the old files as you asked me, Miles. You also have my permission to go through the archive and search for Manfred's cases. However, I can't assure you that there’ll be much left. You know that when we started to digitalize everything, some files were lost.”

“Lost?” Phoenix asked. 

“Portland PB started archiving files in the seventies at the warehouse in the basement,” Miles explained. “You can imagine how many floods and vermin have attacked since then.”

Knowing how humid Portland could be, Phoenix could imagine the kind of problems that the department had to face regarding their basement. 

“Anyway, I hope you find what you’re looking for,” Badd said, handing a set of keys to Miles. “Good luck down there.”

“Thanks, sir.”

Back to the elevator, they went down eleven floors until reaching the basement. It was just as Phoenix had imagined: dark, damp, and a bit eerie. When Miles turned on the lights, the place didn’t get any better, as the specks of dusk were visible under the white lighting. Phoenix couldn’t hold on to a sneeze. 

“Bless you,” Miles said. 

“Thanks…” Phoenix cleaned himself with the sleeve. “Who had the idea of placing the files down here?”

“Someone not very clever,” Miles walked towards the left side, as if he knew where he had to go. “I’ve seen it worse. Ten years ago, we had an electricity problem, so I had to come down with a flashlight for at least eight months.”

Phoenix got goosebumps at the thought of going there with that little illumination. 

“Are you scared?” Miles asked, a brief smirk on his lips. 

“Of course not... I'm a grown man.” 

Though the dimensions of that basement let his imagination fly –Anyone could hide down there without being noticed. 

“Seventy… Seventy-one…” Miles counted as he walked through an aisle. “Seventy-eight! If I'm not mistaken, we have to look for Seventy-eight, tweenty-six, nineteen.”

Upon examining the boxes, it became apparent to the PI the number of cases that were inside. Forgotten clues and memories, traces of the victims’ lives, were piled in a basement for decades as they perished due to the humidity and insects. 

“Found it,” Phoenix pointed at a box on the middle shelf. When looking closer, he realized there were two boxes with the same code. “There are two of them.”

Miles approached and took on the box by the side handles. He released a whimper of effort while taking it down. “Good grief... There must still be evidence inside.”

Phoenix thought of helping Miles carry it, but his wounded leg incapacitated him from doing so. “Want to ask for help?”

“I guess we can use an officer’s extra hands,” Miles said. “Now that we have it located, we can go back. We’d need to fill out some paperwork as we’re not members of the police department.”

Miles put the box back in its place before walking back to the main aisle. As they went to the elevator, Phoenix turned back to the sound of something being crawled. “Did you hear that?”

“Is anyone here?” Miles shouted. No response. “Some of the shelves are quite old, maybe it was just a creek.”

Phoenix decided to ignore it. Still, he knew there was something odd about that sound. His federal agent senses had not disappeared so easily. Maybe I'm getting into a relationship, he thought. Well, on the contrary, Miles seemed very calm. Although he rarely had a distinguishable expression.

“Do you think we might find clues about who Glen’s boss is?”

“I doubt it,” 

Phoenix turned around in disbelief. “Why? It’s clear that he’s been hired by the Brand Killer to frame him.”

Miles shook his head no. “Glen lied about his boss’s identity.”

“How so?”

“Mr. Big is quite a singular code name. If I’m not mistaken, it comes from a show from the nineties —Sex and the City. It was the main character’s love interest.”

Phoenix was even more confused. “And?”

“It’s a popular show among millennials and people over the age of forty. Not to mention, it is targeted at women and gay men,” Miles explained further. “Now, what did Glen say to me when I asked about how Mr. Big’s voice sounded?”

“That it was an older man’s voice…” Phoenix was starting to connect the dots. 

“Exactly. I cannot assure that an older man won’t choose that name, which would imply he heard it from his wife, daughter, or granddaughter. One of the Unsubs, which I suspect was the original Brand Killer, is probably over forty years old. However, merciful assassins don't fit the family-type of murderer. He might be divorced, even.” 

“Wow… You know a lot about him just by his MO.” 

“The thing is, I don't think Glen was being truthful. He knows we're chasing the Brand Killer, and wanted to mislead us,” Miles argued. “Although I want to believe he did not do it with bad intentions. He is trying to protect the person who hired him.”

“But, he panicked when you told him that at the CIA, no one knew him,” Phoenix argued, wanting to believe in Glen until the end. “Or at least his reaction seemed truthful to me.” 

“Mr. Big hasn't been honest with Glen either,” Miles shook his head slightly. “But I'm not sure why. Maybe to protect him in case he was questioned… Though that would imply Glen's boss was aware of the danger.”

“So… What does that mean?”

Miles' eyes emanated fierceness. “That we should not take anything for granted regarding this case.” 

Phoenix pondered those words to himself. He'd chosen to trust in Glen, but it seemed that things were more intricate than he wanted them to be. 

When the doors opened, they had to toe at that instant. Unexpectedly, Chief Badd was standing there. 

“Oh, great. I was about to go looking for you,” the Chief said, walking into the elevator. “I'll appreciate it if you come down with me.”

“What is it, Chief?” Miles asked. 

“Celeste called,” Badd sighed.“Glen’s boss is here.”

What…?

Phoenix looked at Miles instinctively. His eyes were slightly opened, and his body seemed tense. In barely a minute, they were about to know who Mr. Big was. He couldn’t even imagine all the possibilities that were running through Miles’ head. 

“You think it might be…?” Phoenix whispered as they headed to Celeste’s office, pondering the worst possibility of them all – The man who shot me. 

“I don’t know,” Miles said, with his eyes fixed to the front. “What should concern us is why everyone is so serene.”

He was right. There were no officers around, keeping an eye on the chief of Organized Crime, which could mean that there was no danger. Or that danger had yet to show itself. All those questions were answered as soon as the door opened. There was Celeste, standing by the window, and two men in front of her. 

“Chief Badd, Agent Edgeworth…” Celeste greeted. 

The two men turned around, and Phoenix toed in his stacks, frozen. Juan Rivera, Chief of National Security, glanced at him with a smirk. Next to him, the last person Phoenix was expecting to see. 

“Mr. Wright?” Apollo asked, surely shocked as Phoenix was. 

-

The day before

Washington DC. 4:35 AM 

The subtle movement on the other side of the bed made him awake. Opening his eyes gently, the red flickering numbers of the nightstand clock read 4:35 AM. He turned around, tucking himself under the sheets. When his hand touched the sheetless side, it was warm yet empty. 

As the bathroom door opened, the dim light hit Apollo in his eyes. Immediately, they went out, and the figure that had come out of there approached the bed.

"I've gotta go," Klavier whispered, sitting in bed. 

Apollo hugged his hips, releasing a soft moan, and Klavier chuckled. "Come on... You do this to me every morning." 

"I love your restaurant..." Apollo said in a sleepy voice. "But it takes my mornings with you away." 

"My vacation starts in a few days. As I promised." 

Klavier caressed Apollo's hair, a gesture that always made him shiver. Suddenly, the young agent felt the whisper near his ear. "Mmm... What if we have lunch together... And I compensate for it?" 

With his soft tone, it was difficult for Apollo to say no. "Well... I guess I can come back home for a break..." 

Yet in the darkness, Apollo knew Klavier had a sly smile on his face. His lover leaned up, kissing him on the cheek. But Apollo was faster and cupped his face between the palms, kissing him sweetly. Klavier responded by kissing him back. The smell of mint from the toothpaste could be tasted on his lips. 

Seconds after, Klavier pulled away. "See you later. I love you." 

Satisfied, Apollo rolled around in the bed until his back rested again. "I love you, too."

Apollo turned around to enjoy his two hours left of sleeping. As fast as he fell asleep, the alarm rang. Without dilation, he pushed the bottom down. 

His routine was similar every day. Washing his teeth, his face, and doing some exercises before breakfast. Thirty pushups, jumping jacks, crunches... Just enough to make him feel strong and refreshed, but not to make him sweaty.  Lately, the breakfast consisted of something fancy Klavier had left in the fridge. That day was breakfast burrito and a protein coffee. As he savoured the meal, Apollo felt glad to have a cook as a boyfriend. Otherwise, he'd feed himself the same or wouldn't eat at all due to the lack of time. Before going out, he put on his bracelet. Apollo saw himself in the mirror, adjusting the suit a bit.

Though it was barely nine o'clock, the office was filled with people walking around and desk phones ringing. Even when the country was asleep, the Department of National Security never rested. 

"Good morning, Polly," 

Athena Cykes, his work partner, approached him, holding a coffee. 

"Good morning," he said back. "How was your weekend?"

"I hung out with Juni." A certain shine showed in Athena's eyes when she pronounced her friend's name. "She told me that Mr. Edgeworth is going to be substituted for the rest of the semester at the academy. It seems that he's involved in something big." 

Mr. Edgeworth... Apollo met him a couple of years ago while he was an apprentice. He was now part of the BAU team. The young agent had attended some of his conferences with Agents Lang, Teneiro, and Courtney. And exchanged some words with him at the Christmas FBI dinner. He admired Agent Edgeworth quite a bit, but kept his distance due to past events that had occurred. 

"There are rumors that he's becoming an official Supervisory Agent soon." 

"I was about time," Miles Edgeworth had quickly escalated the FBI ladder since his arrival at the bureau. And it wasn’t something to be surprised by —Everyone knew how highly skilled he was, even without passing through the academy. 

Apollo sat at his desk, ready to handle his daily paperwork. “Hey, Athena. Would you mind covering me during lunch break? I'm meeting Klavier."

"Sure," Athena nodded, sitting partially on the table. "How's he doing, by the way? I haven't seen him since the restaurant's big opening."

"He's fine. Quite busy," He knew Athena for a long time, so opening up to her was easy. "He wakes up pretty early and comes home late at night. It's weird to pass from being able to see him at any time to barely spending time together." 

"Yeah... I remember he used to come for lunch during the renovations. So cute," Athena smirked as Apollo winced at the memory of that time. 

It’s not that he didn’t want his boyfriend to have a stable job. On the contrary, Apollo was incredibly proud of Klavier’s accomplishments. Still, their love felt too fresh to let distance take over their time, and the fear of losing touch was always there for him. 

"I'm sure you'll figure it out. You are like the perfect couple. Every time I hang with you guys, my teeth start to rot out of my mouth." 

"Thanks, Athena..." Her words made him feel better. Apollo knew he could take on her at any time.  "We're not that cheesy. Are we?"

"Oh, believe me. The dumb face you make when you're with him is truly a phenomenon." 

Apollo frowned. His friend enjoyed annoying him with similar teasing, knowing how embarrassed he would sometimes get before responding. However, their cheery chit-chat was interrupted by a deep voice. 

"Justice. Cykes."

Juan Corrida, chief of the Secret Services, was in front of him. He did not know at what moment he had appeared. Athena got down, then stood still as a response to the authoritarian presence. 

"Sir." They responded firmly. 

The chief’s dark eyes fixed on the young agent. “Apollo. To my office. Now.”

Apollo searched for some kind of response from his partner, but Athena merely looked at him with crooked lips and shrugged. By the time he stood up from his seat, his boss was already several steps ahead.

When he arrived, Agent Corrida was waiting, seated. The office was absurdly large, with a massive window at the back. On the desk, there was an aluminum container filled with all sorts of writing utensils, a photo of a dog, and an outdated desk lamp.

“Sit, please.”

Juan Corrida had a friendly face. With his thick, dark hair, tanned skin, and large eyes, anyone might call him objectively handsome. Though his thick eyebrows could be intimidating, the moment they furrowed even slightly. Apollo had been working under him for nearly two years. He considered him a respectable man, though reserved and rather distant with the rest of the agents. However, for some reason, he seemed to have a soft spot for Apollo. Being aware of that, the young agent took advantage of their mutual trust and confidence to follow him on missions or conferences. 

“I have good and bad news about our hacker.”

Apollo felt his heart slam hard against his ribs. “Is he safe? I couldn’t reach him—the lines in Portland are tapped and I was afraid that…”

“Relax, Justice,” the chief cut him off. “The good news is that he’s safe.”

He wanted to sigh in relief, but the air stuck in his lungs. “And the bad news, sir?”

“He’s been arrested,” the captain folded his hands on the desk, taking a relaxed position. “They suspect he killed two people and injured a man.”

Apollo swallowed. His throat had gone dry. Yet, he had no time to panic. “But, sir, he has an alibi. I made sure he and the girl were safe.”

“It’s not your fault, Justice,” Corrida reassured him again. “The BAU has been helping with the investigation. And you know how reliable they are. Contradicting a professional profiler is almost impossible.” 

“But, they are mistaken. There's no way Glen could've done it. He's just a kid!” Apollo stood up momentarily out of desperation, only to sit back again. “There has to be someone who doubts it, too…” 

Juan Corrida sighed. A few times, he showed despair.  “Celeste has taken charge in Portland. If she’s convinced of something, she’ll do everything she can to prove it.”

Apollo nodded, staring at his hands in his lap. Ever since he’d first contacted Glen Elg, he had feared something like this might happen. After all, they were treading into murky waters by hiring an external civilian.

But Glen was the best for the job. He had experience—and a motive for wanting to investigate Darke. "What should we do next?" 

"I booked us a flight for tomorrow. We have to go there personally and free Mr. Elg. Celeste and I are close. I know how to convince her. As soon as Andrews is aware, she will give it a second thought."

Tomorrow? Klavier's vacation started two days after. They had planned to visit Apollo's family in Connecticut. But the most important thing was to spend time together. 

"What do you say? 

There was no time left to doubt. I can go to Portland and solve this in a day... I'm sure Klavier would understand. 

Apollo nodded confidently. "Count on me, sir.”

Although his boss had made it clear, the young agent had to contact Glen Elg, or at least try to. 

If he'd been arrested in Portland, he must've been taken to the County's detention center after the interrogation. But, how to call a murder suspect without raising suspicions? 

Apollo looked around, making sure everyone at the office was busy enough not to listen to his conversation. However, he couldn't be so sure about someone (Athena) to interrupt him half-call. The young agent opted to lock himself in the private bathroom that was down the main hallway. There, he took out a burner phone and marked the center's number. 

“Good morning, I'm John… Glen Elg's cousin,” Apollo prayed for the bailiff not to have noticed the slight doubt in his voice. “I was wondering if I could talk to him. I just found out that he's been arrested.”

“You know the interns have restricted calls, sir?” the bailiff woman said sharply. “You can come over during visiting hours or schedule a call. But I'll need your ID.” 

The young agent had no time to think. “Yeah…I'm sorry for bothering you, ma'am,” he sighed, pretending to sound as concerned as he could. “But, you know, I'm busy at home with the kids… I didn't even have time to go over with the rest of the family. So I guessed I could just call and check how he was doing. He's like a sibling to me.” 

The woman didn't hang up, which meant that she was swallowing Apollo's tactic. When he sighed and apologized again, she seemed to ponder whether or not to tell him yes. 

“I'll see what I can do, Mr. Elg,” she said. “But you have three minutes. No more.”

“I really appreciate that, ma'am. Thank you.” 

“Right… Just wait a minute.” 

As the phone went on hold, Apollo breathed in satisfaction. Lying was something the bureau considered a misrepresentation of the institution. Though in life-or-death situations, Apollo made good use of it. 

When the call went back, he heard Glen's voice. “Hello?”

Apollo smiled. “Hi, Glen. It's me… Cousin John.” 

Glen took a pause, and Apollo prayed for him to remember the emergency protocol. Jails and detention centers recorded every call the inmates had, so they had to be extra careful not to reveal their true relationship.  

“Omg, John… This is bad, really bad,” Glen said, tense. Thankfully, he remembered to talk in code. “Someone came into the apartment and put a cattle marker there. And now the FBI thinks I'm a murderer!”

“I know, I know… Don't worry.” Apollo reassured him. “Do you have a lawyer?”

The hacker sighed. “I got a public one. He's been helping me.”

“Great. At least you're being assisted,” Apollo thought about what else to say to compile as much information, yet calm his protege down. “Glen, how's your girlfriend?”

“Her parents took her back to New York. A PI was searching for her. He helped us, too.” 

A PI? 

“That's nice to hear…” The young agent liked to think the PI's presence wouldn't be a problem. Moreover, it could work as an advantage for him. “Glen. I'm visiting you tomorrow, okay? So don't worry, we'll find a way to get you out of there.” 

Apollo was risking himself with that statement, but there was no way he could leave Glen in distress.

—

When he opened the door, the smell of something roasting in the oven hit Apollo like a delicious surprise. Klavier was in the kitchen, wearing an apron and mixing something in a big bowl. 

“You've arrived earlier,” Apollo pointed out while dropping his bag on the floor. 

His boyfriend turned around, with a smirk on his face. “I thought that I could give you a surprise.” 

“What about the restaurant?”

Klavier shrugged, unworried “They can survive without me.” 

Apollo's worries flew away as he felt his heart warm up due to the small gesture. Even if they had less time to spend together, those heartwarming moments brushed away all the doubts. Klavier made him feel like nothing mattered really, that having a homemade lunch together on a random Tuesday meant more than prepping for a long night shift. Because everything would be alright even if the world paused for a few hours. 

Klavier turned off the oven and placed a big bowl of salad inside the fridge to take off his apron. 

“Everything has to cool down a bit,” he announced, locking his eyes with Apollo's. 

No matter how many times they looked at each other like that. Apollo's heart always got excited, and he wished it could be like that forever. Klavier approached Apollo, grabbing him by the waist as he placed his arms around his boyfriend's neck. 

“Thanks for the surprise…” Apollo whispered. 

“Anything for you... Agent Justice.” 

After a bit of playful hesitation from both of them, they pressed their lips together, melting in a sweet and deep kiss. They didn't last much in the kitchen, as the growing desire overcame them and led the young couple to seal their desperation in the bedroom. Apollo thanked those moments when Klavier was only his to enjoy. No restaurant customers or kitchen employees, Klavier's attention was only on him. And the young agent could forget for a few minutes about his problems. No more Glen Elg, Celeste Inpax, the BAU, or the Brand Killer.

Only Klavier’s kisses on his collarbone, and the pleasure reaching every corner of his body. They took a shower together afterward, getting rid of the sweat. Apollo couldn't help but giggle when receiving surprise kisses on the back of his neck. Wearing a pajama shirt, the young agent was in charge of preparing the table while Klavier heated the food a bit, as they had left it to cool down for too much time. 

“The meal is served,” Klavier said, placing the plate in front of Apollo. “Hope you like it. Even if it's not freshly cooked.” 

Apollo smirked. “Thank you.” 

The couple ate in silence, enjoying each other's presence. The young agent thanks the universe for giving him such a caring boyfriend who could make delicious meals every day. Yet, he felt there was nothing in the world he could make to show how grateful he was for having Klavier by his side. Their relationship didn't have a normal beginning, nor a regular development. Two years ago, Apollo couldn't have imagined that his final case with the Crime Against Children Unit (and the infamous Phoenix Wright) would end up with him having a boyfriend. The brother of the culprit, nonetheless. It wasn't a thing they discussed often. When Apollo, impulsively, asked Klavier to go with him to Washington, there was no hesitation from the young cook.

And just like that, they flew away. Apollo knew that Klavier often called Kristoph's lawyer to be informed about how things were going. He seemed to be reluctant to talk to his brother. Apollo respected it and left Klavier some space when he needed to. The last time the name of Kristoph was heard was on the night of his execution. Klavier called the jail, exchanged a few words with his brother, and an hour later, he was informed of his death. Apollo hugged Klavier during the entire night while the young cook cried out of his lungs. That experience had unimaginably bonded them. But the sequels showed every now and then, making them remember how it was living through such a tragedy. 

“Klavier,” Apollo said. He'd forgotten to tell him about his trip. I'd better rip the bandage off. “I have to tell you something.”

“What is it?” 

“I'm leaving tomorrow… I have to take care of an issue,” Apollo hated to be so secretive with his partner, but the danger of his work required it.

Klavier nodded, his sight on the plate. “Would you be back to visit your parents?” 

As Apollo had imagined, Klavier would be concerned about their vacation trip. 

“Of course. It will only take me a couple of days,” Apollo assured. 

“Okay,” Klavier said, not giving it much importance. At that point, he'd probably gotten used to Apollo’s sudden trips and secret missions. “What is it about?”

“You know that I can't tell you,” the young agent apologized. 

Klavier's sight of disappointment showed with that response, as it always did when Apollo wouldn't talk about work. “I know, but… Is it dangerous?” 

“Dangerous? No.” Apollo shook his head no. “I just… I have to help someone in trouble.” 

His boyfriend nodded. “Then I hope you can give them the help they need.” 

After that, the conversation was set aside. Apollo finished his meal while listening to Klavier rumble about the restaurant until he received a call to go back to work. 

They said goodbye with a kiss, and the young agent was left alone with his thoughts. 

I have to save Glen. And then, I'll come back and take Klavier on our trip. 

After five hours of flight, Apollo arrived in Portland with Chief Corrida. They'd taken off early in the morning, which allowed them to land early. 

They didn't waste time and headed to the Portland PB station as soon as their car arrived. Apollo had packed a small suitcase with clothes for barely two days. While Chief Corrida only carried a briefcase, which gave the young agent the impression that his boss expected them to be there for less than twelve hours. 

We'll do this quickly, Apollo thought. I might be able to join Klavier for dinner. 

“Do you have the signed agreement with Mr. Elg?” Corrida asked. 

Apollo nodded, taking a file from his bag. “Everything is highly detailed. The deal, our conditions, and the agreed alibi in case something went wrong.” 

Chief Corrida gave him an approving nod. “Nice job. Celeste doesn't have any other option than to hear us out.” 

Apollo smiled momentarily, proud of his boss's positive feedback. 

Arriving at the station, the young agent felt the look of the officers who were around. It was clear that two unknown suited men carrying suitcases were something outstanding in that environment. 

Hasn't Organized Crime been around for like a month? Apollo asked himself, thinking that the police station would be used to the presence of the FBI by then. Though Juan's presence is quite intimidating, even at the office. 

At the reception, they were indicated on the floor where Celeste and his agents were working. In less than a minute, they arrived there. As soon as Apollo saw the panorama, he was surprised by how many agents were remaining. Isn't the killer already caught? Or at least that's what they think.

That made the young agent think that maybe there was something deeper to the case, making Agent Inpax want to stay around. Chief Corrida opened the office without hesitation. Apollo had seen Celeste Inpax a few times, and for some time, he even considered joining her unit, but he finally decided against it for Security. 

“Good morning, Celeste.” Corrida greeted.

Instead of being surprised, Agent Inpax seemed annoyed by their presence as she narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing here, Juan?”

“I think you have something that's mine.”

Celeste squinted with confusion as Apollo handed her the file. As she read the documents, her frown became harder, tensing every muscle of her face. The young agent also saw how she squeezed the file with her fists. 

Halfway through, she threw away the papers. “You have to be kidding me, Juan,” she said, clenching her teeth. “How dare you have an undercover agent here, knowing there was an investigation going on?”

“We didn't know the Brand Killer could be related to a possible international drug smuggling ring,” Juan justified their actions, but Celeste didn't seem to buy it. 

“I'm looking for an assassin related to drug use! You could've at least called and said: Hey, Celeste, we're looking for something similar. Do you think it might be the same guys ?”

“I thought the BAU was helping you to figure that out.” 

Celeste finally gave up. “Let's call the police Chief. He would give you permission to free Mr. Elg and take him with you.”

“Thanks, Celeste.” 

We did it, Apollo celebrated. By lunch, we might be flying with Glen back to D.C.

What Apollo didn't expect was to meet two people from his past. At the moment, someone whom he thought to be the police chief walked in. And he was followed by two well-known men. First, Mr. Edgeworth, whom Apollo expected to see there sooner or later. Who he didn't expect to see was his former mentor, Phoenix Wright, carrying a crouch nonetheless. 

What happened to him? It was the first thought that crossed Apollo’s head. 

“Mr. Wright…” he said as a reflex of his astonishment. 

What was Phoenix Wright doing there? He'd heard his mentor had moved to New York since he was banned from the berau. Maya told me he was thinking of opening a PI office… Is he the one who was looking for Vera?

“Apollo…” Mr. Wright said. “How unexpected…” 

“Mr. Edgeworth,” Apollo followed up, hiding his surprise naming to a formal greeting. 

Edgeworth’s eyes were on him. That cold, grey, and analytic stare. No matter how many times Apollo met those eyes, Miles Edgeworth always made him shiver out of fear and admiration. 

“I guess we're all gathered now,” Juan dryly joked before introducing himself. “Special Agent Corrida, chief of National Security. We've met before, Mr. Edgeworth. And what a surprise to see you here, too, Mr. Wright…” 

The former mentor smirked awkwardly, keeping himself close to the door. 

A man, around his late fifties with a long gabardine, shook Corrida's hand. “Tyrell Badd, Police Chief.”  

“Agent Edgeworth,” Celeste said, interrupting the men. “I thought you left with Agent Lang to Louisiana.” 

“I decided to stay a few more days. The BAU considers that my skills might be useful to give this case a proper end.”

They left him here to do paperwork , Apollo assumed. That didn't explain Mr. Wright’s presence, whatsoever. 

Celeste shrugged. “Alright. You might want to hear what our colleagues from Security want to tell us.”

“Of course, of course.” Juan cleared his throat. “We're here to get Glen Elg. We think there's been a small mistake…” 

His chief explained everything to the gentlemen. How they arrived at Glen due to police departments’ recommendations, the contract they signed two years ago as Apollo's first big deal, their plan of using Vera as an undercover student… 

While Apollo was a witness to the changing faces of the police chief and Mr. Wright’s as the story progressed. Shocked, they opened their eyes and mouths. Everything they believed until then was proven wrong in a matter of minutes. On the contrary, Miles Edgeworth kept himself calm, neutral. 

“May I see that file?” the profiler asked. When he was handed the documents, he skimed them. 

“What is it, Agent Edgeworth?” Corrida asked. 

“Mr. Justice fits in my profile for Mr. Big's alias,” Edgeworth's words made Apollo freeze. Suddenly, his hands were tense. “He was not CIA, but you didn't want him to know that. You built the perfect alibi just in case he was caught by the ones you are chasing. Almost perfect, I might say. When I asked him what his boss's voice sounded like, he slipped up by lying spontaneously.” 

Apollo gazed at Corrida, whose brows had become slightly furrowed. The chief felt attacked by Edgeworth’s statement. And the mistake was his, the one in charge of Glen's security. 

I hope this doesn't mean I fucked up… 

“Then we all agree that Mr. Elg must be freed as soon as possible,” Juan said, forcing the talk about the matter everyone in that room was concerned about. “Chief Badd, would you mind contacting the DA so we can release the kid?” 

“You got it, Mr. Corrida.” 

“Justice, would you go and take Mr. Edgeworth and Mr. Wright to make a statement?” 

Apollo felt as if Corrida was his dad telling him to go and play with his friends outside so they could stop bothering him for a while. 

The young agent nodded. “Yes, sir.” 

“You may use the interrogation room. Miles knows where it is.” Chief Badd said. 

Apollo turned around, finding Edgeworth's sight on him again. “Lead the way, Agent Edgeworth.” 

He kept his head up as they walked out of the office. It was a small mistake, Apollo told himself. I just have to learn to choose better code names. 

“I told you… They didn't kick you out,” his old mentor said. “Lang might want you to stay.”

“I thought I was clear when we argued.” Agent Edgeworth released a sigh.

Apollo furrowed, puzzled. He thought that Edgeworth was close to a promotion to Supervisory. It would be a surprise for him to leave the FBI so soon, overall, when taking into account his amazing reputation among the agents and the students at the academy. 

As they got comfortable in the interrogation room, Apollo left his notepad on the table, taking a block out. He was ready for a serious round of questions, keeping it as formal as possible. But he couldn't deny that he was in front of old friends. 

“Mr. Edgeworth, was it that easy to profile me?” Apollo asked in concern. The couple seemed caught off guard by the question. 

“I won't say it was easy,” Agent Edgeworth shrugged. “But, I doubted a man older than thirty-five would choose the name Mr. Big as an undercover.” 

Apollo nodded, recognizing his mistake. He might have fooled the entire Police Department and Security Unit, but a single profiler had caught him. 

“I'll note it for next time…” 

Instead of finding his usual frown, Miles kept his expression soft and a soothing tone. “You like Sex and the City?” 

“Yes. Klavier introduced me to the show,” Apollo said, excited. “You must have seen it too.”

“Indeed. My sister and I used to see it,” Agent Edgeworth smiled briefly. “Who's your favorite?”

He didn't know why he was making small talk with Agent Edgeworth, but thanks to it, he'd gotten comfortable. “My favorite one is Charlotte.” 

“Mr. York could make a great undercover.”

“Why are we talking about this?” Mr. Wright interrupted. “Apollo, why does Glen work with you?” 

Agent Edgeworth gazed at him, seemingly disappointed by the sudden interruption. But then, he fixed his eyes on Apollo, looking for an answer. The young agent was supposed to take their statement, but the two men had flipped the situation, turning it into an interrogation. 

At what point had they planned to do it? They had barely talked in Apollo's presence. 

At that moment, he understood. There was no need for them to communicate with words. Their coordination was beyond it. 

They still make a great team… I wonder if they're together. 

“I should be the one asking questions, Mr. Wright,” Apollo stated firmly. “Still, I'm open for a deal. Explain to me why you are here and your discoveries, and I'll tell you everything about Glen.” 

“Sounds fair to me,” Mr. Edgeworth agreed first. And, though the former mentor seemed doubtful at first, he ended up nodding. 

“Alright then. Let's start simple. Why are you here, Mr. Wright?” 

Apollo started to write in this note block. What at first sounded like a soft private detective story ended up with a dead man, a shooting, and the witness protection program. 

“Wait, you've been a protected witness all this time?” Apollo asked, shocked. 

“The BAU thought it could prevent things from being worse and keep him safe,” Agent Edgeworth explained. “But he's not in the program anymore. We believe they were not aiming at him at the shooting, so whoever did it had no intention to hurt him for his implication.”

“They confused me for Agent Lang,” Mr. Wright said. “I’m still the one who ended up taking the bullet, tho.” 

At that moment, Apollo was able to see Agent Edgeworth gazing at Mr. Wright. His eyes filled with sadness. 

“And… Agent Edgeworth, you're in charge of him, right?” 

“We used my childhood home as a safe house,” Edgeworth confirmed. “It's in a private area. And nobody has bothered us.” 

“But… You're no longer a protected witness.” 

“Correct.”

“So why did you stay?” 

Mr. Wright gazed at Agent Edgeworth momentarily. “Things happened and… I wanted to help Glen.” 

It seemed suspicious to Apollo. I should ask further… “Mr. Edgeworth, you were here to make a profile of the Brand Killer. Although the BAU is already gone after arresting Glen… Sorry, I have to ask. Did you quit?” 

Agent Edgeworth furrowed. “You heard us.” 

“Yeah… I'm sorry. But it surprised me. Everyone was talking about you becoming an SSA.” 

Edgeworth crossed his arms, which made Apollo think he wouldn't talk. For a few seconds, he took a breath, and when he released the air, the profiler looked at Mr. Wright.

“I fought with Agent Lang. We had personal and professional differences regarding Mr. Wight's situation.” 

“May I ask what happened?”

“We slept together.” 

Phoenix perked up, pushing himself against the table. The response seemed to be shocking for him. 

“You and…?” Agent Lang? No, Apollo. He means we, as in WE. “Oh… Oh. So you're… Together .” 

“We…” Mr. Edgeworth looked at his partner, looking for an answer. The way his former mentor looked at him brought Apollo back to the old days. Both were pretty much in love when in Atlanta, even if they tried to hide it, for everyone else was as clear as water. 

“We are,” Mr. Wright said. “But I'm sure it doesn't surprise you, Apollo.”

No, not a bit, Apollo thought. 

“The thing is, Agent Lang wanted us to leave for another case,” the profiler brushed off the conversation, bringing back the important topic. “And I refused so I could help Phoenix to help Glen… I quit, indeed.” 

“Agent Inpax doesn't seem aware of that.” Apollo pointed out. 

“No, she's not. I guess they are not willing to let me go that easily.” 

It doesn't surprise me, Apollo said to himself. He's becoming a legend at this point. They even fought for having him in every single department…

“The thing is, I have built a profile on both unsubs. And none fit Glen Elg.”

“Both?” Apollo raised a brow. “Aren't you looking for the Brand Killer?”

“I believe there are two different murderers in this case. We usually would classify them as ‘couple killers’… One older, one younger. Both share an allure for violence, in two different ways, indeed.” 

Apollo was not aware of any information about the Brand Killer beyond the basics. Knowing how complex a case it seemed, no wonder that everyone had their feelings running high

“Why did you frame Glen then?”

“We originally thought he killed the original Brand Killer as revenge for his sister's murder,” Mr. Edgeworth crossed his hands on the table. “That was before I met him, of course. However, as we found a cattle marker on the apartment… The evidence points that he might.” 

“But you don't believe that.” 

“Evidence is indeed confusing. Timing, MO, motive… Doesn't match Glen's personality or the actual circumstances. Besides, a victim was found just a few weeks ago. So, the Brand Killer must still be alive.” 

“Why do you think there's this… consensus about Glen's guilt?”

“Because everyone involved in the investigation is corrupt.” Mr. Wright intruded on the conversation suddenly. “Celeste knows she has no way to find the Brand Killer. They're lost. And decided to frame it into a kid just because he didn't have a clear alibi. The BAU? They think they have better things to do, better cases to investigate. Sorry, Miles.” 

Mr. Edgeworth shook his head no, letting his partner continue. 

“What I'm saying is that it's convenient to frame it on Glen. This way, everyone can move on,” Mr. Wright clicked his tongue. “I'm sure this happened the first time. Portland PB doesn't have enough resources, the FBI gets involved, at some point, they get to a dead end, and they just drop it. They value their time and money too much to be searching for someone who kills addicted girls.” 

Apollo had never seen his former mentor express such strong opinions about the FBI. And he didn’t know how to feel about it. The young agent directed his sight to Agent Edgeworth, whose expression seemed unconcerned. It was obvious – He must agree , Apollo thought. And I can’t blame them. 

“I understand…” Apollo nodded, giving them sympathy. “Unfortunately, I cannot help you with that. The only thing I can do is to take Glen with me and make sure he's safe with us.” 

He knew it was a flawed response, although he could not allow himself to worry about institutional corruption and the FBI’s questionable values and practices. He just wanted to go home to Klavier. 

“Would you answer our questions now?” Agent Edgeworth asked. 

“Of course,” Apollo sat forward in his chair, waiting for the questions to come. 

Mr. Wright asked first. “How did Glen end up working for you?” 

“I wanted him to infiltrate a few companies we were suspicious about…” Apollo explained. “At first, it was supposed to be a temporary job. But then, we came to encounter a possible opium smuggling here, in Oregon. I offered him to come to his hometown and investigate. He accepted with the condition that he could bring his girlfriend. I couldn’t refuse. Glen even suggested that Vera sneaked into the company.” 

“Is the company Noir Nature?” Agent Edgeworth asked. 

Apollo frowned, taking his head back. “Yeah… How do you know?”

“We think the Brand Killer is related to it. All the female victims worked for them before being murdered,” Agent Edgeworth explained. “Three men were killed during the last month, two of them were related to the girls’ unis as part of an interscholar science project. The other one was a man disguised as Glen Elg.” 

Halfway through, Apollo felt so stunned that he even wondered if he’d heard it right. “A man… What?” 

“A Doppelgänger,” Mr. Wright said. “Well, he got surgery to look like Glen. But still. I saw his body, and he looked exactly like him.”

“What…? Why?” Apollo was astonished. His throat felt a bit dry, and a jab hit his stomach.  

“We don't know.” Mr. Edgeworth confirmed. “If I had to guess… I'd say someone did it to protect Glen.”

As soon as he heard it, the young agent knew what he meant. “Wait… You think I did it?” 

Mr. Edgeworth shrugged. “Did you?” 

The profiler’s eyes locked with Apollo’s, and at that moment, all he could see were those big grey circles. Apollo felt his hands starting to sweat. He had not done something like that. He'd never use such a twisted method to ensure someone's security. However, Agent Edgeworth’s body language and wording make him want to confess. 

“No… God, of course not!” Apollo said dashingly. “We don’t do that in National Security. Even we have a limit.”

“All right,” Agent Edgeworth’s eyes moved away. ”I believe you.”

What I heard was right… He shows no mercy, and it’s cold and sharp as ice. 

“I would talk about it with my boss. I'm sure we can do something about it.” Apollo didn’t think it would make any difference. However, Chief Corrida could be interested in knowing that Glen’s life was even more jeopardized than they originally thought. “But he had no idea that the Brand Killer could be related to Noir Nature.”

“Peter Darke was a known cult leader here in Portland during the late seventies and early eighties. He was the grandson of the founder, and his son is now the owner.” Edgeworth explained. “The girls, the marks, and how they were OD make me think Darke has something to do with it.”

Criminal blood runs the family…

“Do you have a clue as to why he stopped killing for a decade and then changed his MO?” 

“Usually, serial killers must have a life-changing event to make them stop.” Agent Edgeworth crossed his arms. “Something like marriage, moving out of the city, going to jail… Though I would discard the last option, as we’d already gone through all men who were recently released after spending ten years in prison.”

“Could he have been fired?” Apollo asked. “After all, we’re talking about an assassin.”

“He has a very distinctive MO for that to be the cause… We're talking about a sadist, he wouldn't stop even working as something else,” Mr. Edgeworth argued. “But he surely had a reason to stop killing women. And then come back with an acolyte.”

Apollo was not formed on profiling; he barely had an idea about how the criminal minds worked. That’s why the FBI had the BAU. He could give little to no help regarding the Brand Killer case. 

There was not much else to say regarding Glen, and the young agent thought it might already be time to go. “Well, I think I have all I need,” he said, standing up. “Thanks for your collaboration. Good luck with finding your assassins.”

The couple stood up, too, shaking hands with Apollo before he left the room. They seemed to quietly agree that they had everything they wanted out of the conversation. Chief Corrida was waiting outside, leaning on the wall. 

“Are you done, Justice?” 

“Yes, sir. By the way, we have a few things to discuss…” Apollo doubted. The conversation about Glen’s doppelganger could wait. Their job was done, after all.  “I’ll tell you on the plane.”

“Alright.” Chief Corrida stood straight, making it a sign to leave. “The DA agreed on freeing Mr. Elg. We pick him up at the detention center, and we go.”

As they walked towards the elevator, Apollo smiled, happy to have a good job done on his back.

“Apollo, wait!” A voice called. It was Mr. Wright. The young agent turned around, seeing how the man strided towards him with the help of his crutch. “Can we talk for a minute?”

Apollo turned to his boss, who had the elevator’s gates waiting for them. “I’ll wait for you in the lot, Justice.”

He nodded, letting Chief Corrida leave. Then, Apollo turned around to find Phoenix, not knowing what he should expect. “What is it, Mr. Wright?”

At first, there was a slight hesitation in the PI as he directed his hand to the back of his neck, caressing the zone awkwardly. “You see… It’s been a long time since we saw each other and…” Mr. Wright sighed. “I think I owe you a big apology.”

Those words were the last thing Apollo was expecting in that encounter. It had been a long time, though he’d be lying if he ensured he never thought about Phoenix Wright; his mentor, his role model. 

“Mr. Wright, I…” He used to think there was no grudge held against that man. However, the anger appeared to be blooming from his skin abruptly. Apollo frowned and clenched his fists. “You… You betrayed my trust back then. I thought you worked for the sake of others, but ended up behaving selflessly!”

Apollo couldn’t forget how Phoenix had acted on his own regarding Kristoph Gavin’s case, and even made him and Maya hold onto accidentally stolen documents. Worse of all, the former mentor didn’t seem to feel any remorse, as he took the suspension so well while dragging Maya Fey, his best friend, with him. 

“And still, you didn’t care! Maya lost her job… And I could’ve lost it too.”

“Is that why you testified against me?” Mr. Wright asked. “So you could keep your job?”

The young agent knew how bad it sounded out loud, but he had to be sincere. “Yes… The FBI is all I have. I couldn’t lose it because of you.”

Phoenix sighed, not an ounce of anger in his face. “I understand, Apollo… That’s why I wanted to apologize,” he smiled then, ironically. “I did wrong, and paid the consequences. I was fired, my best friend resents me, you hate me… And Miles left me for betraying his trust, too. But, I’m trying to redeem myself now.”

The former mentor turned around momentarily to look at his lover, who observed them from a distance. “I have managed for the person I love to forgive me,” Phoenix said, gazing back at Apollo. “So, I hope you can forgive me, too, Apollo.”

Despite all the things that took place in the past, at that moment, Apollo knew he couldn’t hate the man who had formed him as the agent he is now. Phoenix Wright was an erratic man who’d made huge mistakes. Still, he was one of the best men the young agent knew. 

“Don’t worry, Mr. Wright. I forgave you a long time ago.”

Mr. Wright smiled, relieved. “Really? I’m glad to hear it.”

Apollo smirked back. “It’s time for me to go,” he said. “Good luck, Mr. Wright.”

“Thanks, Apollo. You, too.”

The farewell was relatively easy. Yet, as soon as Apollo walked to the elevator, he felt a big weight lift off his shoulders. He needed that conversation, and he didn’t know until that moment. He smiled to himself, going inside the car. It had been good to see both Mr. Wright and Mr. Edgeworth again (and together) after all this time. However, he expected not to meet them again for a long time. Only then would Apollo be sure that things were going to be fine.