If Phoenix Wright wasn't enough: Miles must prosecute the Steel Samurai.
Obviously, he is well aware of the divide between reality and fiction – but past and present seem nebulous these days, along with right and wrong. There are so few things Miles has held onto from his life before his father's death. Even coming back home had little impact on him. But as soon as Wright is back in his life again –
By the time Dee Vasquez takes the stand, Miles already suspects the truth. He can't – it's been proven, now, that he's not always right. That last trial came so close, so often, and a month later Miles is still thinking of how many other trials he's won, how flimsy some of the stories he spun to do so. He looks at Maya Fey across the courtroom, standing at his childhood best friend's side; pictures her in prison because of him, and it's so hard to remember the lessons he's spent sixteen years learning and putting into practice.
When Wright compares Miles to a lying child, it stings, feels like a betrayal despite how far apart they've grown. Miles has never – he wants to say he has never – he doesn't know, he's never knowingly presented false evidence outright, but he's told witnesses what to say, interpreted their memories for them in whatever way suited his purpose best. Is that any different than outright lying on the stand?
He has a terrible sinking feeling.
In the end, he does what's right. He has to, at least as much for selfish reasons as any noble ideal: he has to know, to be certain of every detail even if it means he loses again. He doesn't want even a shadow of doubt here, not when for the past month he's lived under a constant cloud of it, second-guessing his every move. Miles doesn't want this to be another trial keeping him up late at night, rereading the transcripts and wondering.
It's a mistake.
His doubts are confirmed, his unease only grows –
Phoenix smiles when he thanks Miles for the help. It's a soft expression, open and welcoming, and it causes a stab of real panic to run through him. Yesterday, this man indirectly accused him of lying in a court of law, but now he's smiling like nothing ever happened to tear them apart, like they've been friends all this time. Like if Miles just played along, everything would be forgotten, like it would really be as easy as smiling back and accepting the invitation join them.
The thought is horrible, attractive and repulsive in equal amounts. Miles doesn't understand what Wright wants from him, and he decides in an instant that he doesn't care to find out. He can't imagine hanging out, doesn't want to toast to his own defeat with the man who brought it about. He doesn't.
Wright was smart to compare him to Hackins: at heart, Miles is still a coward, unable to accept the ugly truth. He's never admitted what he remembers from that elevator, for the past month he's made no move to actually investigate his doubts, and now he holds true to form by telling Wright to stay away.
He tells himself that if he doesn't see Wright again, his doubts will fade. He will be able to feel certain in his purpose and actions once more, if he just has enough time without that man in his life.
After all, light is necessary to cast a shadow. If Miles chooses to live in the dark…
He prefers invisible monsters to one in the mirror.
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