Franziska had already ran back to Germany, and he was more than glad to know that she wasn't giving up prosecuting. Wright had learned, had become an even better lawyer, and there was a soft glow of melancholy satisfaction as he'd realised that his father's legacy as a defence attorney was indeed being carried on. Not by Miles himself- even after realising what a lawyer (whether prosecution or defence) was supposed to be working for- as he'd been marred by his own blind hatred.

Wright, however, was faithful, trusting. He believed in his clients, but more importantly, he understood what the truth was.

That was the clincher in Miles' victory. The fact that he had won, and they had unveiled the truth of Matt Engarde to everyone- allowing everyone to heal and move on, left Miles with the very sweet taste of satisfaction.

It tasted like champagne, as that was exactly what he was drinking in his room at the Gatewater Hotel.

It can be said that perhaps, I have been thinking too much. Wright has requested that I return to LA permanently several times. My house has since been sold. I had intended to return once we had finished what we had been working on- the revolution of the legal system- however as things are looking, my requirements abroad are lessening.

Perhaps I shall have to take my searches more seriously in the coming future.

Phoenix, you will be helping with the mortgage.

The rooms that had blue and red Xs were off limits. That left about five doors.

How had he found the library? It was what he was aiming to find when he entered. So, logically, to find what he was looking for...

The room Miles Edgeworth killed himself in. Just thinking the words caused a lump in his throat and he swallowed reflexively as a black door appeared.

That usually isn't a good sign. He pushed it open, finding himself turned into something out of... what film was it? Star something. Whatever it was, he was rather sure it was more Wright's thing than his.

There didn't appear to be anything else- but a door at the back.

He crossed over, opening the door and pointedly ignoring the sudden chill in favour of walking through the room.

What is that? It appeared that it was one of the sabers attached to his belt. Deactivated. He knelt down, examining it and activating his own (it glowed gree)- the light shedding colour in front of his eyes.

Blood. Dried. And another saber beside him. One covered in blood that left a smear to where it now sat.

But which delivered the killing blow? He pulled a glove on, picking up the blood covered saber first and pocketing it, making a note to show the Doctor later. He picked up the second one, pocketing it. Something was off here. Some questions were already forming in his head.

Was it a Phoenix? A killer? How did this truly play out?

You are not alone
For I am here with you
Though we're far apart
You are always in my heart...