It was some time after 3am and Phoenix had been staring at the ceiling for at least an hour. Still riding the adrenaline rush of being shot at and then the forced intimacy of Miles treating the cut on his cheek. Phoenix groaned to himself. He really needed to stop thinking about that. He rolled out of bed and padded into the en suite bathroom, smiling to himself at the relative luxury compared to his own apartment with its one shared bathroom that Trucy managed to spend ever longer inside each morning. She was growing up and fast.

He stared at himself in the mirror, his eyes like bruises and his lips pale. He splashed some water onto his face and leaned on the sink. It was no use, he wasn't going to get any more sleep tonight. He returned to the bedroom and crept out into the hall, not wanting to disturb his daughter or Miles. But as he got closer to the living room, he realised that there was light leaking under the door. He opened it and slipped inside, blinking in the dim light of a small table lamp on a side table. Miles was stretched out on the sofa, dressed in gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt. His glasses were resting crookedly on his nose and a heavy book on tort law resting on his lap gave testament to what he'd been doing when he'd fallen asleep. Phoenix felt his heart race. He'd never seen Miles like this, utterly relaxed and peaceful and his unwanted attraction to his friend was thudding in his chest. He stood there just staring at the other man for a moment, drinking in the view. Then Miles shifted slightly and the book slid off his legs and onto the floor with a huge thump.


Miles jerked awake suddenly and then started at the sight of Wright standing over him.

"Uh," he said intelligently. "Wright?"

"Sorry, Miles," Wright said, his cheeks darkening. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

"It's not a problem," Miles said vaguely. "Are you all right?"

"Not really," Wright admitted. He always wore his heart on his sleeve, Miles thought. Never tried to hide how he felt. Except that wasn't really true was it? It was when they were younger. But the events that had seen Wright disbarred and Kristoph Gavin on death row had made him more cynical and less open than he had once been and Miles mourned the loss. He shook himself, such musings were pointless.

"Talk to me, Wright," Miles said. He swung his legs down and patted the sofa beside him. Phoenix eyed the space like it was going to bite him then sat down gingerly, perching as far away from Miles as he could. Miles eyed him curiously.

"I can't sleep," Wright admitted. "It's all been a bit much."

"You should try this," Miles said with a rueful grin as he picked up his book from the floor. Wright gave a soft laugh that gave Miles a strange feeling in his stomach. "Do you want a drink? I have hot chocolate. Or the brandy, if you want something stronger." Wright frowned.

"Brandy? Sure, that sounds good." Miles got up and opened his liquor cabinet, hunting for his favorite cognac, a better one than the drink he'd served them earlier. He normally kept it for special occasions but there hadn't been many of those recently. He found it and grabbed a couple of crystal glasses and splashed a generous measure into each one. He sat back on the sofa and handed one to Wright, jumping as their fingers accidentally brushed. The light in here was not strong, but the way Wright's pupils dilated was unmistakable. Wright gulped and it made Miles feel rather breathless as his eyes tracked the movement of the attorney's throat. He really needed to get a grip.


Phoenix felt the shock of their fingers touching like a jolt of electricity. His eyes flew up to meet Miles' gaze and swallowed hard. Miles had that arrested expression on his face again and Phoenix could feel his cheeks reddening. He hoped that the low light in the room was hiding his reaction. He dropped his eyes and sipped at the brandy, smiling slightly as the warmth spread through his body. He wasn't much of a drinker, and it always made him flush so hopefully Miles wouldn't notice that he was blushing before he even took a single sip. Miles swallowed a large mouthful and his hands were shaking again.

"Miles?" Phoenix said gently. "I'm sorry, I've been very selfish."

Miles turned to him in astonishment. "Selfish?" he echoed in confusion. "I don't understand."

"You were in the firing line as much as me, and I've been focusing completely on myself and-" Miles held up a hand to interrupt him.

"Don't be ridiculous," he said. "You were hurt and you were worried about Trucy as well as yourself. You have nothing to feel guilty about. I'm fine." Phoenix nodded and gulped the drink down in one mouthful. He was feeling a lot more relaxed and he sat back, a slight smile on his face. The liquor was making him sleepy and he let his eyes drift closed for a moment.


Miles stared at Wright, lounging against the sofa and looking slightly foxed. He never could hold his drink, Miles thought fondly. He cleared his throat and took another swallow of cognac. He touched Wright on the shoulder, and he mumbled but didn't open his eyes. His hair fell messily across his forehead.

"Wright," Miles said quietly. The attorney didn't stir. Miles's fingers twitched with the effort of resisting the urge to brush Wright's hair away from his face. He drained his glass and slid it onto the coffee table. He raked a hand through his hair and realized he was also rather drowsy. He leaned back, considering heading back to bed. But before he could finish the thought, he fell asleep.


Phoenix awoke to find himself stretched out on the couch, a sheet placed over him. He wondered vaguely why he wasn't in bed in Miles's spare room when he remembered his late-night drinking and falling asleep here. Miles had obviously been unable to rouse him and had covered him with a sheet before going back to bed.

"Hey, Uncle Miles," a voice said behind him. "Thanks for letting us stay over last night." Phoenix whirled around to see Miles entering the room, Trucy hot on his heels. His daughter was smiling at him but it dimmed slightly when she saw his face.

"Daddy!" she exclaimed. "What happened to you?"

"Someone shot at us last night," Miles informed her. Phoenix turned back to his friend and glared at him. Miles shrugged. "She's old enough to be told the truth about what's going on," he said firmly. "She's not a little girl anymore." Trucy's eyes were like saucers.

"Shot?" she said unsteadily and Phoenix gave Miles a hard look before turning back to her.

"Yes," he said. "I'm afraid there's something going on that I guess you need to know about." He explained about the gunman from the night before. Trucy looked shellshocked.

"We're not going back to the apartment for a few days," Phoenix told her. "I'm going to get us a hotel room." He saw Miles start out of the corner of his eye.

"You're perfectly welcome to stay here," Miles said stiffly. "In fact, I'd prefer it. The security on this building is much better than any hotel's." Phoenix shook his head.

"That's kind of you," he said carefully. "But it's not fair for us to impose on you like this. It was good of you to let us stay last night. I don't want you to feel like you have to keep hosting us."

"If the only one we had to worry about was you, I'd let you go to a hotel if it made you more comfortable. You're famously indestructible," Miles said slyly. "But none of us will ever forgive ourselves if anything happened to Trucy." Phoenix twitched and his face went white. "Even small hotels have a large number of strangers coming and going. It makes security that much harder. The chance of someone slipping through is just too great." The attorney swallowed hard and nodded.

"OK, Miles," he said reluctantly. "You're right. You win. We'll stay here if you really don't mind. We'll try and stay out of your hair as much as possible."

"I think you should stay away from the office as well," Miles said. "Cykes and Justice too."

Phoenix frowned. "I'm not so well paid I can afford to just put my business on hold," he objected. "And we have clients who are relying on us."

Miles shrugged easily. "We still haven't recruited to the open prosecutor's position," he said thoughtfully. There's an empty office and I'm sure I can arrange for Edgar to bring your computer and your files over."

Phoenix rubbed the back of his neck, a classic sign that he was uncomfortable. "I don't know, Miles," he said. "It's going to look really strange."

"Nonsense," Miles dismissed with a wave. As long as you come and go through the courtroom entrance, nobody will even notice."


Apollo stared down at the text on his phone as he loitered outside the Silver Diner. Crime scene tape was festooned across the doors like a ghastly mockery of a carnival.

Stay away from the office. Someone shot at us last night. Meet me at the courthouse when you're free. PW

Shot at! What the Hell was going on? Apollo texted back a quick reply and then sent another to Athena to find out her plans for the day. He'd just pressed send when the throaty roar of Klavier's motorcycle attracted his attention.

Klavier looked spectacular today, even more than usual. His hair gleamed, his purple suit accentuated his slim but muscular frame and his eyes were bright.

"Forehead!" he exclaimed expansively. "You're here early." Apollo shrugged, he'd always been a lark.

"Did you hear about what happened to Mr Wright and Mr Edgeworth," he asked, changing the subject.

"Herr Edgeworth called me last night," Klavier said, his easy demeanor gone. "It makes no sense, Apollo." Apollo blinked at the use of his name.

"I don't understand," he admitted.

"How does shooting at Phoenix Wright fit into the narrative?" Klavier said. "Either the motivations of the killer are not what we thought they were, or this was somebody else entirely."

"Are you sure they were shooting at Mr Wright?" Apollo asked. Klavier stared at him.

"You think they were shooting at the chief prosecutor?" He pondered the suggestion. "Maybe you're right. Maybe we've been focusing on the wrong target. Well, we can't solve that mystery right now. Come on, let's take a look at this scene."


The bodies had been removed but otherwise the scene looked exactly as it had in the crime scene photos. Klavier picked his way through the blood and broken china to the counter. He twisted his fingers in his hair absently as his eyes cataloged the disorder. Apollo tried not to watch him, tried to focus on finding a clue. He turned his head and something caught his eye by the back door. He stepped carefully through the wreckage of the diner and dropped to a crouch to see a small slip of blue paper, crumpled and bloody, caught in the hinge of the door.

"Klavier," he called out. "I've got something." He heard the prosecutor approach and make an approving noise.

"You have good eyes, Forehead," he said. He pulled a pair of gloves from his pocket and slipped them on, then gently freed the paper from the door. It was a sticky note, and written on it in Sharpie was the words Angel Starr.

Klavier looked at the paper, a cold feeling running down his spine. What did this mean? Clearly Starr was not an unlucky victim of a random act of violence. Apollo was looking up at him, his eyes wide and Klavier had to swallow the strange clogging sensation in his throat.

"She was deliberately targeted," Apollo said baldly. Klavier nodded.

"Ja. But… why write her name on a sticky note? It's odd, don't you think?"

"Very odd. I mean, if you knew who she was and wanted to kill her, why write her name down at all? And I can't imagine a professional killer would need a memo of his target's name like this."

"Professional killer?" Klavier mused. Apollo folded his arms across his chest.

"If you're intending to kill someone, a specific someone, and you aren't doing it for personal reasons, then the next logical explanation is that you're doing it for money. But this doesn't seem like a professional hit. It's sloppy, messy. There were witnesses, the killer took a huge risk. Nothing in this case makes a damn bit of sense!"

Klavier tugged on his hair in frustration. Forehead was right, this didn't fit any of the typical profiles of murderers. The victim was deliberately targeted, by someone who didn't know her personally and yet was willing to kill her?

"What if the sticky note was attached to a photo?" Apollo said suddenly. Klavier thought about it.

"You mean someone gave a photo to the killer with this note, like an instruction? Perhaps but that doesn't really tell us anything."

"No," Apollo agreed. "Except that maybe the police missed other sticky notes at the other scenes. It would at least answer the question of whether these cases really are linked." Klavier pulled out his phone and called Ema.

"What is it?" she barked as she answered.

"As sunny as always, Fraulein," Klavier said in amusement. "I have a question about the three murders we've attributed to our serial killer."

"OK," Ema said grudgingly. "Give me a moment to call up the file." He heard her typing on her computer. "What do you want to know?"

"Were there any pieces of paper retrieved from the scenes?" Klavier asked.

"Hmm. In the Galactica murder, yes there was a lot of paper. Flyers, ticket stubs, you name it. I haven't cataloged it all yet. In the Hawthorne case, we have the wrappings of a parcel inside which the sections of the sword were carefully concealed in food items. And in the Powers murder. Um no. Nothing."

"I see," Klavier said disappointed. "It was worth a shot."

"Is there something specific you were looking for?" Ema asked tiredly. "Are you saying we missed something?"

"Not necessarily," Klavier said. "It may be nothing. But Herr Justice and I are at the Silver Diner. We found a sticky note with Angel Starr's name on it. We're still not sure if this case is related to the other murders or not." There was a sharp intake of breath.

"I have a sticky note from the Max Galactica killing. It was stuck to a promotional photograph. It didn't seem to be important."

"Was anything written on it? And did you check it for fingerprints?" Klavier barked.

"The sticky note just said 'Him'," Ema said. "It was odd, but it didn't seem important. No fingerprint analysis was ordered but I'll put it through immediately."

"Anything in the parcel wrappings?"

"No," Ema said distractedly, the sound of her fingers flying over her keyboard. "Wait. There's a newspaper clipping, with a photo of Iris and another woman. They're both in nun's habits. Iris's name is scrawled across it in Sharpie."

"That's it!" Klavier exclaimed. "But you say there was nothing similar in the Powers evidence."

"Not that I can see," Ema admitted. "I'll go down to the evidence locker and look for myself. I'll get back to you if I find anything." She hung up.


Phoenix looked around the empty prosecutor's office with a sigh. Miles had pulled out all the stops, his computer and all his files had been transported over, there was a coffee maker, a Keurig not a crappy no-name machine from a drugstore and two desks brought up from storage for Apollo and Athena. Apollo was off somewhere working his case but Athena was staring around the elegant space, her eyes like saucers.

"Wow," she said. "Just, wow."

"Isn't Simon's office much the same?" Phoenix asked her.

She gave a shy smile. "I guess, but it's kind of full of books and Taka's claimed the back third of the room for herself.

"She would," Phoenix agreed. "OK. Well. I guess we have work to do."

Athena cast him a nervous look. "Are you mad at me about dropping Julian St John as a client?" she asked suddenly. Phoenix stared at her.

"No," he denied. "If you don't believe your client to be innocent, of course you shouldn't take the case. I was just surprised, that's all."

"Surprised that I dropped it, or surprised that I thought he was guilty?"

"Neither," Phoenix said. "I was surprised you even considered taking him on in the first place."

Athena hunched her shoulders. "Simon insisted I take a look at it," she admitted. Phoenix gave her a disapproving look.

"You shouldn't take a client on just because Blackquill wants you to," he told her. "His loyalties can be… mixed."

"Simon wouldn't have asked me to do this if he didn't have serious doubts," Athena said stoutly. "He genuinely thought there was something off with the case against St John."

"That's all very well," Phoenix said sternly. "But you need to consider how this looks. We don't need fresh accusations of collusion between prosecutors and defense attorneys, so soon after the end of the Dark Age of the Law." Athena put one hand on her hip.

"Oh really? And you suddenly moving in with the Chief Prosecutor, that's not going to cause gossip and innuendo?" Phoenix's face darkened and she knew she'd gone too far.

"You know perfectly well why Trucy and I are staying with Miles," he snapped. "I would have taken us to a hotel, but Miles was concerned it would be too hard to keep it secure. His apartment is as locked down as the White House. We're safer there than anywhere else." Athena looked suitably chastised but her mind was whirling. There were plenty of secure locations Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth could have stashed Mr Wright and his daughter. The police maintained a number of safe houses in the city and if things were really desperate, the Chief of Police could have placed them in protective custody. Or they could have headed out to Kurain Village to stay with Maya. Surely that would be a secure location.

"OK," she said dubiously. "I'm not saying it doesn't make sense, I'm just saying people will talk."

"People do little else," Phoenix said bitterly. He dropped into his chair and turned on his computer. "So, do you have any other potential clients lined up?" Athena shook her head, her ponytail swaying in counterpoint.

"Not really," she said. "St John was the last possible on my list."

"Well, I'm going to bounce this one to you then," Phoenix told her. "She's asked for my help, but I think this case could use your particular expertise." He tapped at his computer for a moment and then sat back. Athena flashed a grin at him.

"Great!" she exclaimed. Her email program on her phone buzzed at her and she pulled up the message her boss had sent her.