Chapter Two: Silver in the Blood

"You're really sure you feel all right?"

"Apollo, if you hug me one more time while I am trying to fill out this report, I am going to bite you." Raising her head, Athena glares at her friend, fellow defense attorney, and soon-to-be alpha.

Apollo frowns, but he retreats back a handful of steps, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "I haven't been interrupting you that often."

Athena narrows her eyes. "Yes, you have."

"Depends on your definition of interrupting." Trucy pops her head up from the other side of the couch, where she has been perfecting some kind of magic trick that involves popping sounds going off every five minutes or so. "He's only hugged you twice today, 'Thena. But he has asked how you're doing... let's see, if we count individual times, seven; if we count limit it to individual conversations, four."

Apollo rubs at the back of his neck, his face beginning to flush as he looks away. "Have I really been that persistent?"

"Yes." Athena sighs as she shoves the form she's working on away. Clearly it isn't going to be finished before this conversation happens. It's probably better that she and Apollo talk about this, anyway.

It's only three days until the full moon—her first full moon as a werewolf, and Athena can feel it, a tense buzz building higher around her with every passing night. Apollo can feel it, too, the alpha werewolf becoming increasingly concerned about his three initiate wolves as the big night draws closer. For Ema and Gumshoe that means repeated texts; for Athena, who spends most of each day in the same room with Apollo, the attention can become a bit more cloying.

"I really am sorry, Athena." Apollo drops his hands to his sides, his shoulders slumped forward slightly. "I just... I'm worried about you."

He is, too. It sings just beneath all his words, a bright, shimmering vibrato that makes it impossible for Athena to stay irritated at the attention. Sighing, Athena allows her right hand to rise and toy with her earring. "You need to trust me, 'Pollo. If I say that I'm all right, you can believe me. You know that I'm not lying."

Apollo's right hand crosses to touch his bracelet, and his eyes turn away from Athena. "I know that you believe what you're saying. But my experience with the transition wasn't the most pleasant, and if you're not feeling well, Trucy and I can take over work for you."

"I'm feeling fine, though. No headaches. No joint pain." Athena shrugs. "I'm okay, I promise."

"But it's weird, don't you think?" Apollo begins pacing back and forth in front of the desk that Athena's working at, his right hand still at his bracelet. "I mean, Ema and Gumshoe are both starting to notice side effects."

Athena can't help a little smile. "Ema's been keeping a notebook documenting every little part of her transition. She's been taking her temperature and blood pressure and blood sugar as well as a gazillion other data points every day, just to see what's changed. If something twinges, Ema's going to assume that it's werewolf caused."

"Ema's been a little... exuberant." Apollo rubs at the back of his neck again.

Trucy's head pops up once more. "Ema's been awesome. Did you know she's also been measuring the same data points from Gumshoe and Klavier and Athena whenever she can get her hands on them?"

"I do." Pinching the bridge of his nose, Apollo shakes his head, entertainment and exasperation mixing in his voice. "Because I'm a werewolf, too, so she's also been trying to get me to agree to participate in her little experiments. Plus everyone seems to want to tell me when Ema's driving them crazy."

Athena shrugs. "I think half the time Klavier's just trying to come up with an excuse for wanting to talk to you. Just like you're trying to come up with an excuse for wanting to talk to him."

Apollo's face burns bright red. "I'm not—"

Trucy doesn't bother to pop her head up this time. "You've texted him twelve times today. And that's the smallest number since the whole everyone-becomes-a-werewolf debacle. Though the day's not over yet, so..."

"You don't get to call it a debacle when you're desperately trying to get your father to let you become one." Apollo throws his hands up in the air. "And yes, Klavier and I both know we've been... weird since the whole becoming-pack thing. We're trying to manage it."

Apollo's scared. Athena draws a slow breath, her fingers glancing across Widget as the uncertainty and near-terror that lies beneath Apollo's words echoes in minor chords in her ears. Apollo never asked to be a werewolf, and neither did Klavier; reminders that it's changed them, made them something other than what they were, still strike too close to home.

"You have been doing better." Athena stands up, coming around the desk so she can lay a hand on Apollo's shoulder.

He relaxes immediately, his right hand shifting from his bracelet to rest atop hers.

Touch is important to the wolves—both to the ones who have already Changed and to those who are in the process of it, she's found. She can feel it, too, a little tingling tenseness in the back of her mind that calms whenever she's in physical contact with anyone else in the pack—in either pack, because Juniper's touch is also comforting to her, though she doesn't think it always is for the others. It's just that somehow the need isn't quite as... demanding for her as it is for the others.

Not as controlling.

"I'm just worried that maybe there's something wrong." Apollo shrugs. "I mean... what if it didn't take? Or what if it's interacting with your maybe-exists bloodline?"

Athena pulls her jacket sleeve up enough to show the crescent-moon scar where Juniper bit her during the ceremony. "I'd say this looks pretty normal, wouldn't you?"

"As normal as a supernaturally-inflicted scar should look in my limited experience, yeah." Apollo's fingers trail slowly across the white skin.

A shiver runs up and down Athena's back, and she has to draw a deep breath and forcefully take a step away to keep from nuzzling up against Apollo's chest.

Apollo's lips quirk up into the tiniest smirk. "And that... you smelled like wolf for a moment, and you just barely kept from doing something silly, didn't you?"

"Maybe." Athena returns the smile. "Hopefully that puts your mind at rest so far as the did-it-work question goes. As for how my bloodline will interact... so far it just seems to be making this less painful for me. That's a good thing, right?"

"Yeah." Apollo's hand returns to his bracelet, and he frowns as he fidgets.

Athena sighs, then grins, drawing a deep breath. She knows how to get Apollo to lighten up. Leaning forward, she shouts at the top of her lungs. "I'm Athena Cykes, and I'm fine!"

Apollo jumps backward, and Athena could swear that his hair-horns attempt to flatten against his skull. Then he grins, drawing a breath of his own. "I'm Apollo Justice, and I'm fine!"

"I'm Trucy Wright, and I want to be a werewolf!"

"Not for at least another three months." Phoenix doesn't waste a beat answering as he comes into the office. Has he noticed Trucy slowly whittling down the time she has to wait until she's allowed to decide to be Changed or not? Athena can't tell, and since it's not her fight she doesn't really want to ask. "I see things haven't fallen apart in my brief absence?"

"No, sir." Apollo comes to attention. "Everything's—"

Athena feels it as a tightening of her throat, a tingling that runs across all her skin. It could hurt—she feels the potential for hurt all through the crackling power, though the pain doesn't quite reach through to touch her.

Apollo isn't so lucky. Apollo goes ram-rod straight, his eyes widening, his breath first catching and then releasing in a long, growling whimper. His hands form into claws, scratching at the empty air in front of him.

Athena doesn't try to fight it when the same tingling energy tells her to move forward, to wrap her arms around Apollo and pull him tight to her. She needs the comfort; Apollo definitely needs the contact.

"Apollo? Athena?" Phoenix's voice somehow penetrates the crackling pack-energy.

"Something wrong." It's harder to speak than Athena would have imagined.

"Someone's hurt." Apollo wheezes out the words, but his hands are firm and steady as he hugs Athena. "One of the pack is hurt, and we need to fix it right now."

XXX

Ema growls as she slides into her desk chair, and the detective who sits at the station next to her scoots his chair just a little bit further to the east, away from her.

It's not actually much of a change in her standard vocalizations, the half-feral sounds that always seem just on the tip of her tongue now. She established a reputation as prickly early on in her career, when she was still trying to figure out who was trustworthy as well as stinging from her failure to make the cut for forensics. It's come in handy for the last two weeks, and she's not above using it to her advantage when she needs to keep other people at arm's length.

Not that she wants everyone at arm's length. Some people she has developed an urge to be far too close to, physically, especially over the last week. It doesn't help that Gavin and Gumshoe welcome the contact.

At least Gavin has shown enough emotional intelligence to keep many smart remarks from escaping about her suddenly increased tolerance for his presence.

Just a few more days. Three more days and she'll have completed the transformation—as well as her information-gathering on what the transformation does to those it's working on. The changes have been subtle, her medical skill almost not strong enough to allow her to follow them, but they're definitely there. As the full moon approaches she and Gumshoe and Cykes have all had a small but statistically significant increase in their body temperature; blood pressure means seem to be lowering; healing and metabolism seem to both be increasing, though since Detective Gumshoe has been providing most of the data on the healing of minor injuries Ema can't be sure it's something that's happening to all the soon-to-be wolves at the same time. She hasn't quite gotten to the point where intentionally cutting herself seems like a good idea.

Especially since everyone's transformation seems to be hitting them a little differently. They definitely don't seem to be having the same number of side effects. Ema has had a headache at least once a day ever since the new moon, with the severity and frequency increasing the closer the full moon comes.

(The headaches are better when she's around the other wolves—best when she's around Gavin or Justice, and it gives her a hint of things to come, she supposes, a taste of how much the wolves in the pack will depend on each other.)

Her joints are also aching, ground-glass tenderness deep within her elbows and knees and neck that make moving painful—especially when she's been studying and when she's away from the rest of the wolves.

Gumshoe is reporting less physical reactions. If he's sore at all, he doesn't seem to notice; when he gets headaches, they're mild enough that a tiny bit of Aspirin takes care of them.

Cykes doesn't seem to be having any physical side effects at all, which Ema thinks is decidedly unfair. It's an unfairness she's been documenting, though, determined to get all the information she can out of this strange journey that she's on.

Pulling her werewolf notepad from her bag, Ema flips through her notes from the last few days. They are in shorthand, coded so that no one not familiar with her will be able to read them. If something happens to her, she has no doubt that Edgeworth, at least, will be able to translate them; if nothing happens to her, she'll be able to continue her investigations in even more depth once she's completed the transformation.

Edgeworth has been remarkably patient and kind about this experience, more than Ema had expected. He seems to make it his personal duty to check on her and Gumshoe once a day, and has insisted repeatedly that if she or Gumshoe need him or Gavin at any point they are to call immediately.

(It's not quite as good as being with Gavin, being with Edgeworth, but it does tend to make the headaches fade back a bit. Is it because there is a part of the almost-born wolf that sees Edgeworth as an alpha despite his humanity, or is there something else going on?)

"Skye."

Ema's head jerks up, her eyes narrowing as she takes in the detective standing in front of her desk.

The woman arches an eyebrow. "Everything all right? Work progressing on the Pollock case?"

"Progressing quite nicely." Ema nods. "Prosecutor DeBeste expects us to be in court in somewhere between twenty-four and forty-eight hours."

"Good." Another sharp nod. "Keep me updated. Once you're done with that case, I'll probably assign you to the Collie double-murder—I think it's proving to be a bit much for O'Halp to handle alone."

"Got it." Ema forces a smile. "I'll let you know as soon as I've got the time free."

She'll let the woman know as soon as she's certain she can actually handle it. If she can't, Gumshoe and Edgeworth will pull strings. As much as it irks Ema to have to stand back, it's better she not accept a case than trying to accept it when she's not physically able and ending up doing something wrong—something that could affect the prosecution's outcome.

If Klavier can accept being benched from cases for justice's sake, so can she.

Just so long as it's not for Justice, but she's absolutely certain Apollo wouldn't try to use his super-wolf abilities to affect how the system works. He's too—

The wolf's terrified knowledge is like a sledgehammer to the back of her head, a spiking agony that travels from her skull down her vagal nerve to turn her guts inside out. The whole surface of her skin tingles and prickles, flashes of pinching pain, and she bites back a whimper as her human thoughts attempt to put words to what the almost-wolf living inside her knows.

Something bad has happened to someone in the pack.

They aren't quite pack, according to Juniper, Ema and Gumshoe and Athena, not yet, but the pack is very willing to accept them, and they are willing to accept the pack, and apparently that has left them open to the distress call.

Ema manages to clamp her teeth down around any further noise as she stumbles from her desk towards the bathroom, pulling her phone out as she does. There are only four other people that could be causing a reaction like this, if she is understanding correctly what she is feeling. Two of them work together, and though usually she would say being a defense attorney is a very safe job, with Phoenix Wright as their mentor anything is possible.

The other two—Klavier should be safe enough, holed up in the prosecutor's office. Gumshoe, though, has a tendency to throw himself into danger if he thinks it will be helpful or if he thinks it's needful, his bulk and ferocity enough to scare most uncertain crooks into submission. If he misread a situation, or if the burgeoning wolf he carries caused him to make a poor decision...

She has had Gavin on speed-dial for well over a year, and her fingers hit the right numbers easily. If he doesn't know exactly what's going on, he'll hopefully be able to read more from the pack-bonds than she can, and at least the sound of his voice will help calm the pain that's threatening to drive her to her knees right now.

XXX

It burns.

He needs to walk. He needs to talk. He needs to explain what's happening—what he's done, because he can taste Sebastian's blood iron-hot on his tongue.

He can't. He can't even manage to apologize, all his focus locked on the white-hot fire that has taken up residence in his thigh.

Gitarre twists and turns and snarls inside him, the wolf striving time and again to transform their too-fragile human body into the canine's stronger, faster form. Time and again it fails, the silver sparks that should normally merge into one white-hot bolt of lightning that flings them through the Change instead grounding out on the fire in his leg. It hurts every time it happens, and he should probably find a way to make it stop, but that seems to be about as feasible as him managing to get words out through his chattering teeth.

He needs his pack here. He needs Apollo—and Gumshoe and Ema and Athena, but Apollo is the one who is fully pack, who will understand what is happening with Gitarre.

He should be able to handle this himself. He knows other people who have been shot and who have continued working—Agent Lang springs to the top of the list, but Franziska von Karma was shot at one point, he knows. He's certain there have been others, too, though names are starting to escape him.

Everything is starting to escape him, drowned out in spasms of agony, and he wants his pack here. He wants to have Apollo holding him, Ema telling him everything will be all right, Gumshoe and Athena patrolling for danger.

He needs to warn them, but the words he would use disappear in arcing currents of pain and disorientation centered on the fire that seems to be burning its way deeper into his leg with every passing second.

"Come on, Klavier!" Sebastian's hands are under Klavier's arms, dragging him along the ground.

Klavier's trying. There are so very many things he's trying to do, but somehow none of them seem to want to actually happen.

"Of course they don't, brother."

Klavier's breath hisses out in a low snarl, which is at least better than a whimper.

"Really, Klavier, can't you manage to do anything for yourself?" Kristoph smiles, a thin, tiny, controlled expression as he pushes his glasses up on his nose. His eyes are disappointed but not surprised as he stares down at Klavier.

Attempting once more to get both feet underneath him, something that Sebastian seems to be urging him to do, as well, Klavier instead ends up face-down on the rough surface of the roof.

His left leg simply won't do what he wants—can't do what he wants anymore, he realizes, the fire burning there having made it impossible for him to move the limb properly.

It's hard to move anything properly, and he thinks he might have passed out for a moment, because when he can blink his vision into focus again, Sebastian's face is directly above his.

"It's okay, Klavier." Exertion has brought out beads of sweat on Sebastian's forehead, and his lips are white, terror cloying his scent. "It's all right. Just another second..."

They're back in the building. Klavier realizes it only when the door slams shut behind Sebastian, though he should have been able to tell from how the taste of the air has changed and the quality of the light has become muted.

Not that he can see well, period. Gitarre's attempts to change them may not be succeeding—may be doing something very bad to them—but it is sending his vision in-and-out of the wolf's more muted hues.

The hues where ghosts live, and his brother is smiling, again, Kristoph shaking his head as he stares down at Klavier. "So pathetic, little brother. The mad beast who not only can't do anything for himself, but actively hurts those who are trying to help him..."

"Klavier?" Sebastian's face swims back into focus, the other prosecutor's hand tapping gently at one of Klavier's cheeks. "Can—can you understand me?"

Yes. He tries to scream the word, but a low, whining half-howl is all that comes out.

I'm sorry, he wants to say.

Go to Edgeworth, he needs to demand.

It'll be all right, he wants to promise.

The pack will come. The pack will understand. Everything will be all right.

The fire flares out from his hip, traveling in a shimmering blaze up his back and into the center of his chest. He can feel his body start to convulse, the muscles of his neck and shoulder tensing.

Then there is only white, for a few seconds, fire and lightning clashing against each other, and when Klavier can finally blink his eyes into focus again he has been turned onto his side.

Kristoph is kneeling in front of him, every inch the calm, cool, collected man he always pretended to be. There is something in his eyes, though, and in the touch of his blessedly-cool hand against Klavier's face that makes Klavier try to shove his shivering, barely-responsive body away.

"It doesn't matter if you fight, Klavier." Kristoph's smile grows. "Though it is interesting, watching your body tear itself apart. And once that's done... well, brother. You seem to need to belong to someone, and I've always wondered what having a slave would be like..."

Something cinches tight around his upper thigh, and Klavier screams as the world dissolves into blackness again.

XXX

"Thank you, Detective."

"No problem, sir." Gumshoe smiles, straightening a bit where he stands in front of Edgeworth's desk. "Anything else that you needed from me?"

Edgeworth puts down the file that Gumshoe had brought, clasping his hands together as he leans forward to study Gumshoe more closely. "Nothing work-related. Just the usual update on how you and Ms. Skye are doing."

"We're doing fine, sir!" Gumshoe can't quite keep a grin in check, rising up on his toes. The grin fades as he remembers what happened in Prosecutor Gavin's office before he came up to see Edgeworth. "Though, uh... Prosecutor DeBeste may have found me and Prosecutor Gavin in a little bit of a compromising position."

Edgeworth's eyes narrow. "First, please be careful of the phrasing you use, Detective. Second, what do you mean?"

"I went to see Klavier before I came to see you." Scratching at the bandage on his cheek, which currently hides the fact that an injury which should have taken three or four days to heal disappeared in a little under twenty hours, Gumshoe lowers his eyes to the ground. "I was just... gettin' a little restless, and being with Prosecutor Gavin helps make the... the..."

Gumshoe frowns, trying to decide what words he can use to describe the feelings that have grown stronger with every day closer they draw to the full moon. It's not a bad feeling. It's just... there, a tense, jerky underpinning to his thoughts that only seems to go away when he's with the other werewolves.

Edgeworth sits patiently, his eyes fixed on Gumshoe. He doesn't tap his fingers in irritation or try to hurry Gumshoe along, though.

If Edgeworth were an alpha, Gumshoe would follow him in a heartbeat. He already does, really, and it's part of the reason Gumshoe hadn't hesitated much when given the opportunity to become a werewolf. It will give him skills he didn't have before, healing and strength that will hopefully make up for an aging body. It will allow Gumshoe to protect someone that Edgeworth cares about—though their relationship started out fraught, frayed by the ghost of Phoenix Wright, since the Misham case Edgeworth has taken Klavier under his wing as firmly as he did Sebastian and Kay years ago.

Plus it's just not right, Klavier and Justice being punished for something they never asked for—something they can't help. And Gumshoe's always been good with dogs—

"Detective?" Edgeworth's voice is soft, not the whip-crack question that it would be during an interrogation.

"Sorry, sir." Gumshoe rubs at the back of his head. "Just... it was getting hard to focus like I needed to, and Klavier... well, somehow I ended up kneeling in front of Prosecutor Gavin, and he was hugging me and maybe rubbing his head against mine, y'know, like dogs do, and then Prosecutor DeBeste walked in and I walked out."

Edgeworth's hands unclasp, his right one moving to cover his face. "Detective..."

"Like I said, sorry, sir." Gumshoe shrugs, holding his hands out palm-up. "I'm sure Prosecutor Gavin handled it just fine. But I was also thinkin'... Gavin's been close to Sebastian for a while, and Sebastian seems to have noticed that there's somethin' different about Gavin, so maybe..."

"I've already stretched the good will of the local alphas having myself declared parole officer to our new pack." Edgeworth sighs, his hands dropping to lie flat on the surface of his desk. "There are a few people who should be brought in on the secret, I agree—Prosecutor DeBeste and Ms. Faraday being towards the top of the list, along with your Ms. Byrde. I doubt I'll be able to safely argue for permission for another month or so, though. If I push too soon, they'll assume it's because there's been some breach of protocol already."

Gumshoe spends a moment working through all that Edgeworth says, and then nods slowly. "If we try to tell anyone else too soon, they'll assume we can't be trusted, and Justice and Gavin will be in trouble again."

"As well as Ms. Woods, possibly, though I think the likelihood of them turning on her at this point is rather small." A tight, predatory smile flashes across Edgeworth's face. "We have made ourselves a more exciting prospect for their ire, something I do not regret and that I doubt the others regret, either."

Gumshoe nods. "I'm sure they—"

He doesn't know exactly what happens. He hurts, spikes of pain through his head and his chest and his left leg, and so he acts.

If something is threatening them, it's his job to protect Prosecutor Edgeworth, and Gumshoe will happily do that with his life if need be.

XXX

Edgeworth recognizes the sound that comes in through his cracked office window as a gunshot.

He doesn't know if many people would. It is distant, distorted by the city-scape in which it bounces. For many people Edgeworth imagines it would be easy to convince themselves it was something else—a car backfiring, to use the standard line, or perhaps a distant bit of thunder, or the crash of something falling from a height.

He is too familiar with gunshots, though. He has heard them up close more times than he ever likes to contemplate; he has heard them from a distance; he recognizes them, a gut-level certainty that has him turning to the window as soon as the sound touches his ears.

The first shot is followed by several more—five or six, possibly seven. It's hard for Edgeworth to count, because while he is attempting to determine who is shooting at what in close enough proximity to the prosecutor's office for him to hear, Detective Gumshoe is busy attempting to bury them both in the floor.

It's sweet, in a way. And it definitely falls within Detective Gumshoe's job description, protecting a prosecutor—protecting anyone—if there are shots being fired nearby.

It's also infuriating, because it means that Edgeworth has lost time and knowledge that could have been quite useful.

"Detective, get—" Edgeworth shoves once at the detective's shoulder before stopping, holding himself very still as he gets a better look at Gumshoe's face.

Edgeworth knows, then. He isn't certain, because he doesn't have enough pieces to really understand what's happening, but the suspicion that this is an attack aimed at the werewolves currently in his care blooms fast and sets down strong roots as he takes in Gumshoe's expression.

"Detective." Edgeworth speaks loudly but without anger or aggression, not wanting to trigger a reaction they'll all regret. "What's happening?"

"Someone..." Gumshoe draws a deep, shuddering breath, his left hand moving to massage his hip. "I think... someone in the pack's hurt? I don't... are you okay, sir?"

"I'm fine, detective." Edgeworth tries to shift, and Gumshoe's elbow grinds deeper into his chest. "I would be more fine if you could see fit to let me up. The danger doesn't appear to be targeted at us, and—"

Both of their phones begin chiming at nearly the exact same moment. Edgeworth's plays Mikaboshi's theme from the Steel Samurai—Wright as a chaos god whose motives are ultimately good had been too perfect to pass up.

Gumshoe's plays a recording from the last karaoke night the Wright Anything Agency held, though he isn't looking to see Edgeworth's raised eyebrow.

Fumbling his phone out of his pocket, Gumshoe frowns down at the screen.

He's at least moved enough that Edgeworth can wriggle his way free and answer his own phone, which he promptly does.

"Edgeworth!" Phoenix's voice blares out of the speaker, and Edgeworth can hear both Wright's proteges yelling in the background. "One of the you-know-what's has been hurt. It's not one of my two—Apollo and Athena are fine, though very shaken up. Athena's calling Gumshoe—"

"I can hear the two of them talking, or at least the detective's side of the conversation. He's in my office." Edgeworth moves closer to the window, peering out, but the early twilight gives no clues about what could have happened. "He felt it, too. Which means either Detective Skye or, since I heard the shots fired here—"

"Klavier's not picking up his phone!" Justice's voice is so loud Edgeworth worries that he may have taken the phone from Phoenix.

"You heard shots fired at your office?" Phoenix's horrified response is also loud, so apparently Justice is just shouting with enough volume to be heard clearly. "Do you know—Apollo says Ema's not picking up her phone, either. Hold on—"

Gumshoe taps politely on Edgeworth's shoulder. "Call came through from Ema."

Edgeworth trades phones without another word. "Ema, tell me—"

"Gavin's hurt." Ema's words are clipped, her voice raw. "Shot in the leg. DeBeste's with him at the top of the stairs to the roof. I'm going to go round up a team, have our people start looking for the shooter, but if you and Gumshoe can go try to help—"

"We're on our way." Edgeworth climbs to his feet, heading for the stairs at a brisk jog. "I'm giving you back to Gumshoe; Gumshoe, my phone, please."

The detective doesn't question Edgeworth's orders, slamming Edgeworth's phone back into his hand as he reclaims his own.

"Wright, Gavin's hurt. Given that it was pain and fear that led to Ms. Woods' mistake, I would appreciate it if you could bring Justice and Cykes. Possibly their incorporeal friend, too, since he may be able to—"

"Sir." Gumshoe's tense, choked exclamation draws Edgeworth's immediate attention. "It might be too late for that, sir. Ema says... Ema says that Gavin already bit Sebastian."

For one tense moment Edgeworth stays still, a thousand choices flashing through his mind. He should have told Sebastian, damn the consequences—given how much time Sebastian spends around Gavin, this was always a possibility.

What's done is done, though, and Edgeworth doesn't regret protecting Gavin and Justice.

Sprinting for the stairs and the roof, Edgeworth prioritizes his next moves. He needs to figure out a way to prevent this from becoming a disaster, and that means first containing the current situation, and secondly doing everything in his power to figure out who has the audacity to hunt Edgeworth's people on their own home ground.

Whoever it is, Edgeworth's going to make sure it's the last mistake they ever make.