The Professor had fought gallantly against the sentence, demanding a less harsh version. However the people of London demanded angrily that the blood of their loved ones be avenged for this terrible tragedy that had befallen London. Hundreds of people had died, and it was all because of one boy, the exact same boy who stood before a judge at that moment.
As the man read off the verdict, Clive felt nothing except for his stomach's fall as the crowd behind him cheered. A certain politician gave a smirk, looking down at the boy as his shoulders sagged and his head bowed. There would be justice today, justice for those who had lost their lives, but there would be no justice for Clive.
The boy willingly followed the escorts out, giving a small glance to the place where Professor Layton and his adoptive daughter sat. The Professor looked sadly upon the young boy, a wretched look on his face. Flora wouldn't even look up at him, her hair concealing her down-turned face, but from the shaking of her body, Clive could tell she was sobbing.
Clive gave the Professor a small smile and nodded his head ever so slightly. He tried to put across that he would be alright, but this turned into mourning. As the door to the courtroom shut behind him, Clive shuddered and recalled his some of his last words to the Professor.
"I will atone for my crimes"
—
The sentence was carried out a day later and Clive calmly sat in that chair, looking up at the officers around him. He wouldn't fight it; he would go out with some sort of dignity. That is what a gentleman does, after all. He closed his eyes as the needle entered his skin and the chemicals were pushed into his bloodstream. His breath gave a sharp hitch, tears falling from his eyes as he knew death was coming on fast wings for him.
The officers stepped away, watching the brunette boy fade. His breathing quickened ever so slightly before it was suddenly silenced, never to start again. One of the officers took his pulse and nodded to another.
Clive Dove was now officially dead.