"Hi, Mister Edgeworth, it's Maya Fey. Listen, we're in a real bind here because Nick can't get his head out of his own you-know-what…"

An amused snort rang out into the otherwise quiet office, followed by a delicate sip of tea.

"See, I guess he's pretty sure that he saw you a few days ago and now he's all mopey about it because he's convinced that you don't like him anymore…"

The delicate noise of china being set down onto a saucer, followed by fingers drumming on a desk.

"...so if you could maybe talk to him somehow, that would be really great. Okay, hope you're well, and welcome back! We've missed you!"

Edgeworth stared at his answering machine, amused. It was the first day he'd been properly back in the office following an extensive collection of renovations that needed done to bring the building back up to code. He was only now getting around to checking the messages left on his office phone, having been largely unconcerned about the urgency of it and otherwise occupied by his current investigation, besides. After all, most who would have needed him directly had his cell phone number, but Maya Fay did not fall into that category, herself… He wondered how he would have reacted to such a message prior to being ambushed by half the county in Wright's office the week prior. He supposed it was for the better that things had worked out as they had after all.

Declining to delete the message just yet, he moved onto the next, writing furiously to keep up with the rushed words rather than having to replay the voicemail all over again. It was no surprise that the machine's memory was full, given his extended absence, and he had much to catch up on. He scratched a line under his scribbled note just as the machine moved onto yet another message and he sighed, fighting distraction. His index finger jabbed the pause button under the little digital screen on his phone and he took a deep breath, rubbing dejectedly at the bridge of his nose.

It had been relatively difficult to leave Wright's apartment after their little breakfast date had turned into a sultry battle in the shower. He could feel his cheeks heat up a bit as his thoughts inevitably turned to the memory of Phoenix, in a rare moment of bravery, having pinned him to the shower wall as the man had insisted on "helping him with the hard-to-reach spots"… He shook his head in an attempt to clear the seductive fog that was threatening to prevent yet more work from being done. He could still see the already-thick file waiting for him on the far side of his desk, isolated ominously and unabashed about the amount of concentration it would take simply to make it through all of the information, much less prepare and catalogue it properly. His leg began to bounce in agitation and he stabbed at the pause button again, determined to at least make it through his messages that morning.

Still, he mused as he absentmindedly took notes along to the recordings, there was one more thing he wanted to get a good look at before he dug into the fresh case that awaited him. Despite ample opportunities to do so, he hadn't yet forgotten about the mystery girl that his partner had sketched out in black and white, and Gumshoe had dutifully retrieved the file for him after all. It was sitting neatly beneath the pad of paper upon which he wrote his notes and as each message passed, he wrote faster, impatient to get to it but unwilling to deviate from his self-imposed to-do list. The longer he'd thought about it, the less guilty he felt about delving into the case history, despite the brunette attorney's insistence that he leave it be. The way he figured, he'd learn something about Phoenix while also saving him the trouble of having to speak about the uncomfortable memories himself. It really was a win-win.

Finally through the exhaustive list of messages, he scooted the notepad off to the side and laid his pen down upon it, thankful that he would finally be able to satiate some of his curiosity in private. He reached for his tea and sipped at it as he turned the folder open and narrowed his eyes at what he saw.

On the left hand side, secured to the bare manila folder at the top, was a photo of the victim in the case. "Doug Swallow, huh?" The picture grinned back at him, a moment frozen in history. Various details about the victim littered the page underneath the photo and he skimmed over them before turning his attention to the next page. There, opposite the first photograph of the victim, was a second photo—this time of a young Phoenix Wright. Edgeworth took another sip of tea and deftly undid the two flexible metal prongs that held the page in place, allowing him to lift the page closer for him to see.

Beaming back at him was a young Phoenix, dressed in an outrageous combination of a red scarf and a bubblegum pink sweater that was adorned with a giant heart encasing a "P". A face mask had been pulled down under his chin for the photograph, undoubtedly so that they could identify his facial features. His hair was still the same crown of ebony spikes it ever was, and although his cheeks still held a bit of childlike roundness to them, he was really the same old Phoenix that Edgeworth had ever known. Still, despite his burning curiosity about his childhood friend's missing past, his eyes continued to drop down to the man's outfit and he squinted at it in disgust. "You actually wore this to court, Wright?" He murmured it to the picture, somewhere between amused and horrified. "No wonder you didn't want me looking this up…"

His eyes finally trailed down through the same sorts of demographics that had been listed under the primary victim's photo. Age, height, weight, occupation… Edgeworth peered at the words on the page.

SUSPECT, PRIMARY:

Name: Wright, Phoenix

Age: 21

Eye Color: Blue

Hair Color: Black

Height: 5'9"; 176cm

Weight: 163lb; 73.9kg

Occupation: Student; Ivy University (Art/Political Science, Pre-Law)

The prosecutor let a small sigh escape. So, he really had retained both majors. An incredibly impressive feat considering the amount of work that both pursuits required… He really ought to have given the man more credit, though he hadn't really known enough about him to do so until recently. He continued down the page, feeling a bit voyeuristic. "Only child, decent grades, extroverted personality… Devoted to his girlfriend, Dahlia—"

He nearly choked on his tea as he read over the words again.

Devoted to his girlfriend, Dahlia Hawthorne [Key Witness].

At the far recesses of his thoughts, Edgeworth could feel a sort of mental tingling in response to the name. It spurred a visceral response in his body as he read it yet again, certain that it was important to him, but just unable to truly grasp the connection between this Dahlia girl and himself. He laid the page face down over Doug Swallow and startled violently as he glanced over the next photo.

There, in the same location as the other photos, a picture of a stunningly beautiful redhead smiling serenely, head tilted at a coy angle, encased in white lace and linen. As he stared down at the photo, his thoughts abruptly produced the terrible image of Terry Fawles's blood sliding languidly over his bottom lip as the man sunk against the witness stand, still valiantly maintaining his gaze at the emotionless woman sat in shackles across from him… Edgeworth sat back from the folder hard enough that his chair rolled a bit and he squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to get rid of the image of the lumbering man who had sunk, inch by inch, as the poison wreaked havoc on his insides. The prosecutor had tried for years to get the images out of his head, having been mildly traumatized from the unexpected results of his first legitimate case. Having the experience that he did now, he would absolutely have to admit that even as fuzzy as his memory was on the details of that particular case, it had ultimately become obvious that the man was no murderer, but that girl on the other hand…

He opened his eyes and stared anew at the deceptively sweet girl on the page. Even as a too-young, nervous, brand new prosecutor, he'd been uncomfortably surprised at the absolute coldness that had emanated from the young lady as that trial had proceeded and she was increasingly cornered by testimony. von Karma had trained him to be emotionless, sure, but he was certain that there was a difference even then: Edgeworth was well-practiced in suppressing his emotions, but this girl… He thought back to how it had felt to look her in the eye toward the end of that trial. She had no emotions to suppress. It was simply empty, a soulless, vacuous gaze that had looked through him. He shuddered at the memory.

"I was head over heels for her, convinced that we'd get married and be happy forever. She said jump, I asked how high. I spent every second I could with her, hopelessly in love…"

Edgeworth blinked at the memory of Phoenix's quiet admission to him. The concept of dating a woman who could look at anybody the way that this girl had looked at him was beyond his comprehension. He reached out and flipped the defense attorney's detail page back over, lying his and Hawthorne's next to each other, trying to imagine the two together. His thoughts turned acidic almost immediately, jealously sending its winding fingers through his mind as he involuntarily thought of them in bed together as he had just lay with Phoenix not 48 hours ago. Narrowing his eyes, he scowled furiously, irritated at the irrational emotion and also curious as to how the brunette could have come to share himself with such a monster until he remembered that he, too, had been described as vicious and soulless not terribly long ago…

A knock at his door startled him half to death and he crushed the folder shut in a rush before realizing that he had control over when people could enter his office. Feeling sheepish, as though he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, he cleared his throat and composed himself before calling out, "Come in."

"Morning, sir," Gumshoe murmured, despite the fact that it was nearly 1pm. Edgeworth let out a small breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding and nodded politely, surprised to see the man step aside. "We have a young lady here who would like to speak with you, sir, requested you specifically," he motioned behind him, beckoning someone to come in, "you weren't answering your phones, but she has to be back home in a few hours, so I hope it's alright."

"It's fine, Detective," he sighed, wondering how this mystery girl even managed to track him down in the first place and why Gumshoe couldn't worry about it himself. For the time being, the only thing he was interested in was drinking up secrets about his new lover. Still, he could take some statements and contact information and dive further into it at a later time. Reaching for his notepad and turning to a fresh page, he heard the detective seating the girl in the background and leaving. In a perfect world, he'd leave this part to the precinct, but old perfectionist habits died hard…

Unenthused, he jotted the date and a few notes about the situation down before he lifted his gaze to the young girl seated across from him. He stared at her.

"Good morning, sir, I'm sorry to bother you…" Her voice was gentle and smooth even in spite of the underlying anxiety. "The detective who brought me here said you just returned from a sabbatical. I'm sorry to intrude; I'm sure you're very busy."

Edgeworth knew that this was a part where he was supposed to reply, but he was still reeling in shock. The young lady Gumshoe had brought in was the absolute spitting image of Dahlia Hawthorn, save for her raven black hair, and he blinked at the insane coincidence, wondering how appropriate it would be to ask if there were any relation before even asking her name. A few seconds ticked by and she sat politely, if a little curiously, waiting for him to collect himself.

"Ah, yes, I've just returned from Germany, actually," he finally managed to say, regaining a bit of his composure as the girl in front of him smiled warmly. The more he watched her, the less she reminded him of Dahlia, thankfully. This one, he mused, at least had a soul. "May I get you a cup of tea before we begin?" He motioned gently toward the delicate teapot behind him as it steamed quietly away.

A look of surprise overtook her face before she smiled graciously and nodded a bit, folding her hands in her lap. "That would be nice, thank you. I'm a little nervous."

"I assure you, you're in good hands, Miss…?" Edgeworth busied himself with readying a cup of Earl Grey for his guest, trying to shake the remainder of his earlier shock. He measured the loose leaf tea into the tiny mesh holder with lightly trembling hands and he cursed them, trying desperately to bring himself back under control, furious that it was such a struggle to do so. One night with that man and all of a sudden I'm like an unraveling ball of yarn…

"Oh, call me Iris, please," her voice was almost musical when she spoke to him, and he was distantly reminded of the woodwind choirs that used to sing quietly in the background of special dinners in the von Karma house on the rare occasion where music was permitted. The prosecutor turned and set her tea down in front of her, saucer neatly adorned with two sugar cubes and a miniature spoon. She blinked curiously at it before she reached toward it and he sighed internally, accustomed to the reaction.

Does no one drink from quality china anymore? His memory instantly produced a vivid picture of Gumshoe and Wright standing elbow to elbow and happily tossing back lukewarm coffee from Styrofoam cups. Fortunately, the grimace did not reach his face that time.His pen rolled within his fingertips, somewhat impatiently, as he waited for the young girl to begin speaking. She was dressed unusually modestly in a flowing gown with a hood that was currently pulled back from her face; the entire ensemble distinctly reminded him of Maya Fey's unusual garb. He watched her idly as she fiddled uncomfortably with a sugar cube before dropping both into her tea. "So, Miss Iris, what brings you in to speak with me today?"

"Ah, yes, about that, I read an article about you in a newspaper not long ago. It said that you had faced off against a man named Phoenix Wright in court. Does that name sound familiar to you?"

Edgeworth regarded her with a cool stare, deciding not to ask why she'd been reading a newspaper more than a year old. "It does, yes."

Unphased by his lack of reaction, she pressed on, silently stirring her tea as she continued. "This is probably going to sound a little…well…unbelievable," she stared into her lap as she murmured the words to him, "but I believe that his life may be in danger."

The prosecutor frowned. "In danger? What do you mean?"

"He—well, back in college, he dated a girl—"

"Dahlia Hawthorne." The words tumbled from his lips before he could catch them, memory still fresh in his mind from his earlier snooping. Almost immediately, he suppressed a flinch and cursed himself, wondering what it would take to finally bring himself under control. Somewhat expectedly, his prediction elicited a startled stare from his guest and he sighed, unsure of how much information would be appropriate to justify the suggestion. "Wright and I are…old friends. The name came up once or twice."

Mollified, Iris pressed a delicate hand to her chest and frowned, averting her gaze. "Dahlia was put in prison a few years ago for m—" her bottom lip trembled a bit as she tried to force the word out, "—for doing something terrible. I kept in contact with her while she was there when she wasn't being kept in solitary, but something in her letters lately made me nervous." Edgeworth watched as her fingers moved from clutching the broach around her neck to grasping the delicate handle of her teacup. She took care to hold the saucer under her cup as she sipped hesitantly at the beverage, testing the temperature first, before taking a longer sample. For a moment, the sorrow in her eyes vanished as she peered down at her cup. "This is…very good!"

The prosecutor jotted a few more notes onto his paper before flipping the page and chuckled. "Few people appreciate good tea these days, Miss Iris. I'm pleased that you enjoy it."

Petal-pink lips split into a smile that shined like rays of sunlight through thunderstorm clouds. Edgeworth found himself momentarily ensnared by their spell even as she began to speak once more. "Phoenix always drank instant coffee. Four-sugar-four-cream. I had never even tried it before I met him—" The smile vanished. "Ahem, anyway, in the last letter Dahlia wrote, there was something that made me worry about him."

Edgeworth narrowed his eyes, curious. Scooting his notes a bit closer to himself, he scribbled down a few hasty observations: Knows Wright? Doesn't want me to know? And below that: 4 sugar 4 cream And below that: figures he has a sweet tooth. As he glanced up to ask Iris to continue, he was surprised to see her handing him a sheet of paper. She sighed quietly to herself as he took it from her.

"It's… not terribly exciting, most of it. There's a part toward the bottom that I wanted you to read. I stopped at the front desk on my way in and asked them if there were any way to duplicate it, and they were kind enough to make a copy. You can keep that one, if you like."

"Much obliged," he murmured, already having dived into the letter. The penmanship was unmistakably feminine but aggressive in a way, with hard pen strokes and jagged lines littering the script. Iris hadn't been lying; the letter was hugely uninteresting, mostly detailing a few book titles and the recent lunch schedule. There were a few sentences toward the bottom that had been separated by a blank line and he squinted at them, struggling somewhat to decipher the sloppy handwriting:

Don't think that I've forgotten what that sniveling coward did to me. I recently discovered that his beloved mentor was snuffed out, robbing me of my rightful revenge. If you run into him, do be sure to tell him that he…has never left my thoughts.

Edgeworth blinked at the words. "And you…believe that this is speaking of Phoenix Wright? It doesn't mention any names."

Predictably, Iris cringed a bit and returned to clutching at her broach. "I know it sounds crazy, but please, hear me out. My sister Dahlia is incredibly intelligent and crafty, and she holds grudges forever… I know it doesn't mention him directly, but I'm certain that it's him that she speaks of." She reached across the massive desk and placed a hand over the prosecutor's, interrupting his frantic notetaking and stilling his hand. Gray eyes met brown in shock and she gazed at him imploringly. "Please, I'm not even sure what it is you might be able to do, but," goosebumps spread over the backs of his arms as her thumb absentmindedly trailed across his knuckles, "please just look out for him. Phoenix has a way of… well, stumbling into trouble."

He bared with the contact for a moment more before he extracted his hand, uncomfortable. "You seem to care a great deal for him. How is it that you know him?"

A light blush crept across porcelain cheeks. "I'm afraid I can't tell you that. At least, not now." She looked away from him and focused on a faraway spot on the floor. "Phoenix sees only the good in people. I know if she were to try to contact him somehow, he would still believe in her, even after everything he's been through. He may say otherwise, but Feenie, he's an optimist until the end. It's one of his best traits."

Edgeworth flipped back to his first page of notes and found where he had annotated that she wanted their connection a secret. He circled the note and drew an arrow to the margin: Feenie!? Once he'd finished, he swept the notepad and pen aside and gazed back at Iris over steepled fingertips. He couldn't exactly find any indication that she was speaking with him out of anything other than concern, though he still wasn't entirely sure why this couldn't have been dealt with through the police. Try as he might, he couldn't find fault with her assessment of the man, either; Phoenix truly would die on an optimistic sword. It was one of his best—and worst—qualities, and what enabled him to be so effective in defending his clients.

Even ones who had attempted to steer him away from attempting the impossible, he mused.

Toying with the idea of offering some information about how he knew Dahlia Hawthorne, Edgeworth let out a small sigh through his nose and dropped his gaze, starting to sense that this would ultimately end up being a much larger puzzle to solve than simply a beautiful girl coming into his office to voice her concerns over an old friend…or lover. Still, if she were going to withhold just how intimately she truly knew his new paramour, he figured two could play at that game. "I suppose the only thing left, then, is how I might perhaps contact you again in the future, if need be?"

Iris blinked owlishly back at him. "Why on Earth would you need to do that?"

It was such an innocent question that Edgeworth nearly laughed at it, but contained himself at the last second. Gumshoe had told him once that people often felt insulted when he laughed at their questions and it gave him a "mean vibe, pal". "Suppose something does happen. I may need more information from you. Do you have a telephone number where I could reach you?"

Her eyes fell a bit in thought before she frowned delicately. "Ah, no, not really."

Internally, the prosecutor rolled his eyes. Playing hard to get, now?

"I…serve as a nun at the Hazakura Temple. Phones don't really work up there very often, so we don't use them. There's a pay phone that can be used for emergencies, but I couldn't tell you the last time someone actually tried it. I'm not even sure if it works." She fished around a bit in a pocket in her robe and pulled out a piece of paper that had been folded many times to fit. It was passed to Edgeworth without fanfare. "I don't leave the temple very often so I'm not sure I could give you an accurate address, but that is an ad that we're running for a training session. I believe that you would be able to find us from it, should you need to."

He unfolded the paper and scanned it with mild interest, noting that it must have come from a magazine of some sort. The ad depicted Iris and a shorter, much heavier woman wearing the same style of robes. At the bottom was a bit of text about a few training scenarios one could experience to "enhance their spiritual power and hone their medium acuity!" Underneath that in even smaller font was indeed an address where one could mail correspondence. He tried not to scoff at it and tucked it neatly away into the inside pocket on his suit jacket. "I think that about satisfies the information I might need, Miss Iris, if you have nothing else." He hadn't meant to make it sound so terse, but the young lady still flinched mildly at the tone.

"No, that's all." She stood and began to straighten her robes, finally bringing her hood up over her hair. As she turned to leave, Edgeworth cleared his throat, sensing that he should say something to lighten the mood, but unaccustomed to small talk. Curious eyes met his and he attempted to smile.

"I appreciate you bringing this to my attention. Wright does have a tendency to trip and fall into dangerous and complicated situations from time to time…" He dipped himself into a cordial bow. "I assure you that we'll take great care in ensuring that he avoids any injurious situations as best we can."

Iris smiled at him, warm and genuine. "Thank you, Mr. Edgeworth. I knew you were the right man for this."

The prosecutor watched as she made her way to the door, robe flapping gracefully around her ankles. She closed the massive door behind her with a soft, polite click, and then she was gone. He shook his head at the strangeness of it all. In his world, there was no room for things such as spirit mediums and channeling the dead—it was all complete nonsense, as far as he was concerned. Even without adding in what had happened with his father and that medium who had made a mockery of the whole ordeal, he was a man of logic and science. In his eyes, the dead were dead. There was no coming back from that sort of finality.

And yet, they continued to work their way into his life like little tendrils of English ivy. First it was Maya Fey, then the little one, Pearl, and their ever loyal following of his rival. Now, it seemed, they had the audacity to simply invite themselves into his office. Still, this one seemed different from the others. He could spot a painful and mysterious past at a hundred paces—he had one himself, after all—and this girl definitely held more secrets than answers. He pulled the notepad back toward himself and tore the top page off. His notes weren't exactly chaotic upon it, but he still found his eyes drawn to one spot in particular on the page.

Knows Wright? Doesn't want me to know? Feenie!?

He cocked his head at the insinuation. On the one hand, the woman that Phoenix had described had absolutely matched what he would give as his own assessment of Dahlia Hawthorne. There was no mistaking that they were remembering the same cold, terrifying presence that she could bring to a room. Even on top of that, he'd never known Wright to lie to anyone, and Edgeworth would have seen right through it if he had. He had readily admitted to dating that devil woman, so what did this mean? Iris obviously knew the attorney and if her references were to be believed, she had been downright friendly with him… So why had he never mentioned her before?

He paused. Phoenix had never given him a name… Was Iris who he had drawn?

He folded the notepaper in half and paper clipped it to the magazine page that Iris had brought him, then tucked both pieces back into his inner suit jacket pocket where he would deal with them later. There were simply too many holes to begin an earnest attempt of connecting the dots, and that's assuming that her prediction had any merit to it to begin with. Before returning to his original task at hand, however, Edgeworth paused and snagged a sticky note from his desk drawer before he forgot. Upon it, he jotted down, Look up Hawthorne's sentencing/parole, and adhered it neatly to his desk blotter in front of his laptop. No sense in being careless.

Glancing around at his office to ensure no more surprises were lurking in the corners, the prosecutor finally returned to his original mission and reopened the old case file that had patiently waited for him. Looking back and forth between Phoenix's thousand-watt smile and the gentle, quiet curve of Dahlia's lips, Edgeworth shook his head. He couldn't make sense of it; they were too different. Just as he rifled through to the last profile page and turned them over as one grouping so as to access the actual court record, his cell phone jingled in his pocket, startling him near to death for the second time that day.

He fought the urge to hurl it at the wall.

After a few deep breaths and a slow countdown from ten, Edgeworth fished the device out of his pocket and glared at it.

It was a text from Wright.

He could feel his ire evaporate instantly, replaced by the sensation of butterflies in the pit of his belly. Rolling his eyes at himself, he unlocked the phone and opened the message, wondering if perhaps the man were interested in dinner.

Going off the grid for a few days, some training thing Maya wants to do at Hazakura. Dinner Friday if I don't freeze to death?

Edgeworth blinked at the message slowly, forcing himself to breathe. After a few long moments and several attempts at a response that were deleted and started anew, he responded:

Let me know when you're back. Be careful, Wright.