Without preamble, as soon as the door closed behind us, I demanded, "Did you know he was alive?" As Mia's normally mild brown gaze turned sharp, I added, "Not right now. When I was your client. The case file, the one from Doug Swallow's death, said that Dahlia was accused of murder in a poisoning case, not attempted murder in a poisoning case."

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Mike Meekins, hesitating between another salute and hiding under the desk. I ignored him, waiting for Mia's answer, and eventually he sidled out the door, evidently feeling that the intense emotions clearly swirling between Mia and myself were something he shouldn't witness. Unusually perceptive, but something in the back of my mind said that perhaps it had been sheer instinct.

She regarded me for a long moment; finally she looked away, staring so hard at Meekins' desk that I thought it might catch on fire. "Yes," she said, almost inaudibly. "Yes, I knew, Phoenix."

I struggled with words for a moment, wanting to furiously demand why she hadn't told me. But I restrained myself—why should she have told me? Why should she have told anyone? "And you kept it secret to protect him?"

When her gaze came back to me I almost flinched; Mia had never looked at me in anger before, merely in annoyance. I would much rather she get it over with and slap me, but she just said, quietly and furiously, "I kept it secret because I had no choice. If Dahlia had known, she would almost certainly have gone to the clinic and finished him off. Or worse yet, she would've made Iris do it." I did flinch then, and she added, "You already know that your 'Dollie' had been Iris all along: if I hadn't kept up the appearance of having lost Diego forever, she may have been forced to commit murder."

"Yeah, sure. Helping kill Armando, rather than helping him kill your mother later," I responded, more sarcastically than I'd meant to, and Mia flinched backwards as if struck. Instantly I said, "I'm sorry. Mia, I'm so sorry—I didn't mean that. I know you didn't… I wasn't accusing you of anything. You were right to keep it a secret, I just…" I sighed. "I just wish you could've told me. So I could've…"

"Could've done what?" Mia asked as I hesitated, her voice now as sharp as mine had been a moment before. "There was nothing you could have done, Phoenix. When I died, I did so thinking he would never wake up again. Nothing I did would matter."

Her voice had become so bitter that I couldn't bear it anymore, and reached forward to take her hand. "But that's exactly what I could have done for you, Mia. I could have… you know. Been there, after you were gone."

There was a long moment; she sighed, shoulders slumping. "Phoenix…" I drew her to me, and she said quietly, tears dripping onto my shoulder, "I'm so confused." I knew that nothing I said would help, and stayed quiet, my good arm wrapped around her. As she drew back she added, pained, "I just… I'm so angry. I haven't felt this angry since Terry Fawles killed himself, and…" Mia's chin trembled, and she bit her lip to stop it, taking a breath to try and speak again but hesitating.

I knew what she felt, and part of me was still trying not to be angry with Maya. Perhaps she hadn't understood how her sister felt about Armando, or maybe she hadn't even known about their past relationship. But I could see it in Mia's eyes: she was furious with him. Even more so than I was. I wasn't yet sure if it was because he hadn't trusted me to protect Maya, or if it was simply because of his cavalier attitude. But another voice in the back of my mind was telling me that if I managed to comfort Mia, she would be an incredible ally in making Diego Armando care about his own life again.

"Mia," I finally said, swallowing, trying to get the words right. "I didn't have any right to question you. And I know you're really upset. For a number of reasons. But I think it would give you some peace… and it would certainly help him… and me, too… if you just went in and made him feel like shit. For a few minutes, anyway."

Her eyes went round, and then she laughed, a short, shocked giggle. I added, "Seriously, you're the only person who can help him stop acting like an ass."

But she was already nodding, the smile fixed half in place, half trembling in anticipation. "I know. Phoenix, I'm sorry I didn't tell you. But I couldn't trust anyone, you must understand that. You… you had only been part of my firm for four months. Only for a month, when I found out he was still alive. You'd been an unreliable client… you didn't even know my sister yet… I knew you were going to be a great lawyer, but…" She shrugged helplessly, and I knew she meant no insult by anything she'd said. "I didn't know who I could trust."

"All reasons why Armando felt he couldn't trust me, either," I said quietly.

Her smile became sad, and she nodded. "Undoubtedly." Then she straightened, sighed, and looked at the one-way window. "Phoenix… can I tell you something? It'll only take a minute, but…"

"Of course," I answered, my mouth dry. "What is it?"

She was silent for a moment, eyes still fixed. The strange urge to snap my fingers or wave my hand before her face came over me. But I never would have done that to Mia, even as a joke; I was just desperate to get this all over with, and mentally shook away my impatience.

Finally, she said, "It's about the last time I saw him. Not the day Dahlia poisoned him, when you met her." I felt a flush come over my cheeks, the same mixture of shame, indignation, and disgust that always came over me at the thought of my young self. "I've told you about that before. I need to tell you this… someone has to know."

I wondered for a moment if anyone else had ever heard this purported story before; as I realized that it must involve her knowing Diego was alive, it seemed unlikely.

I stayed silent as she told me the story; it was brief and to the point, and I knew she was keeping back as many details as possible. Yet I could tell from her expression that it meant a great deal to her, that each time she did reveal something personal in the narrative, the relief she felt in the telling was countered equally by the pain of recollection.

Finally done with her story, we both said nothing for a moment. "Mia." She regarded me almost fearfully, as if I were going to say something deprecatory towards her past behavior. "He doesn't know any of that, does he?"

There was no change in her expression, except perhaps her eyebrows drawing together just a tiny bit more. "No."

"Then you need to tell him." I took her hand again, for perhaps the last time, and said it again, earnestly. "Please. I would want to know, if it were… someone else." I realized what I was saying a moment before it passed my lips, and sighed internally. But it was true: if it had been me, asleep, hidden under police protection for years… and finally Edgeworth had heard of my existence, come to see me, and had died before I woke…

"Yes," I said, more firmly. "I would want to know. It's such a small thing, but it will make a difference."

"All right," she said, without hesitation this time. And with that I knew what she was going to say next. The moment became one of those particular seconds in time, where you notice every single detail around you. The settings weren't much—mostly industrial grey—but I will always remember the expression on Mia's face, the perfect way her hair (Maya's hair) fell over the shoulders of her suit, brown eyes soft. "Phoenix… once I've done this, once I leave Maya again… I think this is the last time I'll come."

My heart felt like a cloth, every drop of moisture wrung out from it by the cruel hands of grief. But I nodded. "I understand, Mia. I'm so sorry we've kept calling you back so often."

"You needed me," was all she said, with the tiniest of smiles.