Chapter Text
The sun was sinking fast, its last golden rays swallowed by the encroaching abyss of night. The horizon bruised into hues of violet and charcoal, and one by one, the streetlights flickered on dim halos of light humming softly, trying their best to push back the darkness. The low rumble of cars echoed through the streets, mingling with the distant bark of a dog and the occasional gust of wind that swept loose papers down the curb.
Eustace stood still, hand raised in a final, half-hearted wave as Verity’s car disappeared down the block. The taillights faded like embers, leaving him alone in the silence. He tilted his head upward, squinting at the murky night sky, searching for a star—just one, any point of hope to wish on. But none came. Of course not. The city's lights were far too bright, swallowing any glimmer of the cosmos before it had a chance to shine.
He sighed, a breath heavy with exhaustion and something close to defeat. The case was over. Everyone else had left hours ago, gone home to warm meals, hot showers, and silence that wasn’t filled with the noise in their heads.
Eustace stank of sweat, of grime, of whatever festering rot had been clinging to him throughout the day. His skin itched beneath his clothes, sticky with dried sweat and filth. His eyes burned, bloodshot and raw from hours of crying. Not the gentle, weeping kind but the violent, body-wracking sobs that left your throat raw and your chest hollow. He needed a shower. He needed sleep. He needed food. His stomach twisted, a gnawing ache echoing up into his ribs, and his throat was parched and sore, as if the words he’d forced out earlier had been sandpaper.
He needed to go home.
The thought made him shiver. Or maybe it was just the breeze, cool and sharp against his damp skin. His legs wobbled, trembling like jelly, and his blistered feet screamed at the idea of walking. He groaned, but the thought of getting into a car—any car—turned his stomach.
Not today.
Not after everything.
So he walked.
It wasn’t far, not really. Half a mile, maybe a little more. His father had made sure they lived close to the Bigg towering headquarters too close, Eustace now realized. In a car, it was an easy ride. He used to admire the trees, the clean sidewalks, and the wide park with its neat benches and winding paths. He used to think this city was beautiful. The best city in the world.
But now, all he could think about was how the shadows seemed darker than usual. How even with streetlights, the sidewalk barely felt lit. How every passing car made him flinch, his heart skipping a beat, ready to run. Every silhouette, every flicker of movement in his periphery, felt like a threat. Like one of his father’s men was there, hiding in plain sight, waiting for him. Waiting to shove him into a van. Or worse—for daring to turn his father in. For daring to speak.
He had never felt brave, not really. Maybe once, when he was five and still believed in heroes. But that memory had faded, and Eustace was pretty sure his father had punished the bravery right out of him. He had spent most of his life pretending, wearing masks of confidence that, in hindsight, had probably fooled no one.
Not really. Not when he’d trembled so easily. Not when he’d stammered every time his father had raised his voice.
The sting of that realization burned deeper than he expected. He was pathetic. He was sure of it. And that hurt more than he wanted to admit.
There had always been noise in his head loud, relentless static that made it hard to focus. Thoughts collided like bumper cars, chaotic and sharp, pulling him in too many directions at once. Music helped sometimes. The rhythm could calm him, bringing order to the clutter. Swinging his hand back and forth gave him a strange sense of control an anchor. But it never lasted long.
And in that closet crammed into darkness, breath shallow, body frozen he’d had to face it. The truth he’d always avoided. He wasn’t brave. He wasn’t strong. He was a terrified boy in a man’s body, heart pounding so loudly it drowned out everything else. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. His mind screamed but his voice wouldn’t follow.
But then through all the pitter pattering of his thoughts he heard it.
A voice.
Clear. Warm. Cheery. Bright.
And then another, rougher but familiar. Human.
Eustace banged on the door, body slamming with desperation against the wood. He couldn’t scream. But they heard him. Somehow, they heard him.
And that moment…
When Eustace had finally been rescued when Mile looked him in the eyes and spoke to him he had still been trembling, raw and terrified. Mile was kind, unbearably kind, and that was what unsettled him the most. Eustace had expected venom. A sneer. Some cruel jab about how pathetic he looked, how weak he was. He braced himself for spitting words or even literal spit, but Mile had only spoken with a calm, almost warm voice, one that made Eustace’s insides twist.
Mile hadn’t tried to use him. He hadn’t spoken to Eustace like a pawn or a victim or an inconvenience. Instead, he stood across from him, leveled their gazes, and asked him, gently, “What do you want to do, Eustace?”
Even then, Eustace felt afraid but in that fear, something new stirred. A fragile clarity, like the first breath after being underwater too long. The noise in his head didn’t disappear, but it changed it became his own voice, not his father’s, clanging and clashing with a thousand questions, trying desperately to make sense of the world again.
He ran.
He dug through alleyways, dumpsters, and the filth of secrets his father had tried to bury. The stench was overwhelming rotting food, mold, damp paper, ink-smudged documents but Eustace didn’t stop. He was terrified the police would stop him, question him, accuse him of tampering. But after hours of clawing through muck, he found it. Proof. The truth his father thought he could hide.
When Eustace burst through the courtroom doors, every head turned toward him. Eyes pierced him like spotlights, and the confidence he’d gathered on the way there drained from him in a flash. His father's eyes were on him cold, unreadable, and all too familiar.
Then his father's hand began to rise.
Eustace froze. The room around him faded as phantom memories rushed in. A thousand times that hand had come down on him, and each time it left invisible bruises far more painful than the physical ones. He braced himself expecting the blow, hearing it in his mind before it ever landed.
But it didn’t.
Instead, gasps filled the room. Disgust. Disbelief. It wasn’t Eustace they looked at with horror, but his father.
On the prosecutor's stand, Eustace shook like a leaf in a thunderstorm. He could barely breathe, his voice caught somewhere deep inside his throat. The words wouldn’t come. He felt like a traitor. Small. Broken.
Then a hand rested on his shoulder.
“I understand what it’s like,” Franziska said, voice sharp but not unkind, “to have a father who disrespects the law. Come, Eustace. Let this foolish man fall.” She stood there, whip at her side like always, but her tone lacked its usual sting.
Then there was Edgeworth awkward in his formality, but genuine. He placed a careful hand on Eustace’s other shoulder and met his eyes with a quiet nod.
“If you want,” he said, “we can do it together.”
And for the first time in what felt like his entire life, Eustace felt brave. Not invincible, but brave. The feeling didn’t last forever of course it didn’t but every time it faded, someone was there to lift him back up. And that? That was something Eustace had never experienced. It was dizzying. Beautiful.
When the others moved on to their next case, Eustace stayed behind. He wasn’t finished. There were still pieces of his father’s empire to dismantle threads to unravel, evidence to secure. He no longer hesitated. The thoughts still lingered, but now they echoed like a melody. And Eustace, with a baton in hand and a courtroom as his stage, found himself composing a rhythm all his own.
But all that bravery everything that had carried him through the day vanished the moment he stepped in front of his house.
He stood there, staring at the door. The light above the porch had long since burned out, leaving the entryway in shadows. He opened it slowly, the creak of the hinges louder than he remembered. Inside, it was dark. As dark as the closet he’d once been trapped in. The hallway was narrow, the walls too close, as if they were leaning in to whisper memories.
On the walls hung photographs his father’s proud hand on his shoulder during graduation, trophies, and newspaper clippings. All of them watched him like ghosts, like reminders of who he used to be and who he was supposed to become.
He tiptoed past the stairs, trying to steady his breath. His room waited at the end of the hall, but when he opened the door, he was greeted by shelf after shelf of gleaming trophies. They shimmered like teeth in the dark. He shut the door immediately and backed away. No sleep. Not in there.
A bath. That would help.
He stripped off his clothes, leaving only his gloves, and stepped into the bathroom. The mirror above the sink revealed everything he didn’t want to see. His lips were chapped and red, makeup smudged in streaks beneath his eyes. A few bruises dotted his ribs and legs, previously hidden beneath clothes and posture. His face was drawn, gaunt. Tired.
He wiped the ruined makeup from his cheeks and stared at the small burn mark near the corner of his jaw an old memory, but not old enough. Then, slowly, he looked down at his gloved hand. His breath hitched.
Shuddering, Eustace took a deep breath, then closed his eyes.
He focused on the music in his mind the one thread he could always follow and let it drown out everything else.
He hated this part.
The first glove came off with a slow tug, and the moment his skin was exposed to the air, it all came rushing back. He could still hear the screaming shards of cruel syllables stabbing at his memory like broken glass. “You idiotic sorry excuse for a fetus!” The shrieking had echoed against the walls, a sound so sharp he thought it had permanently etched itself into his bones. There had been crying too maybe his, maybe someone else's and the phantom sting of heat flickered against his arms, just as it had that night.
The second glove was slower. He peeled it back inch by inch, and with it came the familiar, syrupy voice. “I’m sorry, Eustace. Come here, I didn’t mean to hurt you, you just caught me at a bad time.” It had always sounded so sincere, so normal. He never knew how to tell the difference if his father had ever been good at all or if the kindness had always been a mask, a well-polished veneer over something rotten. Trying to untangle it all now only made his head spin.
He sank into the bath, the warmth of the water embracing his trembling hands. They vanished beneath the surface as he leaned back, eyes unfocused. His mind raced over the events of the day the courtroom, the testimonies, the images, and the pressure of so many eyes on him. And now what?
Was he supposed to return to this house to live here?
Pay the bills, sleep in his bed, and eat at that table like nothing had ever happened?
The idea made him sick. But he supposed he had to live with the consequences. All of this is his fault, right?
That was what he’d been taught. Every bruise, every scream, every time he hadn’t spoken up it was all his fault for being ignorant.
The water had turned cold without him noticing. His lips trembled, and the shivers set in. He needed to sleep. He stood up slowly, water dripping from his limbs as he realized, with a pang of annoyance and dread, that he’d forgotten his pajamas. He hadn’t even gone into his room yet.
Quietly, he padded through the dark hallway, the walls too narrow, too close. He refused to turn on the lights. The moonlight filtering in through the high windows was enough. He moved like a ghost through the corridor, guiding himself with faint memory and instinct. In his room, he fumbled through his clothes and settled for the plainest, scratchiest pair he could find. The finer ones felt like a lie like they belonged to someone better.
He dropped onto his bed, expecting rest, but it never came. The blanket was suffocating. The silence is too loud. Every time he shut his eyes, he felt the rocking of the car again, the sharp turns, and the bumps that had made his bruises worse. The sting of the ropes returned to his skin like a cruel afterimage. The tape, the burn, the way he had curled into himself just to survive it.
His eyes snapped open, hot with tears. He sniffled, trying to keep the sobs silent. His chest ached, clenching like it was being squeezed in a vise. He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t breathe. The house, the walls, the trophies on the shelves, the smiling pictures it was all a stage set for lies and crimes. A carefully crafted delusion.
Without another thought, Eustace shoved himself off the bed. He pulled on his shoes with shaking hands, grabbed his keys, and ran.
No taxi. No destination. Just his legs moving on instinct, cutting through the night. He didn’t know where he was going until he was already there, standing in front of the tall, unassuming building that felt more like a safe haven than his own home ever had. It wasn’t grand, not the kind of place that impressed, but it didn’t have to be. It was warm. Familiar. Comforting.
He swiped his keycard and stepped inside. His office greeted him in dim silence, the hum of the vending machine in the break room the only sound. He slumped onto the worn couch without bothering to change or even pull off his wet clothes. The cushions were lumpy and stiff, but it didn’t matter. It felt right, like a fitting bed for someone like him someone broken, someone undeserving.
He didn’t know how long he had slept. The haze of exhaustion was thick and heavy, pulling him into a dreamless, restless fog until a voice startled him awake.
“Oh, come on, Mrs. Edgeworth! I totally could’ve gotten us in through the window!” A voice, bright and energetic, maybe a little too loud for the setting, but Eustace was too groggy to place it. He blinked toward the door, still curled up on the couch like a child, feeling like the exhaustion had crawled into his very bones.
“And I’m saying no. It’s illegal, and we don’t need you charge for another crime one after the other.” That voice more than familiar, enough to make the hairs on the back of Eustace’s neck stand upright. Yet even so, Eustace couldn’t fully embrace the feeling of recognition. His tongue felt too heavy, the exhaustion too deep to name.
“Ugh, you’re so boring. What’s the point of being the great thief Yatagarasu if you can’t steal?”
The voice came again, sharper now, sulking and incredulous. Eustace’s heart spiked in response, sending a jolt of anxiety through his chest, but his body was too tired to move, too drained to even consider calling the police.
“Kay, not right now. Hmm, that’s odd.” A male voice followed, exasperated but gentle. Eustace could hear them just outside Eustace’s door now. The proximity made him gulp hard, breath catching in his throat.
“What’s wron? Oh hey! this says Eustace. Why is the light still on?” The girl’s voice was too loud, piercing through the quiet like an arrow, stabbing into Eustace’s aching head.
“That’s what I want to know,” The man replied. Then came a knock at the door. Eustace groaned under his breath and let out a soft, pitiful whimper. God, he was pathetic.
“Eustace, are you in there?” The voice he finally registered it. It was Miles.
“Uh… no,” he muttered, barely loud enough to be heard. Way to go, Eustace, he thought bitterly. Ten out of ten lie. You can’t even do that right. You’re an idiot.
“Is everything alright?” Edgeworth again. His voice was calm, but it made Eustace’s stomach twist. He swallowed hard. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He wanted to say yes. He wanted to fix everything with a single word. But he knew he’d mess it up. He didn’t respond.
There was whispering beyond the door hushed, urgent. A shushing sound followed.
“Can we come in?” Edgeworth asked gently. Eustace stood frozen. He wanted to say no truly, he did. But it was Edgeworth. Who was he to turn down Edgeworth after everything the man had done for him?
His body moved on its own, rising from the "bed" despite the soreness tugging at every muscle. He staggered toward the door, hand closing around the knob but then he stopped, eyes dropping to his hands. Shit. My gloves.
“Um, just a sec,” he said quickly, the words tumbling out as he spun away from the door and scrambled across the room. He had five spare pairs of gloves hidden in various spots, a habit left over from when he was younger and more forgetful.
He found one pair only for his heart to sink. The gloves were smeared with ink, the bottle somehow knocked over and dripping down the side of the desk. God, I fucking suck, he thought, lips trembling.
Steadying himself, Eustace drew in a breath. He straightened up, pulled on the gloves despite the stain, and forced on the most convincing smile he could manage: cool, prideful, a signature mask. He opened the door.
There, standing in the hallway, were a visibly tired Edgeworth and a surprisingly energetic Kay.
Eustace stepped aside, gesturing stiffly to let them in. Kay didn’t wait she strode into the room and immediately began looking around with wide, curious eyes.
“Wow, these are some nice trophies you got. Are they made of real gold?” She spoke with awe, crouching in front of one of the display shelves. Eustace winced. The trophies. He hadn’t realized how many were in here. He hadn’t even remembered putting that many up. Why did he have so many? And why hadn’t he thrown some of them out?
“Kay, don’t be rude,” Edgeworth said with a quiet authority, as if he were chastising a child.
“I wasn’t being rude! I was just—” She paused mid-sentence, her hands folding in front of her chest as her eyes scanned the room, searching for a word. “—making conversation,” she finished with a proud nod, as if that clarified everything.
She then leapt onto the couch, flopping down without hesitation. Edgeworth was already there, settling quietly into the cushions. She rested her head against a pillow, then, quite deliberately, placed her feet on Edgeworth’s lap. He glanced at her with a sharp glare but Kay didn’t waver.
“So, umm…” Eustace began, his voice barely above a murmur. His hands fumbled awkwardly in front of him, fingers twitching in search of something anything to hold. Panic began to rise. God, I left my baton at home, he thought. Without it, his usual outlet for nervous energy was gone. He felt unanchored, his mind scattering. How was he supposed to focus if he couldn’t fidget?
The silence stretched, heavy and awkward. Edgeworth, ever patient, stood there, composed and waiting. Eustace’s thoughts scrambled for something anything to say. “What brings you to the prostitute building?” he blurted out.
Kay suddenly snorted with laughter.
Eustace recoiled, heart lurching. “What—what? What are you laughing at? What did I say?”
“Ignore her,” Edgeworth said dryly, as Kay shook his shoulder violently. He looked vaguely annoyed as he nudged her off. “I believe the word you meant to say was ‘prosecutor,” he corrected gently.
Eustace’s face flushed hot. Fuck, he cursed inwardly. Of all the words to mix up, how had he managed that? It was one of the few he usually didn’t confuse.
“And we came to get Kay’s medicine,” Edgeworth continued calmly.
Eustace stood a little straighter at that, trying to appear more attentive, though his fingers still unconsciously picked at the skin around his nails. “Her medicine?” he repeated, trailing off.
“Yes. I believe you recall Kay was in an accident earlier this week,” Edgeworth explained.
Eustace blinked, startled. “Ah—right, of course. I—I remember that,” he said quickly, words tumbling out like stones.
Edgeworth gave a quiet hum. “The doctor prescribed her something for the pain, as well as something for her memory loss,” he added.
“Wait, is there such a thing?” Eustace asked, eyes wide with genuine surprise.
Kay grinned. “Yep! Not that I need it or anything,” she declared, bouncing on her heels. “I’m practically all better!” And with that, she launched into a sudden backflip, landing with ease and flair.
Eustace could only stare, mouth slightly open. Her recovery was… impressive.
Edgeworth, as unbothered as ever, adjusted his gloves. “Yes, regardless of how she feels, the doctor prescribed it to her for a full week and left me in charge of ensuring she takes it properly." He finished with a pointed stare, Kay deflated with a dramatic groan.
“Unfortunately, amid all the recent commotion, I left the medicine in my office and only realized it tonight when it was time for her next dose. So, we drove here to retrieve it,” he explained smoothly.
Kay beamed, clearly less ashamed. “We broke in,” she said proudly, turning to Eustace.
“Wh-what—what?! But that’s a… that’s a feline!” he sputtered, eyes wide with panic.
“I believe you meant felony,” Edgeworth corrected, sighing. “And don’t worry—we didn’t break in,” he added before either of them could dig the hole deeper.
“We should have, though,” Kay muttered, folding her arms and tugging her scarf over her mouth with a huff. “It would’ve been fun. I could’ve taught you some Yatagarasu tricks.”
“Yes, well, I have no need for such tactics,” Edgeworth said calmly, brushing nonexistent dust from his sleeve. “But if the time ever comes, I will be sure to call on you.”
Kay’s eyes sparkled. “Hehe, gee—I hope it comes soon,” she grinned, peeking back out from her scarf.
Eustace looked at the two of them with quiet wonder. The way they spoke to each other, so comfortably and sweetly. it felt… like home. Familiar, close. He suddenly felt like an intruder, a ghost hovering on the edges of a scene he didn’t belong in.
“May I ask why you’re here so late?” Edgeworth asked, turning to him.
Eustace startled. “Oh! Um, it’s nothing! Just, you know… going over the case, and, uh—” He scrambled to look busy, grabbing a stack of papers, trying to look professional. But in his haste, the file slipped from his hands and spilled across the floor in a chaotic flurry.
Kay immediately bent to help, scooping up the loose sheets as Eustace groaned, cheeks burning again.
“Uh… thanks,” he mumbled, hurrying to recover what little dignity he had left. He tried to appear confident again, even though the tips of his fingers were still trembling.
Kay paused, glancing from Eustace to Edgeworth. They exchanged a subtle look.
Then Edgeworth fixed Eustace with a knowing stare. “Eustace,” he said slowly, “I have reason to believe you may be lying to us.”
Eustace laughed too quickly, too loudly. “Wha—who, me? I—I have no idea what you mean!” he stammered, snatching the remaining papers and plopping down into a chair. He opened the file, pretending to read it. The words on the page might as well have been gibberish he couldn’t focus at all.
“He’s not going to tell us anything, is he?” Kay said with a sigh.
Eustace willed himself to be invisible. Maybe if he sat still long enough, they’d forget he was there.
Edgeworth crossed his arms, his voice low and deliberate. “Looks like I have no choice. I’ll have to use that.”
Eustace flinched. God, he hated when Edgeworth said that. Every time Edgeworth was cryptic, it was like watching a magician pull apart his entire soul. He braced himself, trying not to curl into a ball.
“You got this, Mr. Edgeworth!” Kay cheered, giving him a double thumbs-up.
Eustace whimpered.
Edgeworth crossed the room in composed, deliberate strides, his coat brushing faintly with each step. He sank into the chair across from Eustace’s desk, the leather groaning softly beneath his weight. Kay trailed behind him, playful as ever, and casually rested her elbow atop the chair’s backrest, chin in hand.
“Eustace,” Edgeworth began, voice steady but not unkind.
Eustace jolted like he'd been struck. “W-what? What are you still—shouldn’t you be off getting Kay’s medicine or—or something? Like a good dad?” he stammered, panicking, words tumbling out of him like debris in a storm.
“Pshh, I’m not his daughter,” Kay said with a casual wave, then paused, her fingers curling around her chin with a mischievous glint. “Not yet, anyway.”
Eustace blinked. That caught him off guard. Not his daughter?
But the way they bantered, the way they moved together like a unit it had to be familial, didn’t it?
Yet maybe that was the thing. Maybe it was too warm, too easy. It didn’t feel like family. It felt... pleasant. Like something he didn’t understand.
“Oh. Well. Whatever,” he mumbled, fumbling with the corner of a case file, trying to look busy. “L-look, I’ve got a lot of work to do. Real important stuff. For the case.”
Edgeworth’s arms folded neatly, posture impeccable eerily reminiscent of a stern teacher about to reprimand a student. “For your father’s case, correct?”
Eustace flinched. “Y-yeah. That’s right. My p-p—” He faltered, the word catching in his throat like a bone. He couldn't say it. Couldn’t force the syllables out. “For... his case,” he whispered instead.
Edgeworth hummed, not unsympathetically. “I think you’re avoiding that word on purpose,” he said gently. “It’s a hard one to say right now. And frankly, I find it difficult to believe you’ve managed to review much of anything at all.”
Eustace’s voice wavered. “I... haven’t really gotten started, to be honest. I kind of... dozed off when I got here.”
Edgeworth gave a small nod, quiet, calculating. “Sounds like you had trouble sleeping.”
“Yeah, well, not all of us are built for the night like me” Kay added, beaming proudly as she rubbed her nose.
“I did try to sleep at home,” Eustace rushed to explain, the shame thick in his voice. He twisted in his chair, feeling exposed. Edgeworth didn’t press further just waited, patient and quiet. It was unnerving.
“I only got a few minutes in. Couldn’t stand being there. So I came here. Thought I could get something done,” he said, shrinking further into himself.
“I see,” Edgeworth said at last, his voice softening. “And then you fell asleep here instead.”
Eustace nodded, eyes downcast. “Y–yeah. That’s right.”
“Were you planning on sleeping here again after you finished working?” Edgeworth asked.
Eustace hesitated. “I... well... I guess...”
“And tomorrow? Would you sleep here again?”
The question sat heavy in the air, and the idea of going home the house, the silence, the tension made Eustace visibly tremble. Tears slipped down his cheek before he could stop them. His breath hitched. Kay straightened, her smug grin fading into something more somber. Edgeworth’s gaze held a quiet sort of pity that made Eustace feel worse.
It wasn’t fair. Why were they kind to him?
After everything?
After he’d nearly had one of them arrested, after he’d screwed everything up? He shouldn’t have been here. He was a disaster.
“I... I don’t know,” Eustace murmured. “Maybe. I’ll figure it out, I guess. Maybe I’ll get over it. Maybe I’ll stop being such a—an idiom .” He winced at the word, biting it back, but it tumbled out anyway. “IDIOT!” he shouted to correct his mistake.
“I meant idiot, A goddamn idiot. God, why am I such a...” His voice cracked as his stomach growled audibly. He wanted to disappear, to phase through the floor and vanish into the dark beneath the building. It would be easier. It would be quieter.
But then Edgeworth reached forward.
He cupped Eustace’s hand gently, like he was holding something fragile, something worth keeping.
“What happened to you,” Edgeworth said, his voice low, “was traumatizing. You have every right to not want to be in that house.”
“Yeah!” Kay added, fiery again. “You’re not the idiot here. If anyone’s the idiot, it’s your dad. When I see him, I’m gonna give that man a piece of my mind!”
“He’s in a jail cell and currently not accepting visitors,” Edgeworth replied calmly, unfazed.
“Then I’ll break in and yell at him through the bars!” Kay said with full conviction.
“That’s a crime.”
Eustace burst into laughter sudden, sputtering, almost hysterical. It cracked into a sob halfway through, high-pitched and broken. His shoulders shook as he bent over, hands curled in his lap. The tears spilled freely now.
“I don’t know where else to go,” Eustace admitted quietly, his voice barely audible. His fingers twisted together in his lap, his eyes avoiding both of them. He tried to think about Verity tried to picture her face, her warmth but something twisted in his chest, ugly and sharp. He couldn’t see her the same way anymore. She had a child. She was stressed. She had manipulated him.
Could he trust her?
Of course he could. But... he couldn’t. Not right now.
“Then come stay with me,” Edgeworth offered, gentle but firm. The words landed like a slap.
Eustace’s eyes snapped wide. “What? I—Mr. Edgeworth, I couldn’t possibly enter your—your homicidal abode!”
“…Humble abode,” Edgeworth corrected with a sigh.
“It’s not that humble,” Kay piped in cheerfully, rubbing her hands together. “It’s actually pretty big. Big enough for, say, a secret passageway…”
“You’re not building a secret passageway in my house,” Edgworth muttered.
“Hehe.That’s what you think. It’s a secret passageway,” Kay grinned mischievously.
Edgworth rolled his eyes but turned back to Eustace with that same calm, understanding look. “There’s more than enough room. You can stay as long as you need.”
“I—but—I can’t, it’s just…” Eustace stammered, trying to find a way to politely refuse. But before he could even form a proper excuse, Edgworth cut him off gently.
“If you want to become a better prosecutor, Eustace… you’ll need to sleep. You’ll need to function. And you can’t do that here, not like this.”
Eustace’s breath caught in his throat.
“And,” Edgworth added, voice softening more, “I promised I’d train you, didn’t I? It would be far easier if we lived under the same roof.”
Eustace blinked at him, stunned. “Are… are you sure?”
“Yep! Absolutely,” Kay answered for Edgworth. “He wouldn’t say something unless he really meant it.”
Eustace stared at them this strange, mismatched duo who somehow made him feel safer than he had in days. He swallowed hard. “…Okay.”
Edgeworth smiled at that, small but genuine. “Good. Just let me get Kay’s medicine and then we can—”
“Already got it!” Kay interrupted brightly, holding up a small bottle. “So we can leave right now!”
Edgeworth blinked in surprise. “You… already have it? When did you get that?”
Kay laughed. “Okay, don’t be mad, but… I always had it. I just pretended to lose it so I wouldn’t have to take it.”
“Kay, you need to take that medicine,” Edgworth scolded gently, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.
They bickered as they walked ahead, Edgworth adjusting his coat and Kay skipping alongside him. Eustace followed slowly, watching them like they were something out of a story too bright, too safe.
The car was parked outside. Sleek. Cold. Polished.
He stopped in front of it and stared, frozen. His stomach twisted. The night air pressed down on him. The car door gleamed in the streetlight, and suddenly he was back there—back in that endless moment. The road. The smell of gasoline. The silence. No one was going to save him.
He was going to be trapped again.
“Eustace?” Kay’s voice pulled him back. She had come around to his side and was looking at him, concern in her eyes.
He flinched. “Huh? Um… s-sorry. Right. I’ll get in,” he mumbled.
He climbed into the car stiffly, gripping the seatbelt with trembling fingers. He fumbled with it, latched it in, then shut his eyes only to find the darkness worse. The car hadn’t even moved yet, and already he felt like he was vibrating, like he might come apart.
Outside, Edgworth and Kay were whispering quiet voices, too quiet. His heart pounded. What were they saying?
Was this a mistake?
Were they imposters?
Was he about to disappear?
Then a sound snapped him out of it Kay’s voice, loud and playful.
“OOOOOoooh! Gotcha!” she shouted, rushing to the back seat and diving in beside him.
Edgeworth got into the driver’s seat with a soft exhale and a muttered comment about restraint.
The car door clicked shut.
They were going.
And, somehow, he wasn’t in the back of a trunk.
The engine purred to life, low and smooth beneath them. Eustace flinched anyway, tense from the sound alone. His hands clutched his coat sleeves, eyes flicking toward the window as dark scenery blurred past.
Edgeworth glanced at him briefly, his voice calm. “Do you have any songs you’d like to hear?”
“Um…” Eustace swallowed, his voice barely audible. “Classical. Please.”
He didn’t know why he said it maybe because it reminded him of the academy halls or the sterile quiet of the courtroom but classical music felt like structure, like control. Something to anchor him.
Edgeworth nodded and tapped at the screen. Soothing notes swelled into the cabin a piano gently playing, followed by strings and for a moment, Eustace tried to focus on it. But the notes seemed far away, like they were drifting through water.
The car moved too fast.
The streetlights flashed overhead like blinding stars. Then they were swallowed by a tunnel, and the world outside became nothing but thick blackness pressing in on all sides. It was worse than he'd imagined more suffocating, more endless. His hands trembled in his lap. The motion of the car felt wrong, too smooth, too controlledjust like that night.
The night in the trunk.
The silence. The hum of tires. The cold metal pressing into his back. The inability to scream.
He tried to breathe but the air tasted like stale tape and panic.
Something touched his hand.
He jerked violently, a small gasp escaping him.
“Relax,” Kay said gently, eyebrows raised in surprise. “It’s just me, Eustace.”
Her fingers wrapped around his, warm and steady. She smiled as if nothing was wrong, as if they weren’t passing through a tunnel of shadows and memory.
“Jeez, you sure are jumpy,” she said, nudging him lightly. “But don’t worry. The great Kay is here to steal that fear away.”
He blinked at her, dazed. “What… what does that even mean?”
Kay tilted her head, still beaming. “It means you don’t have to be afraid anymore. I was trying to be poetic, like—‘I’ll take your fear away,’ you know?”
“Yes, but… what does that have to do with steel?” he asked, the confusion in his voice genuine.
She shrugged playfully. “It has everything to do with it, obviously. I’m taking it away. Like a thief in the night!”
He gave her a tired look, eyebrows drawing together. “Oh wait, you meant that kind of steal. I thought you meant…” He trailed off, heat rushing to his cheeks. He was so stupid. Why did he always sound so stupid?
Kay leaned closer, peering into his face. “What else would I mean?”
“Never mind. Ignore me. I’m just… being dumb.”
Kay’s expression softened. “Hey, I don’t think that’s dumb. Everyone messes things up sometimes.” She squeezed his hand. “You’re doing your best. That’s not stupid.”
Eustace didn’t reply. His eyes drifted to the window again. The tunnel had fallen away, replaced by lamplight and familiar roads, the music still weaving softly in the background. He hadn’t even noticed the moment the darkness ended.
Kay's hand was still holding his tight, warm, real. It grounded him, his body relaxed, breath finally steady. Her hand didn’t leave his. Eventually, the warmth of it, the rhythm of the music, and the soft murmur of Kay and Edgeworth speaking in low voices lulled him into sleep.
When he awoke, it was with a grunt.
“Kay, you should let me carry him,” Edgeworth muttered from somewhere above.
“No worries, Edgeworth, I got him!” Kay’s voice replied, strained but full of pride. “I’m, like, really strong. I’ve carried heavier stuff before. Including gold bars, I got this.”
Eustace stirred groggily, blinking open his eyes as Kay adjusted her grip on him.
“Whoa, he’s awake,” she said, nearly dropping him. He slid to the ground, legs wobbling like jelly.
“I think he’s mostly asleep,” Edgeworth remarked, stepping forward to steady him. “Come on, this way.”
Eustace barely processed what was happening. Edgeworth’s hands were gentle but firm, guiding him through a quiet, well-lit house. The air smelled like paper and tea, like a place where nothing terrible could happen.
They led him into a guest room—mostly bare, but warm. A bed with thick blankets. A clean wooden desk. A lamp that gave off a soft yellow glow. It was plain, but it felt… safe.
Edgeworth guided him onto the bed, setting the blanket over his body with surprising care. Eustace let his eyes flutter shut, then forced them open again, throat tight.
“…Can the lights stay on?” he whispered.
There was a pause. Then a quiet hum from Edgeworth. “Of course.”
“And the door…?”
Another pause. “Yes. The door, too.”
Eustace nodded once, just barely. He let himself lie back fully now, pulling the blanket closer. It was soft he didn’t feel like he deserved it, but it was soft all the same. Comforting.
Outside the room, he could hear Edgeworth’s voice, quiet and precise, murmuring to Kay. They were bickering again. Something about bedtime and medicine, if he had to guess. He couldn’t hear the words clearly, but it didn’t matter. The sound was nice.
Background noise. Familiar.
The kind of sound a home might have.
He wasn’t sure he was brave. He still felt small, his fears wrapped around him like shadows. But here, in this moment, with Kay’s handprint still warm in his palm and Edgeworth’s silhouette framed by the hallway light…
He didn’t feel quite so scared either.
Maybe Kay really had stolen the fear, just a little.
His eyes finally drifted shut.