She was polite but distant.
Edgeworth's workload steadily increased after the ceremony. The media grew more and more fascinated with him and his flawless record, and the "Demon Prosecutor" nickname stuck. He even heard some of his co-workers, prosecutors and staff alike, whisper it behind his back.
It didn't matter. Let them think what they will.
Edgeworth was pleased to tackle more complicated, higher profile assignments. The cases were delegated by his superiors in the prosecutor's office. A few he received from his mentor, von Karma, with explicit expectations for a perfect verdict. Many of them were rotated to him after other prosecutors passed them up as unwinnable. He particularly enjoyed proving them wrong.
Some of his cases he received from the Chief Prosecutor herself. Those were some of the trickier cases, ones where the police narrative or the evidence was a little murky. They often came with detailed notes from Lana, outlining particular aspects of the investigation to pay attention to.
Lana occasionally delivered the files to him herself. He learned to anticipate her arrival based on his secretary's announcement.
"Prosecutor Edgeworth." There was a light knock at his door before Hannah slipped it open a bit. She only used his title, instead of simply 'Mr. Edgeworth,' when higher officials visited him. "The Chief Prosecutor is here to see you."
He nodded and moved aside a ream of papers on his desk. "Please send her in." Hannah disappeared and was replaced by the Chief Prosecutor's silhouette.
Lana closed the door behind her, a stack of files in her arms. She walked swiftly and laid the pile on his desk, and arranged the files as she spoke.
"You have been assigned a new case," she said, foregoing any greeting.
"So it seems," he replied slowly, watching her hands scurry over the papers.
She gave him a sharp glare. "Pre-meditated murder. Both the victim and the accused are government officials. Handle this one carefully."
"Of course. It will have my full attention once I finish the paperwork for my previous case."
"The trial begins tomorrow morning." She straightened, holding one arm behind her back. Such a posture taken by another person might have seemed obedient or submissive, but Lana carried it with authoritative grace.
"I see." He glanced at the two loads of work on his desk, calculating how long he would end up staying in his office. He'd be there until the early hours at least.
Lana's face softened, and she gave him a sympathetic glance. "You are more than qualified to handle this case. I have the utmost confidence in your ability." Almost as quickly as that flicker of emotion manifested, she resumed her stony stare.
He wanted to go home and sleep but dared not show any sign of that wish. Indeed, he had just been paid a compliment. "Thank you, Chief Skye. I will ensure that justice is done."
He let out a long sigh once she'd left, and worked steadily through the night.
Late nights became more and more common.
Edgeworth had installed a plush sofa in his office under the pretext of providing more comfortable seating for visitors. In reality, he spent more time on it himself. It offered a welcome change from his desk chair late in the evening, where he could be more comfortable as he worked through frequent all-nighters.
He woke with a start on the sofa one early morning. The grey light of dawn was just beginning to peer through the windows, allowing lingering shadows to loom around him. Those shadows transformed his office into the place that haunted his dreams. He blinked quickly, ridding his vision of the elevator from his nightmare. A glance at the clock informed him that he had managed a few hours' sleep; he could hurry home to bathe and return in time for the trial.
As he rose, a pink coverlet slipped down from him onto the floor. He looked at it, puzzled, before gingerly picking it up. Where on earth had it come from? It could not have been his; he had no memory of owning such a blanket, much less bringing it to work.
He folded it neatly and placed it on the sofa, and tested the office door – still locked. He frowned as he left for home, and wondered about it as he stood under the warming spray of his shower.
It was gone from Edgeworth's mind, though, once he began the trial. It came close, closer than he would have liked. The judge had appeared willing to extend the trial for one more day before Edgeworth laid out his logic and utterly destroyed the defense's case.
As he began working on the post-trial paperwork in his office later that afternoon, he was visited by the Chief Prosecutor. He was surprised to learn that she had attended the trial.
"There is a lot to admire in your technique," she said, staring at the sunset through the windows behind him. The light made her skin look unusually pale, drained. "Much that the other prosecutors can learn."
"I have been trained by the best," he said. "Perhaps if others had the opportunity to study under von Karma's tutelage, they could improve their records."
She said nothing, her gaze far away on the horizon. He felt a slow annoyance burn in his chest. If she had nothing else to say, she should leave – but he couldn't dismiss his own superior. He focused his attention on his paperwork, hoping that she would pick up his cue and leave him alone.
"Edgeworth." She was standing before him, next to his desk. When had she moved so close?
He opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out.
She leaned toward him, dipping her head slightly. "Do not let the expectations of others get the better of you. Spend time away from here. Even the best must have their rest."
He felt his mouth twitch at her inadvertent rhyme and found his voice again. "Perhaps you should take that advice yourself, Ms. Skye."
She ducked her head down, hiding her eyes, and he saw her make a rueful smile. "Thank you, but I will be fine." She stood tall once more. "After all, there can be no rest for the wicked."
He frowned, wondering if her words were a veiled insult toward him. He watched her as she walked to the door. She paused as she passed by his sofa, her head turning toward the blanket he had forgotten about, before she closed his door with a quiet click.
His eyes widened as suspicions tumbled around in his head.
Those suspicions grew incrementally as the weeks passed. Edgeworth paid as much attention as he could spare to Lana's movements, and learned that though she delivered case files herself in some instances, she took the time to do so with him more often than with others.
He had poured over the latest batch she'd sent him and noticed a discrepancy in the evidence list. It must have been a mistake, or an oversight. He gathered the papers and headed toward the Chief Prosecutor's office. As he greeted her secretary he heard a man's heated voice echo past the closed door.
"There must be something you can do! Just look at his last trial – the witness left out information about the phone call. Who do you think told her to do that? If that's not manipulation, I don't know what is!"
"Lower your voice." The Chief Prosecutor spoke icily, just loud enough to interrupt her visitor.
"But-"
"I will not…" Her voice was not loud enough to carry through the walls. Edgeworth felt a weight settle in his stomach; he was willing to bet that he was the topic of that conversation. He shifted closer to the door.
"…concerns have been noted. You are free to file a formal complaint. However, your evaluation will reflect your tendency to spend your time on grievances rather than increasing your own caseload. Bear that in mind as you go through the proper channels."
There was a pause, then the sound of heavy footsteps moving quickly. Edgeworth had just enough time to move a few feet away from the door before it was yanked open violently by one of the prosecutors on the ninth floor. Edgeworth recognized him: he had taken over one of the man's more recent cases and, despite its difficulty, secured a guilty verdict. What was his name? Brownstone? Browning? Whatever his name, he saw Edgeworth standing by the wall and his nostrils flared.
Edgeworth met his angry stare head-on. "I overheard part of your conversation with the Chief. If you have a concern about someone, you should confront them," he said, letting his voice slip into that register he used in court when belittling defense attorneys.
The man narrowed his eyes and moved past Edgeworth, his shoulder just barely brushing against the younger prosecutor. Edgeworth let him walk a few steps away before he allowed his lips to pull up in a smirk. "However, if your concerns are about me, then by all means, let me know now." He spread his hands out, as if inviting criticism.
Brown-whatever turned on his heel. "You know damn well that case should have been thrown out. If the court heard that lady's entire story, you wouldn't have won."
Edgeworth shook his head. "The court heard what was needed for the trial. Perhaps if you had culled the unnecessary elements from the witness's statement, you might have salvaged the case yourself. Don't blame others for your own inadequacies."
Leaving the man fuming, he entered the Chief Prosecutor's office and closed the door behind him.
Lana was standing by the foot of her desk gathering folders into her arms. Edgeworth remained by the door. "Chief Skye."
She glanced toward him. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she headed to a filing cabinet. "Edgeworth."
She opened the bottom drawer and leaned over to put away the folders. Her skirt, while not short, rose as she bent down, revealing the smooth skin of the backs of her legs. Edgeworth diverted his gaze and moved to the other side of the office, looking at the pictures on her walls.
"Was there something you needed?" She sounded somewhat irritated.
"Do you often get complaints like that from the other prosecutors?" The question slipped out before he could rein it in. He was glad his back was to her, hiding his bewildered face.
"Sometimes." He heard the cabinet slam closed. "There are concerns about your methods, Edgeworth, but they are unsubstantiated. No one can produce solid evidence; they just spew empty air full of rumors."
Her heels clicked on the floor as she moved toward him, and he was startled to feel a hand on his upper arm. Edgeworth turned in her grasp and Lana wrapped her fingers around his other arm. She kept some distance between them, her arms extended out from her, but held on firmly. She looked at him fiercely.
"I know you care passionately about putting away criminals. I also know that you do whatever it takes to meet that goal. You have done nothing illegal," she said, her fingers tightening, "yet."
He stiffened. "Chief Skye, if you are implying–"
"I am merely telling you to take care. There are those who would scrutinize your every move." Her face softened, as did her voice. "We are all under such scrutiny."
He met her eyes at that moment, dark blue and rich and strong and vulnerable and so, so human. He was sharply reminded of how she used to be, open and cheerful, and how much she had changed since becoming the Chief Prosecutor. How could one woman be such a contradiction?
They both fell still, and Edgeworth became acutely aware of how close she was to him. His traitorous pulse sped up and he feared, irrationally, that she could feel it through his coat, through her fingertips. He could feel a sense of panic settling in his chest, and he looked away from her.
She let go, and his skin felt warm where her hands had been.
She took a step back and folded her arms. "Did you need me to sign something?" she asked, nodding toward the papers he'd forgotten in his hands.
"N-No. I needed clarification on a discrepancy in the evidence list for the case you just assigned to me." His words flowed out while his head was busy righting itself.
"Let me see." She quickly skimmed over the document, closed her eyes for a moment, and gave a short, almost inaudible sigh. "This list appears out-of-date. I will contact Chief Gant to send you a more recent version."
"Thank you."
His hand was on the doorknob when Lana spoke again. "Mr. Edgeworth."
He glanced back over his shoulder. She gave him a small smile, tinged with sadness. "Take care," she said once more.