It's finally here! The final installment of the Sparks trilogy! So sorry for putting this thing on hold for so long, I had to take a break to do other things and blah blah blah. Point is, I'm back! Anyway, I don't know how often I'm going to update and it certainly won't be consistent, so if I fall of the face of the planet for a couple months don't worry! This is not going to be one those eternally incomplete stories! And of course I'm going to try really, really hard to make sure that doesn't happen but I just want to cover all my bases upfront!

Also, there's another story in the making that I highly recommend. It's called The Art of Turnabout, a collaboration between myself and High Inquisitor Darkblaw! Just wanted to put that out there, for anyone who was interested!

So, thank you so much for reading this, I hope you like it, and please leave a review! :D

The gavel descended, hitting the wooden podium with a solid clap. Those in the gallery quickly fell silent as the sound of the gavel echoed throughout the expansive courtroom, the spectators eagerly awaiting to hear what the judge had to say. On the left hand side of the courtroom, sitting in the top left seat of the gallery, Chief Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth surveyed the scene with his arms crossed and a faint smile on his face.

He had made it a habit to watch the occasional trial in his spare time in order to say on top of what his colleagues were doing. Or at least, that's what he told himself and anyone who asked. Deep down, however, he knew it was because he had begun to miss the courtroom since his promotion. As much as he loved his new position and the opportunities it gave him, nothing could compare to the satisfaction of putting together a case and presenting it to the court. Being a spectator in the gallery allowed him to feel at least some of that excitement.

"Objection sustained," the judge said.

"Thank you, Your Honor," Maria said with a confident smile, light streaking across her glasses.

Also, the fact that his girlfriend was prosecuting today was a complete coincidence.

"But…." the defense attorney mumbled.

"Accept it, the defendant was at the scene of the crime," Maria said. "He said so himself."

"But that doesn't mean he murdered the victim!" the lawyer said.

"Yeah, I told you. I was with a group, any one of us could've bumped the guy off," the defendant said.

"Mr. Rivale, don't interrupt," Maria said.

"I say this every trial, little lady. You can call me Eric," the defendant said.

Eric stood tall and proud behind the witness stand, his smile laced with cockiness. The sides of his russet hair were tinted smoky grey. It was clear that he was middle aged, but his dark eyes still had a youthful, mischievous glint in them.

"And I believe I have repeatedly asked you to stop calling me that," Maria said coldly.

I can see the malice in her eyes from here…. She looks ready to spit at him. Miles glanced at the defendant, who appeared to be completely unfazed, perhaps even enjoying himself. I do wish he'd cease using that ridiculous pet name….And that he'd stop looking at her like that….

"But you're a little lady, what else am I suppose to call you?" Eric said.

"I'm not having this conversation again, Mr. Rivale," Maria said, crossing her arms and tapping her organizer against her elbow.

"I agree with the prosecution," the judge said. "We've endured this conversation more times than I can count. I must say, I can't recall the last time I've had trials featuring the same defendant every day of the week."

"It's been a busy week for all of us, Your Honor," the defense attorney said, massaging his temples.

Has he been the defense attorney for all of these trials? That poor man, he looks so crushed….

"It certainly has been," the judge said, nodding his head. "Um, Ms. Coldstare?"

Maria slowly blinked, leaning on the prosecution's bench with drooped shoulders. She quickly straightened up, adjusting her glasses. "Ahem, yes?"

"Are you alright? You seemed a bit tired…." the judge said.

"I'm fine, Your Honor," Maria said, her tone indicated that the conversation was over.

She's sick. Miles sighed to himself. I probably should have stopped her from coming. But it's too late now, I suppose….

"Now then, back to the matter at hand," Maria said. "There is evidence that singles out the defendant as the murderer."

"And what would that be?" the judge said.

"The murder weapon," Maria said, presenting a gun. "As you know, this is the gun the defendant used to kill Officer Jonathan Vencherd. It was fired three times the evening of the murder, however only one of the bullets hit the victim. As the autopsy report will tell you, that bullet pierced his heart and the excessive blood loss ended his life moments later."

"Objection!" the defense attorney said. "You say the defendant used the gun, but do you have any evidence to back that up?"

"I was getting to that," Maria said dryly. "The forensics team found the defendant's fingerprints on the gun. Any more questions, or may I continue, Mr….?"

Maria cleared her throat, looking down at her binder.

"For the eleventh time, my name is Tremblin Payne.…" Tremblin murmured, hanging his head down.

"Payne? I thought you were a prosecutor," the judge said.

"You're thinking of my brothers, Your Honor…. Again," Tremblin said.

"Oh, right! My word, three brothers who all became lawyers."

"Actually, there are five of us."

"Really?"

"Ahem," Maria coughed again, disrupting the conversation.

"Ah, right. You were saying, Ms. Coldstare?" the judge said.

Maria continued coughing, covering her mouth her arm. It only worsened, until she was left dry heaving, grabbing the edge of her desk to keep herself up. Eventually, the coughing subsided. She took in a deep breath and picked up her binder as if nothing had happened.

"Um… Ms. Coldstare?" the judge said. "Are you sure you're feeling alright?"

"I seem to recall saying something to that effect only minutes ago, Your Honor," Maria said.

"Yes, but you're coughing quite a bit," the judge said.

"I had an itch in my throat," the brunette prosecutor said.

"If I may put in my two cents," Tremblin said, a smirk snaking its way across his face. "I'd say the prosecution is under the weather."

"If I may add two cents of my own, I suggest that the defense not concern himself with my health and instead focus on his own case," Maria said, her voice weak and raspy.

"I thought you looked pale. Getting a sore throat, little lady?" Eric said, leaning against the witness stand. "You have been shouting a lot lately."

"I'm fine," Maria said, glaring at the defendant. "As I was saying, the defendant's prints were found on the murder weapon. And no one else's. That being the case, I think it's rather clear who shot the victim."

"I'm sorry, but I can't hear what the prosecution is saying," Tremblin said. "Perhaps she could speak up?"

Maria cleared her throat. "I said the defendant's print were on the gun! And no one else's! Tha-ack!"

She broke into another coughing fit, muffling the sound with her jacket sleeve.

"Your Honor, I really don't think the prosecution is fit to be in the courtroom right now," Tremblin said. "Perhaps we should dismiss this case for now."

"Objection!" Maria said, taking in a heavy, ragged breath. "For the last time, I'm fine. The defense is using my cough to distract this court from his hopeless case, and frankly it's pathetic. Your Honor, the defendant is clearly guilty. Both the evidence and Mr. Payne's pitiful attempts to change the subject prove this."

"P-Pitiful?" Tremblin said, taken aback.

"Harsh words, little lady," Eric said.

"Listen closely, Mr. Rivale," Maria said, locking eyes with the defendant. "My name is Coldstare. Prosecutor Maria Coldstare. Understand?"

"Hmph, whatever," Eric said, looking up at the ceiling.

"And you," Maria shifted her gaze to Tremblin. "This case will not be dismissed for anything. So defend your client, or just plead guilty."

"R-right," Tremblin said meekly.

"So, does the defense actually have a case?" Maria said, crossing her arms. "Is there even a shred of doubt that the defendant didn't murder Officer Vencherd? With the gun that has his fingerprints all over it?"

"Well, um…." Tremblin began to fidget, thinking as hard as he could. "What if the defendant handed the gun to someone else and they killed the victim?"

"Only the defendant's prints were on the gun," Maria said.

"The killer could've been wearing gloves," Tremblin said.

"That would've at least smudged the defendant's fingerprints."

"Those prints are seven years old. Can anyone really vouch for how clear they were that day?" Tremblin said.

"Probably, but it isn't worth debating," Maria said. She cleared her throat, her eyes glazing over. "I can confirm that the defendant shot the gun."

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather take some medicine?" Tremblin said.

"The position of the fingerprints," Maria said, completely ignoring the defense attorney's comment. "Based on their position, you can determine how a person held something. The defendant definitely held the handle of the gun as one would if they were to fire it. Most telling, however, is the print on the trigger."

"There's a fingerprint on the trigger?" Tremblin said, losing an ounce of confidence.

"Well, part of a fingerprint," Maria said. "And in case you're wondering, the partial print matches up with Mr. Rivale's right index finger. As much as it can, at least. And seeing how his prints are the only ones on the gun, I think it's rather obvious that it was the defendant who pulled the trigger."

"Um…." Tremblin stuttered. "That doesn't mean he shot the victim, necessarily."

"Then what did he shoot?" Maria said, grimacing. She leaned back against the wall behind her, putting a hand on her forehead.

"It was his gun, he could've shot a lot of things," Tremblin said.

"He has, with multiple firearms," Maria said. "I believe he used a revolver against Shinichi Kitaki."

"That's beside the point," Tremblin said, drumming his fingers against the desk.

Maria suddenly yawned. She quickly covered her mouth.

"I'm sorry, are we boring you?" Tremblin said. "Or perhaps you need a nap?"

"I think I can manage to stay conscious for the sake of the trial," Maria said dryly. "So…. where were we?"

"Your Honor, the prosecution can't even think straight anymore," Tremblin said. "The defense proposed the verdict be postponed-"

"Objection!" Maria snapped. "There will be no postponing. This ends today, I'm perfectly fit to prosecute!"

"Ms. Coldstare, I'm honestly not sure that you are…." The judge said.

Maria coughed again. "Your Honor, please focus on the case. You'll notice that the defense has no case whatsoever. Mr. Rivale murdered Officer Vencherd, there's no room for doubt. The defense has offered up mere possibilities, but presented no evidence that actually proves anything."

"The prosecution must be delusional!" Tremblin said.

"…. Stop talking," Maria said.

"Why should I?" Tremblin said.

"Present evidence," Maria said, clearing her throat. "Is there actually any evidence that the defendant is innocent? If so, show it to the court."

"Well, um…. Just let me think for a second," Tremblin said, looking through the court record.

"There's evidence…. motive…. and the defendant has no alibi…." Maria rasped. "This trial has gone on long enough, there's no reason to drag it out any further. The platform of the defense's case is nothing but hearsay and an active imagination."

"Hey, that was unnecessary!" Tremblin said.

"What's unnecessary is prolonging this trial any further," Maria said. "For the past ten minutes, the defense has done nothing but attempt to distract the courtroom from the fact that he has absolutely no case. Even if I were sick, it would be completely irrelevant as I've presented conclusive evidence and sound reasoning for the entire duration of this trial."

"I have to side with the prosecution on this point. Mr. Payne, does the defense have any evidence?" the judge said.

All eyes in the courtroom turned to Tremblin, an expectant silence consuming the atmosphere.

"I…. I…." Tremblin stuttered, his eyes darting around the room. "St-stop staring at me…."

"Pardon?" the judge said.

Tremblin began to fidget, a nervous sweat trickling down his face. "Stop staring, everyone…. P-please…."

The defense attorney covered his face. "Stop staring!"

That next moment, the lawyer disappeared.

"Um, Mr. Payne?" the judge said. "Where did he go?"

"I believe he's hiding under his desk," Eric said exasperatedly, raking his fingers through his hair.

"Oh. Alright then," the judge said. "I suppose that settles it then, in a way."

"Yeah," Eric muttered.

"Finally…." Maria said under her breath, a faint smile on her lips.

"…. You really hate me, don't you?" Eric said, facing Maria.

The brunette prosecutor looked at Eric, her smile gone. "Why do you care?"

"…. It doesn't matter. Forget I said anything, Ms. Coldstare," Eric said, looking up at the ceiling. "Just give me the verdict."

"Ah, yes," the judge said. "This court finds the defendant, Eric Rivale, guilty."

Miles walked across the courthouse lobby, his maroon coat causing him to stick out among the dull, dark business suits surrounding him. He weaved through the sea of lawyers darting to their trials, something he had become rather accustomed to over the years. Maintaining a dignified, purposeful stride, he soon reached the other end of the lobby and started down a hallway. The crowd of people quickly thinned out until he was eventually the only person in sight.

He stopped in front of one of the many doors lining the hallway, labeled "Waiting Room #3", and knocked. Several moments passed, but no one answered.

Let me guess…. Miles opened the door and stepped inside. The waiting room was decorating just like every other room in the courthouse, with a simple potted plant, painting and sofa in the corner. Curled up on the sofa was a woman in a black suit, hugging her organizer.

"Heh, I knew it," Miles said to himself, smirking.

He walked up to Maria and knelt down, gently shaking her shoulder. "Maria, wake up."

The ill prosecutor said nothing.

"Come now, Maria. You can't stay here all day," Miles said, shaking slightly harder.

Maria's eyelids fluttered open, her gaze slowly regaining focus. "Miles?"

"Can you stand?" Miles said.

"Of course," Maria said, already sitting up.

She stood up and immediately began coughing.

"Maria?" Miles said.

Maria cleared her throat. "Yes?"

"You're sick."

Rubbing her eyes, the brunette prosecutor leaned against her boyfriend. "I know…."

Miles put his arm around her, leading her towards the door. "Come on. Let's get you home, Sparrow."