"Mr. Von Karma, welcome. We're honored to have you and your family accompany us this evening."

The prosecutor in question gave a barely-perceptible nod as he strode through the doorway of Gavin Manor, trailed by a morose gray-haired boy and a blue-haired girl who looked as if she just swallowed a lemon. Manfred von Karma's face was fixed in a permanently haughty expression; Kristoph only saw the man a handful of times in the past, but didn't recall ever seeing his mouth in any shape besides a frown. Then again, the thought of this man joking and smiling is horrifying.

"...Thank you, Katharina," Manfred replied stiffly, tossing his overcoat to Sophia without a second glance. "Your hospitality is appreciated, though I'd like to reiterate that the Edgeworth boy is simply my ward."

Kristoph looked closely at the Edgeworth boy, who was schooled enough in the art of maintaining an impassive expression. Despite being von Karma's biological daughter, Franziska von Karma didn't seem as controlled as her father and gave Miles Edgeworth a quick glance that betrayed a flicker of…something. Concern, perhaps?

Katharina smiled congenially, but Kristoph was familiar enough with her subtleties to identify the coolness in her eyes. She did not like to be corrected. "Yes, of course. You remember my sons, Klavier and Kristoph?"

Kristoph straightened his back as Manfred's piercing gaze rested upon him. Klavier seemed completely oblivious to the intensity of the powerful prosecutor, instead looking straight past him at the girl, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. Kristoph had to fight the urge to tell him to stop gaping.

"Hello Mr. von Karma, it's a pleasure," Kristoph greeted politely.

"...Hi," Klavier managed to force out. He then raised his index finger and pointed at Franziska. "W-who's that?"

While Kristoph had the misfortune of meeting Franziska three years earlier at one of the various social obligations his family attended, Klavier was too young to attend and was seeing the youngest daughter of the von Karma household for the first time.

Franzsiska stuck up her chin, scowl deepening. "I'm Franziska von Karma. You should remember that name, because I'm going to be the youngest prosecutor in Germany soon."

Klavier continued to stare at the girl, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. After a hesitant pause, he raised his right hand and smoothed his hair back, saying, "Hi, I'm Klavier." One of his eyes looked like it was twitching and Kristoph stifled a groan once he realized it was supposed to be a wink.

Despite being three years older than Klavier, Franziska wasn't old enough to pick up on Klavier's fumbling flirtations and moved closer to Miles. Kristoph glanced at the adults in the room, curious how they would react to the seven-year old's romantic overtures. Both Manfred and Katharina's eyes narrowed and lips thinned as they turned their heads towards the children, though the target of their glares differed. Miles maintained his expressionless gaze, but Kristoph noticed the corner of his mouth twitch into a smile, if only for a moment.

Sensing the tension, Sophia attempted to diffuse it by coughing and saying, "S-supper is ready, Mistress. Master Konstantin is already in the dining room."

With reluctance, Katharina pulled her eyes away from an unsuspecting Franziska and latched onto Sophia. "Excellent," she said, though her voice lacked enthusiasm. She turned towards Manfred. "Shall we?"

Manfred nodded again, and they all made their way to the dining room, Kristoph looking longingly at the towering grandfather clock as they did. This is going to be a long night.

But it wouldn't be too boring. After all, tonight was the night Kristoph was going to get the key.

Kristoph knew the benefits of making nice to those of high social standing, but loathed it all the same. Schmoozing was not Kristoph's forte; while he was able to succeed in creating a polite mask, on the inside he felt like a tiger pacing restlessly in a cage. How his mother had the emotional fortitude to do this so frequently was anyone's guess.

As expected, Konstantin and von Karma monopolized most of the conversation. Kristoph's father looked professional, composed, and put-together—a far cry from the weary man who spoke to Kristoph in the art gallery the previous day. The court system and work in general was the main topic of conversation. From the conversation, Kristoph managed to gather that Miles was expected to make his debut in the courtroom sometime within the next few years.

From the corner of his eye, Kristoph looked at Miles, who was sitting next to him. The gray-haired boy's eyes were locked on Konstantin and Manfred; unlike Kristoph, Miles was listening intently and following along with the monotonous drawling of the older men.

Kristoph frowned. It was not the first time he met Miles Edgeworth, but every time their interactions followed the same pattern: polite, generic small-talk and…that's it. For reasons Kristoph couldn't quite pinpoint, he did not like the von Karma ward, and he suspected the feeling was mutual. On paper, it would seem as if the two would have a lot to talk about, but in practice, something just didn't click. There was a heaviness, an intensity, in Miles' gaze that made Kristoph uncomfortable, as if the boy could see through him.

Also, Kristoph couldn't deny that he felt stirrings of jealousy towards the boy. He wasn't quite sure why he was jealous, only that he was. Did he feel envy for Miles' accomplishments? For his self-assured integrity that Kristoph could never mimic? For having a sibling (albeit not through blood) that was serious and competent instead of a babbling idiot? This thought caused Kristoph's gaze to drift across the table, where Klavier was happily chatting to Franziska. It appeared to be a one-sided conversation, given the crossed arms and sour expression on the girl's face.

"—your boy will be pursuing a judicial career, I assume?"

Kristoph's head snapped towards Manfred, who was looking at Konstantin. Kristoph's father raised a glass to his lips and sipped before placing his drink back on the table. Once he did, his calculating eyes looked at Kristoph as if he were an insect under the microscope. "Perhaps. Passing judgment is a heavy burden, one that is only suited for a specific type of man."

The statement was vague, but Kristoph knew enough to pick up on the insult. A month ago, he would have stayed silent and stared at his plate. That would have been the wise choice.

But today, Kristoph felt emboldened by his plan to get the key, even though he knew, logically, that it might not be warranted. So instead, he said, "Actually, I plan on becoming a defense attorney. It seems more in line with my capabilities."

Silence descended upon the table while Kristoph took another spoonful of his mashed potatoes. Konstantin's eyes flashed darkly. Manfred von Karma and his daughter looked affronted, as if being within six feet of Kristoph was a grave insult. Miles turned to look at him with interest, and Katharina met his eyes and gave him a small, rare smile.

Kristoph knew he might regret the comment later, but right now it was worth it.

"I didn't realize this was your desired career path," Konstantin said finally, raising his glass to his lips once more.

"It was a decision I made recently." Five seconds ago, in fact.

Miles had enough social awareness to change the topic. "Mr. Gavin, I heard there's discussion of whether or not Germany should implement the death penalty. What are your thoughts on this?"

Konstantin frowned slightly at the change in topic as he gave his answer to the question (in favor of the death penalty, of course). The conversation shifted direction naturally, which put Kristoph out of the spotlight. But any relief he felt evaporated when he considered what he would do after dinner.

After the meal concluded, the adults went into the dining room to continue their conversation. Katharina told the children to "play together while the grown-ups talk," which was something that all four politely agreed to, though Kristoph, Miles, and Franziska bristled and fumed inwardly at the patronizing tone. "Play together?" Really? I'm fifteen, for God's sake…

Kristoph had another reason to be irritated: Spending time with the other three caused his plan to collapse like a house of cards. His plan (which was inspired by a persistent childhood fear that almost became a reality recently) was to take Miles to the art gallery and see the vases and sculpture. Once there, Kristoph would shift the position of the rug, causing Miles to trip and fall into one of the vases. While the adults would be occupied with the vase, Kristoph would use that time to take a pocket knife to the discolored location of the triptych and pull out what Kristoph hoped would be the key.

All in all, it was a terrible, childish plan, something more suited for the plucky kid heroes of adventure books instead of the scion of the Gavin family. But it was the only one Kristoph had, and now he wouldn't even have that.

The cloudy overhead earlier in the day shifted almost instantaneously into a thunderstorm. The weather report said it would last about two hours before subsiding into a drizzle, but until then, the von Karmas would be staying at Gavin Manor. The cruel irony is that the extra time would have been ideal for him to enact his plan, but if it wasn't going to happen, then every extra second was torture.

There has to be some way this can still work….

'Klavier, why don't you show Franziska your toys?" Kristoph asked in a feeble attempt to adhere to his original plan. "I want to show Miles the art gallery, but I think she'd—"

"Don't patronize me!" Franzsiska practically screeched, face flushed with righteous fury. Now that the adults were out of sight and out of listening distance, she no longer had to maintain the pretense of politeness. "I'm not a child!" You're ten… "I know more about art than you. Take me to the gallery!"

The only thing missing from that tirade was foot stomping. Miles turned to the girl and frowned slightly. "Franziska, we're guests. It would be—"

A loud clashing of thunder echoed, and Miles stopped his sentence midway, face growing pale. He's scared of thunder? How juvenile, thought Kristoph, secretly pleased there was a crack in the perfect facade.

"We need to show her, Kris," Klavier insisted, eyes sparkling. "She wants to see it."

Kristoph put his hands on his hips. "You're not allowed there, remember?"

Klavier put his hands on his hips too, imitating his older brother. "We can keep it a secret from Mama. I need to be there in case Franziska gets scared because of the storm."

At that moment, Franziska was a volcano about to erupt. Kristoph hastily said, "Klavier, can we talk about this in my room?" He glanced up at Miles, who fidgeted uncomfortably at a second rumble of thunder. "Is it alright if I talk to him for a few minutes, alone?"

Miles nodded his head, a bit too quickly. Kristoph grabbed Klavier's hand and dragged his protesting brother into his room, slamming the door behind him. Unlike his younger brother's room, Kristoph's was meticulously organized and neat. It was also almost entirely barren except for the basic necessities of a bed, dresser, closet, and nightstand. He tried to get his breath under control despite the frustration which was threatening to burst.

"Klavier, you need to stop bothering Franziska," Kristoph said bluntly, grabbing his satchel from his desk.

"I'm not bothering her. I love her!" he insisted passionately, clenching his fists.

Kristoph rolled his eyes as he double-checked his satchel. Paint? Check. Pocket knife? Check. Flashlight? Check. Backup flashlight? Check… The flashlights were perhaps dead weight, but Kristoph wanted to make sure he was examining the painting closely. "You knew her for two hours."

"So? People in the movies fall in love in two hours!"

Kristoph shook his head as he hooked his satchel over his shoulder. "Mother always gives you what you want, but real life doesn't work that way. You're not the center of the universe, Klavier. Believe it or not, there are some people who just won't like you."

Klavier looked up at him, eyes wide, aghast, and—ugh—teary. "But…why?"

"Never mind," Kristoph muttered, clutching the straps of his bag. "I got what I came here for, so we're going back outside. And when we do, I don't want you bothering Franziska anymore."

Lip wobbling slightly, Klavier nodded. His eyes then locked onto the satchel. "Why are you taking that bag?"

Kristoph felt like an idiot for not anticipating this question. "It's a storm kit," he lied.

"Oh," Klavier said simply. The explanation was enough for him. He opened the door and skipped back into the hallway, Kristoph trudging after him.

When the Gavin siblings returned, the hushed yet animated conversation between Miles and Franziska ceased. Kristoph knew the von Karmas were talking about them just as much as the Gavins talked about them, but Kristoph didn't care. His mind was so focused on making some kind of attempt at getting the key that he barely understood what he was saying as he guided the three through the manor and towards the art gallery.

After another rumble and seeing Miles tense up, it suddenly clicked. Kristoph remembered hearing the story about how Manfred von Karma took in the child of his rival: An earthquake, a power outage, an elevator mishap, and a gunshot. There were small things in Kristoph's own life that sometimes brought back memories of unpleasant times with his father and caused him to freeze momentarily; the sound of thunder likely served the same purpose with Miles.

Instead of empathy, the only emotion running through Kristoph was cold calculation. Could he use that knowledge to his advantage somehow?

"Are you alright, Miles?" Kristoph asked, despite knowing the answer.

"Yes, I'm fine," Miles muttered reluctantly. The sweat on his brow told another story. "I'm not…fond of loud noises, that's all."

"Hopefully we won't lose power," Kristoph said innocently, praying inwardly that they would, in fact, lose power. "Klavier, remember that storm two months ago?"

Klavier's eyes lit up. "Yeah! The whole house went dark and there were scary noises and I thought the roof was going to collapse and Papa complained to the power company and—"

Klavier continued on like this for about a minute, unintentionally playing his role even better than Kristoph hoped. Kristoph noticed with satisfaction that Miles' face seemed slightly green and woozy. Having the boy get sick wasn't Kristoph's first plan, if that's what it took…

The group made their way around the corner to the art gallery, and to Kristoph's displeasure, the wonders of the artwork seemed to provide Miles a temporary reprieve from the chaotic thoughts zipping through his brain. Kristoph felt himself stewing with anger as they approached the Roman vases and statue of Themis that Kristoph almost knocked down previously. As Franziska and Miles walked closer to inspect them in awe, thoughts battled in Kristoph's mind? Should I try tugging at the rug? No, that'll be far too obvious. And if I 'accidentally' push them into the statues, it'll be me who feels Father's wrath. Should I bring up the earthquake again? Maybe Miles' throw up this time….or maybe not. Ughhh. Why did I ever think I could play the hero? It's hopeless. I should never have been so stupid to—

God or the Devil must have been on Kristoph's side that night, because in one brief moment, several things happened in quick succession. First, there was another loud rumbling of thunder, which caused Miles to tense. Then, Kristoph's wish came true. The gallery was immediately enveloped in an inky blackness. What immediately followed the power outage was the loudest roar of thunder yet. That was enough to break poor Miles, who started breathing heavily and stumbled into one of the displays at the same time Klavier clutched onto Franziska and shouted, "I'll protect you!" The girl shrieked and yanked herself away from him, causing her to trip into the displays. The resulting crashes seemed even louder and more startling than the thunder.

This was even better than Kristoph hoped. He unhooked his satchel and fumbled around until he felt the smooth, small flashlight. Shining it towards the noise revealed a shaken, horrified Miles, a panicked Franziska, and Klavier with his mouth in the shape of an "O." And of course, lots of broken pottery and marble. Kristoph didn't want to think about the cost.

"I–I'm sorry, I didn't mea—it's—" Miles sputtered, eyes darting rapidly.

"It's his fault!" Franziska screamed, pointing at Klavier. "He pushed me."

"No I didn't," Klavier protested, voice wobbly. "I just hugged your arm."

The thought of this bratty girl causing Klavier's first heartbreak caused a fire to ignite in Kristoph's heart, more than he expected. Before he could say anything, Miles interjected. "I-it was my error. I'll accept responsibility."

Kristoph knew Miles wasn't the only one to blame—not by a long shot-–but didn't care enough to press. If Miles wanted to take the heat, then that was his prerogative. Kristoph had other things he needed to do.

"I'm going to go and get help," Kristoph lied. "You three should stay here."

"Why?" demanded Franziska.

Trying to stifle his urge to bash the flashlight into her skull, Kristoph said patiently, "Because I don't want any more of my family's precious artwork destroyed. If there's four of us stumbling around, it'll make things more dangerous."

Kristoph thought it was logical and made sense, but Franziska raised a good point: "So you expect us to sit here in the dark? How foolish!"

Sometimes Kristoph cursed his inherited paranoia, but today it worked in his favor. "I brought a back-up." Kristoph reached into his satchel and handed the red flashlight to Miles, who accepted it with slightly shaking hands. "You can use that. Now, remember: Stay here. I'll be back soon."

Before they could say anymore, Kristoph took off. Once he was out of sight and listening distance from the others, his heart started thumping as the reality of what he was doing began to set in. Despite the darkness transforming the paintings from brushstrokes on a canvas to living and silent—yet critical—observers, Kristoph felt alone, vulnerable, and afraid.

But I shouldn't, Kristoph told himself, sweaty hands clutching the straps of his satchel tighter. I'm so close. I can do this. I have to.

At last, he finally reached The Garden of Earthly Delights. With slightly trembling fingers, he dug into his bag and pulled out the pocket knife. His fingers faltered for a moment, and Kristoph came very close to losing his nerve.

But then he thought of his mother's smile during dinner. He thought of his extraordinary stroke of luck and his father's words of "divine intervention" echoed in his mind. Kristoph wasn't sure if that was true in this case, but it made him feel more confident to imagine someone powerful on his side for once, and not his father's.

The idea galvanized him, allowing him to take the pocket knife and gently bring its tip to the darker section of the right-hand side of the triptych. He pressed it down a bit harder and felt a slight indentation. Giddiness and terror competed for dominance as he delicately followed the crevice, reopening the slit that was painted over.

Two timid fingers pressed their ways into the back of the painting, Kristoph's heart stopping momentarily when he touched—holy shit—a rounded, metallic object. Growing greedy, he pried it out, heart practically jumping out of his ribcage as he held the silver key in his trembling hands. He hastily shoved it in his satchel.

He couldn't remember the last time he felt such pride. But he knew his work wasn't done, and getting overconfident might cause his entire plan to collapse. Taking out the paint, he attempted to trace over the seal and make it look identical to how it was when he walked in.

Unfortunately, he wasn't successful. Kristoph wasn't sure if it was because of the lighting or the fact that he sucked at painting, but the coloring looked even more obvious—far more obvious—than it did yesterday.

Why did I think I would be able to do this?

But he knew why: he wanted the ego trip, the validation of being the one to find the key and rescue his mother's missing trinket. He assumed everything would work out because he wanted it to work out. Despite his paranoia, he overlooked the obvious.

It can still work. I just need to get to the North Room before Father notices, and he doesn't come to this wing of the gallery often. He was looking at the triptych yesterday, and today, he'll be distracted by the broken sculptures. Yes, everything's fine…

That's what Kristoph told himself, anyway.

After leaving the art gallery, Kristoph made his way back up through the manor's halls and back to where the adults were. He wished he spent more time mentally reviewing how to break the news, because it went poorly. Kristoph thought Konstantin would slap him right there (It's not my fault! I'm not the one who broke them…), and he likely would have if he didn't have a guest. Instead, he stalked down towards the broken items, followed in tow by Manfred, Katharina, and Kristoph. While they were heading down, the power turned back on, which allowed fears of Konstantin deciding to visit the triptych to ferment.

The damage was even worse than Kristoph expected. Several pieces were shattered, and Konstantin was furious. Manfred von Karma was also furious. The only adult not furious was Katharina, who never loved those pieces, and Kristoph privately suspected felt relief they were broken.

Miles took full responsibility for the damage. Something that surprised Kristoph was that Franziska tried to say she "was pushed" into them too, but Miles adamantly denied it. From the prosecutor's glower, Kristoph did not envy Miles and whatever fate was waiting for him when he got home.

The von Karmas were not strapped for cash, and Manfred said he would compensate Konstantin, though Kristoph was unsure if Manfred knew the full extent of the pricing. Judging by the prosecutor's snide insinuations about investing in glass casings, Kristoph believed he was beginning to put together an approximate idea.

Kristoph didn't say anything to the von Karmas as they left. His eyes remained fixed on Miles, and the regretful, embarrassed expression on the boy's face. And despite Miles' misfortune, Kristoph found he still couldn't extinguish the envious feelings from his heart. The way Miles defended Franziska, and how Franziska defended him, stirred something in Kristoph. Something he didn't like.

Would Klavier ever defend him the same way?

He doubted it.

That night, with the key hidden under his pillow, Kristoph couldn't sleep. His mind was racing with possible strategies and ideas for sneaking into the North Room.

Sometime past midnight, he heard the door creak open, and his eyes immediately darted towards the sliver of light. Without his glasses, he couldn't make out the details but he knew from the shape and the footsteps that it was his father. Kristoph's body tensed. Did he notice the irregularity with the triptych? Did he remember Kristoph's perceived slight from yesterday? Why was he here?

Konstantin stumbled his way over to the edge of Kristoph's bed, and Kristoph could tell from his breath that the man was slightly drunk. He swallowed as his father ran a rough hand through Kristoph's soft locks.

"You've been keeping secrets," Konstantin drawled, speech slightly slurred.

It was so quiet, one could hear a pin drop. Kristoph was almost afraid to breathe. "What do you mean?" he muttered, pushing down the instinctive urge to get up and flee.

The fingers began to tug at the edges of his hair. "You know…" he began, in a playful tone Kristoph wasn't used to hearing. "Wanting to become a defense attorney."

A breath finally escaped Kristoph's lips. "I didn't decide until today…"

"Mhmm, right," Konstantin said with a slight sarcastic twinge. "You could tell me anything, you know. I'm your father."

Kristoph didn't know what the safe answer would be, so continued to say nothing as the man continued to dig greedily into his hair. Kristoph wanted to tear those fingers off.

Then, the motions stopped as suddenly as they began. "You're a lot like me," Konstantin said quietly. His hand reached down and cupped Kristoph's cheek. "I know you don't believe this, but I love you."

He was right—Kristoph didn't believe it. But it was the first time he remembered Konstantin saying that, and the uncharacteristic wavering (teary?) tone made the situation even more unsettling. Kristoph wanted to reach across the nightstand to grab his glasses and see the man's expression, but didn't dare move. He didn't dare speak, either. He had no idea what he'd say in return.

Kristoph felt a mix of relief and disappointment as Konstantin's fingers left his cheek. "I'll let you go. I know you'll be busy tomorrow."

That set off so many warning bells in Kristoph's mind that he barely heard his father's next sentence: "Justice is a heavy burden, Kristoph. My path is not one I take lightly. Remember that."

And with that, he left.

A wave of anxiety that was being barely held at bay was now unleashed. He needed to get to the North Room ASAP—his father had to know. He practically spelled it out.

But if he knew that, then why didn't he demand the key from me? Kristoph asked himself, turning on his side.

Because he's insane, scoffed another thought in his mind. You can't find logic in the mind of a madman.

Could he?

Regardless, there was no use thinking about it now. Kristoph needed his rest before tomorrow. The only thing on his mind should be gratitude for a relatively smooth day.

Almost too smooth…

The phrase "calm before the storm" kept echoing in his mind as he drifted off into a deep yet restless sleep.