The Demon Prosecutor

Instead of the ding of the elevator, Edgeworth’s arrival at the third floor was heralded by the swish and click of the stairwell door opening and closing. The sound was followed by the soft, deliberate tread of his leather loafers on the thick carpeting as he swept down the hallway, his metal briefcase brushing against his pants as he walked and his suit jacket slung over his arm. His eyes were downcast, his expression thoughtful…until he came near enough to his apartment for the people waiting outside of it to enter his peripheral vision.

Edgeworth’s gaze shot up, and he froze in the middle of the hall, processing the presence of the three familiar figures and the reason for it. Thoughts of the quiet evening ahead—a birthday celebration that was supposed to have consisted of the two gifts he’d purchased for himself the day before, a bottle of a 100 point cabernet and a new mystery novel—fled from his mind. Only a single possibility was left; before considering the likelihood of said possibility, he found himself meeting Mikaela’s gaze and asking sharply, “Has something happened?”