"Mister Edgeworth."
Feminine voice lingered behind his thoughts, a yellow-softness no words could bind. Robe's shifting folds, grooved mat against his shins, herb-smoky scent -- Gregory shifted a fraction and the body obeyed, the bones and flesh thrummed around him, breath swirled glorious inside.
"Yes."
"We'd like you to answer a few questions for us."
Grim memory swarmed in, gripped him and chewed until pain blazed in the borrowed chest. Particulars of existence didn't matter, he had bigger concerns; Gregory raised fingers to his glasses and found only air.
"If you tell me that my son is all right."