"Another great lecture, Professor," Amelie, an archaeology student, complimented.

"Thank you very much," Hershel Layton replied. "See you Wednesday." He followed his students out of the lecture hall, headed to his office to prepare his next lesson. En route, he bumped into a short, triangle-headed man. "Oh, excuse me, Dean Delmona!"

"That's fine, Hershel, my boy," the elder man shook off the apology. "In fact, I was looking for you. A young woman came in not too long ago, asking for you. She should be waiting for you outside your office."

"Then I had better not keep her waiting," the professor smiled, tipping his hat. "Have a good day, Dean."

"Likewise, Hershel," the dean replied, parting. Once he reached his office, Layton met eyes with his caller: a striking, slender young woman with caramel colored hair.

"Good day," he greeted. "Are you the caller the dean told me about?"

"Yes," the girl replied, standing to shake the professor's hand. "I'm Maria Birch. It's a privilege to meet you, Professor Layton."

"A pleasure, Miss Birch," Layton returned the courtesy. "Let's step into my office. We can have our conversation in there."

"Alright," The professor held the door for Miss Birch, and poured freshly brewed tea –courtesy of the campus cleaning lady, Rosa- for the two of them before they sat down.

"Now," the professor started, taking a sip of his Earl Grey. "How can I help you?"

"It's a bit complicated, Professor," Birch replied. "You see, I'm with Scotland yard. I've been tasked with investigating into the Azran expedition you went on."

"The Azran expedition?" Layton blinked a bit, speechless. That case was several years ago! "Go on."

"On that expedition," Birch continued. "You were among the last people to see Professor Desmond Sycamore, alias Jean Descole, alive."

"Yes," the professor curtly nodded. It was a… sensitive subject for him, witnessing the death of his brother.

"Recently," Birch went on. "We at Scotland Yard have received evidence that Descole is still alive."

"But," Layton nearly did a spit-take. "T-that's impossible. He…"

"Somehow managed to escape," Birch insisted. "Now, naturally, we want to bring him in for his many acts of terrorism, to Misthallery and Monte d'Or alike."

"And you want me to assist you in finding him," Layton deduced.

"Precisely," Birch smiled. "We can't force you, of course, but, as the person closest to him that we know of and can contact, your aid would be invaluable."

The professor was silent for a while, thinking. On one hand, this investigation might be futile, the case in question being almost a decade ago. It could possibly only serve to open old wounds. On the other, if Descole- nay, Hershel, his brother- were alive, this would be his chance to see him again, or give himself closure by confirming his death.

"May I review the evidence," he finally spoke. "And then decide whether or not to investigate along with you?"

"Of course," Birch smiled once more. "I wouldn't have it any other way. In fact, it's all already waiting for you, along with records from the original case, on a desk in the archive at the Yard."

"I must say," the professor returned the grin. "You are most efficient."

"We are the Yard, Professor," Birch reminded, standing. "Shall we be off?"

So, the two took the bus to the Yard. Little did the professor know, this was the start of one of his most personal cases ever.