I jumped awake as I felt something touch my shoulder gently. Shouting in alarm, I sat bolt upright and began struggling wildly. A hand covered my mouth, stifling the sound. "Mm… mmph!" I protested, wrenching at the hand that held me. What was going on?

"Quiet, okay? It's just me! You can stop screaming now."

"Oh, it's you, Mr. Edgeworth," I sighed in relief as he released me. I whirled around, twisting at the waist from where I was sitting on the floor. "What the heck?" I snapped at him. He jumped, his eyes wide in surprise. "Why'd you have to scare me like that?"

"Sometimes, I wonder why I keep you around… your mood swings often become extremely… tedious." Mr. Edgeworth stood up and pinched the bridge of his nose wearily.

I took a moment to get my bearings before answering. I was in the High Prosecutor's – that is, Mr. Edgeworth's – office. I was surrounded by papers, books, case files… you name it. And I knew I'd have to clean it up so as to maintain the upkeep of my mentor's perfectly pristine office.

"What were you doing, anyway?" Mr. Edgeworth asked angrily, glaring contemptuously at the loathsome mess I'd left.

"Um… studying up… for the trial. Tomorrow's the third and final day, remember?"

"Yes, but the majority of this… mayhem… has nothing to do with the case and hand!"

"Yes, but," I started, mocking Mr. Edgeworth's disdainful voice, "these cases are all very similar. And they all ended up with a guilty verdict. Maybe we can learn about the future from the past."

"An insightful analysis," Mr. Edgeworth mused, crossing his arms and tapping one finger thoughtfully. I felt myself swell with pride. Then he looked at me with that cold-as-ice, horribly straightforward stare of his. "However!"

"…Eh…?" I mumbled, aghast. I knew full well a lecture was coming. At past midnight, no less!"

"Clutter your mind with unnecessary facts and your statements will become cluttered as well! And you wonder why I haven't given you a case yet!"

"There's nothing wrong with knowing some background!" I argued, but I knew I would lose. I always did. "How can I be a good prosecutor if I don't know guilty from innocent in the courtroom?"

"Well, Wren? Is the suspect guilty?" Mr. Edgeworth asked me suddenly.

I stared at him, confused by the question. How was I supposed to know? "Well… I guess we can't know… for sure… until the verdict is passed tomorrow…"

"Wrong!" Mr. Edgeworth glared at me. I felt myself blushing. What had I done wrong now? "The suspect is guilty."

"Wha… H-How do you know?" I asked, surprised and, I had to admit, a little amazed.

"That isn't the question. The suspect is always guilty. Believe it, Wren. Because if you don't, who will? Certainly not the judge, and he's the only one that really matters. So, tomorrow, what will we prove?"

"…That the suspect is guilty…" I mumbled unhappily.

"That's right. And tomorrow, what will you do?"

"You don't mean…?" I asked hopefully. Would I get to help him prosecute tomorrow?

"You've got it. Tomorrow, you're going to clean this mess up! Understood?"

My heart fell in disappointment for about the umpteenth time. "Yes, sir…"

"Good. Now go home and get some sleep. You've got a long day ahead of you tomorrow."

"Okay…" I trudged out of the office. I hated how he treated me like a little child! Okay, sure, I'd gotten started in prosecuting later than him, but come on. We were the same age, and we'd both chosen the same path for the same reasons. That should mean something! At the very least, it should mean that we were equals. But we obviously weren't. Sometimes, I thought as I walked towards my small, cheap car in the underground parking lot, sometimes I feel like I should be parking this hunk of junk in the B parking lot with the visitors, instead. I mean, the only difference between me and them is that I spent more time there, I read more there, and… oh, yeah, I got worked like a dog. A slave dog. And for no better pay. Man, for all the frills in that guy's office, Mr. Edgeworth sure was cheap. But I owed my job to him. More than that, I owed my life to him. It was because of him I was even involved in law at all, and more or less, I was happy with my life. So despite the circumstances, if it weren't for him, I'd probably still be wandering around wondering what to do with my life. So I was indebted to him. It was just… sometimes… I wondered about the people I helped sentence to prison… or worse. After all, they're people too, and I firmly believed, about all else, all people really are innately good at heart.

xxx

I sighed in exhaustion. It had been a long day, but of course Mr. Edgeworth had won again. The suspect was guilty, the witnesses were going home, and we were still here. There was only one reason. And that reason was coming across the courtroom at that very moment.

"I must say, that was quite a show you put on today, Mr. Edgeworth," the man said. He was tall and wore a dark blue suit jacket and a fancy cravat, just like Mr. Edgeworth. He had collar-length blonde hair and a soft-spoken smile. His name was William Dove – he'd been the defense attorney for the case. He was a striking, confident figure, even in defeat.

"Yes, indeed," Mr. Edgeworth agreed as he began to walk away. "Goodbye."

"But the person I'm most interested in is your assistant. What's her name?"

"Wren Griffin," I answered quickly. He turned his gaze on me and I ducked my face away.

"Ah, I see. Wren Griffin." He looked me up and down quickly. I blushed, hiding my face behind my mouse brown hair.

"You wear that suit like an attorney," he went on, examining my dark blue suit jacket and skirt. At a harsh glare from Edgeworth, he amended, "A prosecuting attorney, of course. But your hair and your face…" He smiled at my hairstyle, the way it was loose except for a tight bun at the back, kept up by two hairpins. "Are you from the Republic of Zheng Fa, by any chance?"

"Where?" Edgeworth asked, frowning.

"My mother…" I mumbled. I nodded to him hurriedly. "I'm sorry. I have to go."

"Of course. I understand." As Mr. Edgeworth and I left, I looked back and saw Mr. Dove watching us with his arms crossed, smiling secretly to himself. I shook my head. What an incredibly strange man.

Outside the courthouse, we ran into one of the witnesses for the trial. She was talkative, annoying, and incredibly hard to handle. When we were initially questioning her, it was nearly impossible to get her to stay on task. In short, I disliked her incredibly. Her name was Penny Dreadful, a reporter.

"Hiya, folks!" she greeted us boisterously. "Nice show in there!"

I frowned at her in frustration. She wore a long trench coat and a fedora – according to her, it was standard reporter costume. Her straight brown hair fell down just past her shoulders, and she had a broad smile that even now stretched from ear to ear.

"We don't have time right now, Ms. Dreadful," Mr. Edgeworth snapped. "We're very busy."

"Oh, I know! But look, I was just wondering if I could do a follow-up to the case, and I'd like to interview you!" She whipped out a small pad of paper and a pen. "Go ahead, say something!"

"Like what?"

"You know, something interesting. For example…" She cleared her throat and began imitating Mr. Edgeworth's gruff voice. "Ahem. Yes, we worked very hard to achieve justice against that wayward criminal… and we also beat that pasty defense attorney's butt."

"I don't believe I'd ever say something so… unprofessional," Mr. Edgeworth said uncomfortably. "Now, if you'll excuse us…" He and I began walking away very quickly.

"If you want, I could come to your office later to get the inside scoop! We could do a whole segment! 'Miles Edgeworth: Revealed!'"

Mr. Edgeworth groaned and we got inside his car and drove away quickly.

xxx

Edgeworth strolled comfortably into his office the next morning, the way he always did when that sense of confidence and invincibility washed over him. It was the feeling of victory. His office was in perfect order, thanks to Wren. Except for one stray scrap of paper on his desk.

The first thought that occurred to him was, "How dare she leave something lying out! She's such a slob! I can't believe she still works here!" Or something of that nature. His next thought was, naturally, one of curiosity.

Picking up the note, he saw written in painstakingly neat handwriting – unmistakably Wren's – "Prosecutor Wren Griffin is dead." It was signed in her own signature with Edgeworth's best calligraphy pen, a fact which he chose to ignore.

The first thing he thought of was that the note meant, literally, Wren was dead. His heart began to race. Had she been murdered? But where? Obviously not here, but where?

He forced himself to calm down, to think more logically. If Wren had really written this letter, as the neat handwriting and nearly impossible-to-forge signature suggested, then she'd known she was going to die. But this letter wasn't the letter of a dying person. It seemed as though Wren had written this at her own leisure, for heaven's sake! He made himself backtrack to the beginning. Another theory popped into his mind, and this one was more figurative.

Wren was actually a true prosecutor yet; she hadn't even tackled her own case. Nor was she arrogant enough to use a title for herself that wasn't true. She knew what she was; she knew what he treated her as. She was merely his assistant. He understood she didn't think it was fair, but at the same time he knew she understood things wouldn't change until she could prove herself to him. So she obviously wasn't referring to herself as a prosecutor.

Perhaps she was referring to her dreams of becoming a prosecutor.

Meaning, she had quit. Her dreams were dead.

Edgeworth felt an inexplicable anger swell up inside of him. He'd known, of course. From the moment he'd seen her, he'd known her heart was in a different place. Inside, she was exactly like someone else he knew, with infinite faith that was almost childish. She could never maintain the role a prosecutor had to play, which was why he had treated her as worthless, had never given her a case of her own. But that didn't change his sudden indignation that bordered on uncontrolled rage. Crumpling the note, he threw it in the trash and stormed out of his office.

xxx

I walked silently and thoughtfully down the sidewalk. I just needed to get outside for a while, to walk and think. For me, thinking worked best when I was moving. I was a pacer, but there was only so much I could handle cooped up inside my tiny apartment. Evening was beginning to turn to night, but that didn't relieve the mugginess that I could practically feel clinging to my skin. It was suffocating, and despite my need to be outside, I found myself longing for air conditioning. But there were other thoughts more strangling, all of them swirling around my mind in a tangled web.

I had never meant for this to happen. By all logic, it shouldn't have happened. Considering my life, I should have hated all criminals with a burning passion. But that last case… Something about Mr. Dove had bothered me. It had almost seemed to me that his client had been innocent. Mr. Dove had had some amazing points, but Mr. Edgeworth had shut him up before he'd even had the chance to make them. Not that I blamed my former mentor; he'd been doing his job after all. But that smile… the way Mr. Dove had smiled at me was like a whole new world. Even though he'd lost, he was still calm and confident. It was something completely different from Mr. Edgeworth.

I shook such thoughts out of my mind. There was room for only one thing now: moving forward from the past. With the bridge burning behind me, there was no turning back. After numerous difficulties, I had finally discovered the career that truly suited me. And that answer lay on the opposite side of the courtroom.