Miles blinks.
When he opens his eyes again, the sight is the same.
He blinks once more.
Nothing changed.
He pinches the bridge of his nose tightly.
“Wright. What.”
“I also would very much like to know.” The yellow mongoose in front of him answers.
---------------------------------------
This is a situation bothersome on an unprecedented level.
Thankfully, Phoenix is small enough Miles can carry him around on his shoulders. The prosecutor has always, does, and will always despise fur scarves – and unfortunately that is exactly what Phoenix looks like. But that is only a minor inconvenience when compared to literally everything else.
Namely, the fact that somehow Phoenix managed to get himself turned into a mongoose, in case that isn’t clear already.
“I’m not very sure what happened.” He says, and Miles winces. He will never get used to the man – the mongoose? – talking directly in his ear. “I mean, one moment I was leaving the crime scene, the next I was like this. And a few seconds later you found me.”
“That is an extremely inconclusive testimony.”
Even if he physically can not, Miles knows Phoenix is rolling his eyes.
“Yes, yes, but give me a break, will you? It’s not like I know much more than you do.”
“You should. You have much more experience with the supernatural than-”
Before he can finish his sentence Phoenix is screeching in his ear. He flinches away and almost lets the animal fall. The attorney instinctively digs his nails on Miles’s shoulder, but otherwise doesn't seem the slightest bit fazed, instead staring at nothing with a contemplative look.
For what must be the thousandth time he curses Phoenix’s habit of letting out a loud exclamation whenever he realizes something.
“That’s it! Someone who knows more about these things!”
He turns to Miles with the most determined expression a mongoose can possibly muster.
“We have to talk to Maya.”
---------------------------------------
“Gosh, Nick, you’re adorable!”
She is holding him with both hands and twirling around, his small body hanging limply. When she stops, he retches over the stone pathway, and Miles winces in sympathy.
“Uh- thank you, M-Maya.” He wheezes. “Now if you could please put me on the ground and we can talk like normal human beings I would be very appreciative.”
Maya turns to him, and Miles tilts his head in confusion.
She fans her eyes between him and Phoenix a couple times.
“What’d he say?”
She can’t hear him?
“You can’t hear him?”
“Nah. To me it’s just squeaking and shrieking. So, what did he say?”
Interesting.
“He said something about setting him on the floor so we can ‘talk like normal human beings’.” He puts air quotes around the last part, only to make sure Maya knows those were Phoenix’s exact words.
Her expression morphes to indignation and she brings him close, staring directly into his beady eyes.
“You can’t speak about ‘talk like normal human beings’, Nick. You’re a meerkat.”
“A mongoose, actually.” Miles corrects. “Now, Miss Fey, please, if you could help us.”
“Fine.” Phoenix is suddenly dropped to the ground, and he voices a surprised yelp. “But I am going to make fun of you for the rest of your life.” She says to the annoyed animal at her feet.
“Yeah, yeah, got it.”
A glance is thrown at Miles, and he parrots the sentence.
Phoenix climbs back to his position above the prosecutor’s shoulders, whispering an apology for his sharp claws, and Miles follows Maya’s happy sauntering into the old library.
Inside, the air is dusty and stale; Miles immediately knows no one has been in here in a very long time. The space is small, old bookshelves that seem to be falling to pieces lining every wall and creating small, narrow corridors.
It is extremely claustrophobic, and he wants to turn around and run.
“Hmmmm, no, no, not this either…” Maya murmurs, skimming the volumes and tomes, running a feather-light touch over their spines. Miles is afraid she’ll pull out a book and it will instantly turn to dust.
Phoenix sneezes adorably beside him, and before he can think clearly, the prosecutor brings a hand up to pet his head in comfort. His partner nuzzles on his palm, the continuous sneezing stopping near-immediately.
“Here!” The medium suddenly exclaims, unlodging – with some struggle – a thick volume in linen, patting grime off the cover.
They head to a small table located near the entryway and she drops the tome over it. The booming noise makes Miles recoil, but he quickly recomposes himself and approaches the woman, who is perusing what appears to be a glossary, a furrow of concentration forming between her eyebrows.
She produces a low ‘aha!’ and flips to the middle of the book, scanning over a few pages until halting on one with various animals and people drawn.
“This is it. ‘Parcial animal transformation’. Whatever happened to Nick should be here.”
Miles leans over her shoulder to be able to read the tiny words, feeling Phoenix stretching his neck to mirror the motion.
Silent mutters fill the air while Maya reads through what must be a description of the spell, and her eyes suddenly go wide. The book is abruptly slammed closed, causing Miles to flinch back and Phoenix to almost slip from his shoulder, and she faces them with a nervous smile.
Miles doesn’t even know what’s happening yet and he already feels the growing need to rip his hair out.
“Spit it out.”
An anxious, high-pitched chuckle that never bids well. “So, good news: the spell can be reversed and it's actually very easy.” Good. “Bad news: the person to undo it has to be from the same bloodline of the one who did it in the first place.”
Predictably, Miles wanted to hit his head against the nearest wall.
“What you’re saying is that we will have to find who did this.”
Maya nods. “Yeah.”
From his side, Phoenix finally speaks up. What he says perfectly encapsulates Miles’s feelings.
“Oh fuck.”
---------------------------------------
“I am very, very sorry Sir.” Gumshoe whispers with his head hung low. “Wright’s disappearance must feel terrible for you. I know you like him very much-”
Phoenix snickers in his ear, Miles willing away a blush.
He wraps one hand around Phoenix’s cylindrical body, under his little arms, and presents him to Gumshoe like a piece of evidence.
“Hi.” Phoenix says.
“He’s right here.” Miles says.
Gumshoe’s sorrowful look is switched by one of puzzlement as he glances between Miles’s grey eyes and Phoenix’s orange ones, before his gaze changes yet again, this time to that of deeply-seated concern.
“Sir, I understand this must be difficult for you, but you can’t deny what happened and believe this animal, as cute as it is, is him-”
Miles glares. “That is quite enough, Detective. I am here to review the crime scene, not to engage in your meaningless drivel and frankly irritating platitudes.”
Gumshoe’s mouth falls shut with a mechanical ‘yes, sir’, and soon after he is escorting them to the yellow tapes.
“I think you were kinda hard on him.” Phoenix pipes up.
“He was being annoying.”
“And now you sound like a child.”
“Do shut up.”
Phoenix barks a laugh – as much as a mongoose can bark, anyway – and their collective attention is redirected to the site.
---------------------------------------
It isn't as gruesome as what they’re used to. The body has been already removed, and there's no blood in sight. The glowing grey of the shopping’s walls is pristine; the scene, surprisingly organized.
There is a chalk outline of where the corpse has been found, an overturned bucket and a big, half-dried splash of water. It is believed Mrs. Centi, the owner of the store, took the full bucket left there by a janitor and struck the victim in the head, causing his neck to break, as corroborated by the handle containing only hers and the janitor’s fingerprints.
The lifeless man was found at eleven p.m, as a security guard went to close the strangely still open shop. He called the police, and as the officers filtered in, they closed the store and scoured for witnesses, making the arrest soon after.
After a thorough investigation, Miles begins to feel frustration tugging at his mind. There isn't any new evidence left to uncover, nor any noticeably mistaken interpretation by the police force. Everything is right as it is. The only contradiction is with Centi’s testimony; allegedly, at the time, she was searching the mall for cleaning supplies, as she was meticulous with her belongings and liked to clean them herself.
Unfortunately, there is no evidence to support her claims.
Maybe Miles could prosecute the mall’s owners too; it is frankly a public safety issue to have a commercial center this big and not one single security camera around.
He casts a last, hopeless glance around, expecting to return to his office with empty hands, and – to his surprise – notices an odd thing in said shop.
“Found something?” Phoenix inquires curiously, stretching to get a better view.
“I believe so.”
Miles crouches near its entrance. The gate isn't closed all the way.
“Phoenix.” The mongoose hums. “When the crime happened, they hadn't closed this yet, correct? They only did so after finding the body.”
“Yeah. If my memory isn't that of an old man so far, that seems right.”
He addresses the few officers still around.
“Open this gate.”
They do as demanded, revealing a considerably deep hole. The shopping mall is old, and the structure still uses openings in the ground as locking mechanisms; there's something shining in the bottom, the object forbidding the barrier from descending all the way.
“Ooooooh.” Phoenix drags. “There's something in there.”
“Yes, but-” Miles experimentally sticks a finger in, and it comes back horribly dirty. He looks at it in disgust, using his other hand to fetch a handkerchief and thoroughly clean it. “I refuse to attempt to reach there.”
Before he can process what's happening Phoenix leaps from his shoulder and shimmies into the hole.
“Phoenix-!” That idiot-
Two, maybe three seconds later he is retreating back up, struggling to pass the mysterious object through the small aperture, and then he is on his hind legs in front of Miles, absolutely drenched in grease and grime, holding a gun half his size between small paws.
To say that Miles is stunned is an understatement.
“Officer!”
---------------------------------------
Miles is back home for a couple hours, just so he can give Phoenix a proper bath. He refuses to walk around with a downright filthy animal slung over his shoulders.
The mongoose wasn't a big fan of the treatment. He is surprisingly slippery, even more while coated in soap.
But, still, Miles managed to get him sufficiently unsoiled for his tastes.
“‘M tired.” The attorney mumbles, now adequately cleansed.
Miles scoffs. “Of course you are. You were worse than a cat. All your energy must've been spent trying to run from the bath.”
“Mmmmmm.” Phoenix ignores his statement in favor of hopping over the prosecutor’s folded pajamas and curling into a ball.
Half of Miles itched to take him out of there. The other half found it a sight too adorable to disturb.
Instead, he settles by his side with a book in hand, the other palm scratching softly through Phoenix's coat, feeling his small body slowly rising and falling.
---------------------------------------
“That was useless.”
Phoenix turns to him from his place above Miles’s mahogany desk, and he would be frowning if he could.
“Don’t say that. We know everyone that was there when the crime happened, and we know for sure my client is innocent.”
The prosecutor has his face buried in his hands. It is hard to admit it even to himself, but he’s more worried about Phoenix than about the case. They’ve been at this the whole day, and even if they have the crime almost figured out after the reveal of the gun, there is not one mere clue as to who cast this curse over the attorney.
“Yes. Yes, you’re right.”
Phoenix leaves the desk to hop on Miles’s lap, balancing himself on his hind legs and taking Miles’s palms in his – or, at least, trying to. His tiny hands are barely big enough to wrap around the man’s thumbs, and he can’t quite contain a smile at that.
“Hey. There’s something else bothering you, I can tell.” He pressed. “Talk to me.”
That man really is something else. He is literally cursed to be a mongoose and, still, Miles’s well-being is his top priority.
“I am worried about you.” He confesses. It is surprisingly easy to.
Phoenix has this inherently comforting quality to himself, that puts one at ease enough to spill all their problems.
“We’ve got the case almost closed, and still not even a vague idea of who could have done this to you.”
“Oh.” Phoenix says, simply, as his face goes unreadable for a second – and Miles wants to laugh, because who would tell one day he would end up so deeply tangled with a defense attorney he’d be able to read his expression even in this absurd situation. “I think- I think we’ve got this from the wrong angle.”
He lets go of Miles’s thumbs and leaps over the table again, standing up so they are eye-level, gesticulating as best as he can.
“We’re too focused on who did this to me. But this doesn’t feel right. We have to turn our thinking around.”
The certified Mia Fey tactic, so used by Phoenix. Of course he would bring it up.
‘Turn your thinking around’, huh?
Miles has used it a few times before, primarily when he was in Europe, away from his favorite buffoon, and there was no one else to apply it. It didn’t even cross his mind to utilize the technique – if it could be called that – now.
Maybe… He can give it a try.
Yes, they are trying to find who did this to Phoenix. Perhaps, the first step to getting there, is to stop focusing on seeking incriminating evidence like they’ve been doing all this time. So, what could they do instead?
He could ask himself why someone would cast a spell on him.
Get your facts straight.
First, it happened as Phoenix was leaving the crime scene.
Second, no one but Miles can understand him.
Third, only a person from the culprit's bloodline can reverse the curse.
One thing is sure; whoever did this wasn’t intending to let Phoenix do his job as a defense attorney at all.
This person didn’t want Mrs. Centi to have a proper defense, and it was urgent enough they would go through this whole affair only to ensure Phoenix was out of the picture.
All that so Mrs. Centi would, by consequence, have more chances of being falsely imprisoned, thus allowing for the real culprit to roam freely.
Therefore, they are either the murderer themselves, or someone that wishes to protect the true criminal.
An idea popped up in Miles’s mind.
“Phoenix.”
The mongoose looks up at him.
“Where was that janitor, actually?”
They paid a quick visit to the janitor’s house, but found only a cluttered mess and his girlfriend there.
A young woman, conventionally attractive and very sweet-looking. She receives them with a smile and complies with their every request.
It is so nice to talk with a reasonable witness for once.
“So, Ms. McClary-”
“Oh, you can just call me Clarice.”
Miles narrows his eyes for a brief moment. After so many witnesses asking for their first names to be used as an attempt at flirting, he turned distrustful – especially since he can physically feel Phoenix’s orange gaze boring holes through his skull. But, as he stares deeply inside her eyes, he can’t detect a hint of deception, only warm hospitality.
His frown smooths.
“So be it, Clarice. Now, do you happen to have noticed your partner behaving in any way that might seem… Odd?”
She turns her gaze up the ceiling, a manicured nail tapping repeatedly on the couch’s arm.
“Well, he was okay until yesterday. But when he came back from work he was all jumpy and twitchy. And wet, for some reason.” After a pause, she adds. “He just took a quick bath, stuffed the clothes he was wearing into a trash bag and left. Hasn’t come back since, though he said he had a work emergency.”
“Hah. Yeah, ‘work emergency’.” Phoenix scoffs, half-amused and half-bitter. Miles has to restrain himself from answering. Talking with an animal would not bode well and the last thing he needs right now is for his credibility to go down the drain.
A bit of concern shone through her face, and in what was an extremely uncharacteristic urge for him, he wanted to reach out and comfort her.
“I see. Around what time did he return home?”
“I’m not sure. I was very tired, so I don’t remember very well. Eleven, maybe midnight?”
Very curious.
Phoenix suddenly pipes up from his shoulder, whispering in a small voice despite the fact the woman wouldn’t be able to understand him either way.
“Ask her if he was being weird before or during work. I have a theory.”
Sometimes Miles had the impression they could communicate via osmosis, because at the suggestion, loose dots in his mind abruptly connect and a hypothesis that is surely the same as Phoenix’s forms itself.
“And what of before he left or during the expedient?”
She nibbled on her nails, ruining the perfect manicure and leaving cracks in the pink nail polish. Miles has to suppress the impulse to pull away her hand.
“Before there was nothing. During, he just texted me once to complain he had forgotten his gloves again.”
Bingo.
“Thank you, Miss. Your cooperation is very much appreciated."
---------------------------------------
They hunted down Mr. Jasmine – leaving Phoenix’s predator instincts very pleased – and succeeded beautifully in obtaining relevant information.
He was a young man, not older than twenty-five, working a part-time job to pay for his cat’s emergency veterinary bills. He didn’t strike Miles as someone who would kill; not intentionally at least, if his conjectures were correct.
“Mr. Jasmine, did you happen to touch a gun on the day of the crime?”
The man is clearly quivering, fidgeting with his hands and avoiding Miles’s gaze like the plague. Rather, he is intensely staring at Phoenix’s eyes.
“N-no. I did not. Why are you even asking me that? What makes you believe I-”
Miles, already used to difficult witnesses, senses the incoming rambling and cuts him off.
“The forensics department found your fingerprints on the gun. Don’t try to lie.”
He makes a sound that can only be described as a squeak. It can rival the ones Phoenix is producing in his current condition.
“N-no! You can’t! I’m a janitor, I have to wear g-gloves all the ti-time!”
“Please, then how were recent prints matching yours also found on the bucket’s handle and on the broom? Did you happen to take the gloves off specifically for handling those objects?” Miles resists the urge to scowl. The poor guy is already scared enough. “Besides, your girlfriend told us you sent her a message complaining you lost your gloves during work.”
He makes for the doorway, and is paralyzed as he notices the broad form of Gumshoe blocking the way. Phoenix weakly tightens his hold on him, signaling this is the moment to go for the kill.
“Mr. Jasmine. Could you please explain us- me why the gun found at the crime scene had your fingerprints?”
He dry-swallows once, wild pupils finally locking with Miles's.
“Fine! I will tell you everything! Just- just don’t tell mom. Please.”
Miles relaxes. This is a good man. He had suspected that, confronted with even only a hint that his wrongdoings had been uncovered, it would be sufficient for him to break.
Jasmine was leaving his expedient when he stumbled upon a man trying to rob the open store, and the robber, noticing him, panicked. In his haste, the attacker fumbled with his gun, and that opened a window of time wide enough for Jasmine to knock him out with a full-of-water bucket.
The criminal fell to the ground and Jasmine grabbed the pistol, thinking he’d need to use it to further protect himself. As the janitor panickedly realized the man would not be waking up, he threw it to some random location and ran out of the site.
The death was completely accidental; the bucket only caused a mild concussion, as revealed by the autopsy report. The real cause of death was the position the robber fell in, which caused his neck to snap.
Miles honestly feels sorry for the poor man. He is more jittery than a scared rabbit, and just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.
He puts on a mental reminder to pay the cat’s bills after this whole debacle is over.
“Poor guy.” The attorney says. “I wish I could defend him. He deserves it, y’know. He was just scared and acted on his instincts, it wasn’t his fault.”
“Well, we can get him a self-defense plea. I think the evidence is substantial enough to prove his actions were both legal and he didn’t carry any intent to kill.”
“Yeah. I hope so.”
Anyway, what’s actually important is the fact that Maya quickly recognized ‘Jasmine’ as the surname of another medium bloodline. The boy was clearly oblivious, but his mother – an imposing middle-aged woman who they visited in the search for suspects of transforming Phoenix – seemed like the kind of person that would do anything to protect her son.
Miles would usually commend that, however, the act of ‘protecting your family’ doesn’t typically stray into obstruction of justice.
And turning someone he cares for into an animal. That is also somewhat worthy of note.
---------------------------------------
That was how he ended up on the outside of a florist’s shop in plain Thursday with a mongoose around his shoulders.
“Do you really think we should do this now?”
Miles steps inside, hearing the jingle of a small bell over the door.
“Of course yes, Phoenix. I can tell you’re uncomfortable. We need to have you back as soon as we can.”
He shifted tersely. “Yeah, but I don’t think she’ll let go so easily.”
Miles also thought so, but they had to try.
Quickly, he located the woman behind a counter, watering a couple white lilies. In an instant he was near her, unconsciously applying his technique of looming ominously over other people that he practiced and perfected through years of dealing with uncooperative witnesses and lazy investigators.
A polite cough, and she turned to face him, not showing a sign of surprise. Her eyes met Phoenix’s, face hardening at the sight.
“Excuse me, Lady, but I believe we have some urgent matters to discuss.”
She glared at him and he had to restrain himself not to return the action.
“I don’t believe we have, son.”
Miles ignored the clear dismissal.
“In actuality, I was intending to ask you to please turn my partner here back.” He caresses Phoenix between the ears, feeling him lean into the motion.
An almost-imperceptible widening of the eyes is everything he gets to signal she was caught off-guard. Being this blunt did commonly earn that species of reaction.
“Fine. I’m not dumb, I’m aware I can’t fool you. So I have no doubts you know why I did that, and I am not backing down until I’m sure my son is safe.”
“Miss, your son killed accidentally. In the worst hypothetical he’ll get off with a measly hundred hours of community service for fleeing the scene.”
She narrows her eyes at him, and that is something Miles lets himself reciprocate.
“Can you show me proof? I don’t believe you lawyer types so easily.”
Miles grits his teeth and wordlessly turns around. He makes sure to slam the door exceptionally hard just to break the damn bell. It is petty, but the sound of metal cracking and bending makes him feel better.
“Told ya.” Phoenix speaks.
---------------------------------------
“Hey, Miles, relax.”
I should be telling you that. How are you not panicking?
Miles was laying on his bed – maybe thrown would be a more accurate description.
After a day so utterly frustrating he didn't have any qualms over sinking to the ears in the comfortable mattress. Phoenix has been trying to console him since their attempt at talking to the witch blew on their faces.
“Really. It's fine. We'll fix this tomorrow, I’m sure.”
In the darkness, the prosecutor found Phoenix's shining eyes, gleaming under the nightlight with the ethereal glow of any mammal’s pupils when light was directed to their faces.
“I… I don't know.” Miles was too tired to hold his facade. Unbidden, his worries began to spill. “What if we can’t prove it was self-defense? What if she doesn't accept? What if you stay like this forever?”
He sees the glowing orbs move as he climbs over Miles's chest, staring directly into his irises. “We will. I trust in our capabilities.”
“How can you be so faithful?”
Phoenix smiles, as much as he can anyway.
“Because it's us, and I’ll never stop believing in us.”
That’s… Unbearably corny. But so, so utterly Phoenix that Miles can’t help but feel reassured. It's still Phoenix inside that little pea-sized brain, after all.
With a small smile, he asks.
“And what if we don’t?”
Miles can envision his grin as he responds.
“Then I’ll be Miles Edgeworth’s fancy pet. It can’t be that bad of a life, can it?”
The prosecutor produces an undignified snort, and is rewarded with a couple snickers from his companion.
Just a few moments later he is deeply asleep, Phoenix curled over his chest, a protective hand splayed over his soft fur.
---------------------------------------
The next day, Miles is back at the florist’s shop.
Phoenix’s client had been let off the hook. Jasmine – the boy – was found guilty on the charge of accidental killing, and with the self-defense plea he got away with merely a hefty fine to compensate for attempting to evade the law.
And even if things didn't progress as they did, Miles would return either way. For vengeance, if not for anything else.
The woman grunts in the expected rude greeting, and motions for the prosecutor to follow her.
He is on her heels, dodging the myriad of fragile pottery and lush plants as they make their way to the inner rooms. Miles isn’t one for falling for stereotypes, but it is honestly ridiculously evident she is a witch.
“Put him on the ground.” She grumbles, flipping through a book old enough to rival those of Maya’s library.
As told, he carefully takes Phoenix off of his shoulder and to the cleanest spot he can find on the floor. He doesn’t mention it, but the poor thing is trembling.
“It’ll be alright.” He whispers.
“It has to.” Phoenix whispers back.
He rises up to scowl at her. “If you try anything, rest assured I’ll have you prosecuted to the fullest extent the law will allow me.”
She rolls her eyes, clearly displeased and obviously annoyed. “Yes, yes, don’t worry, I won’t do anything to your precious boyfriend. Now give him some space.”
Miles splutters, face coloring in an undoubtedly ferocious blush, but does as ordered. The florist closes her eyes and clasps her hands together in a gesture very reminiscing of Maya just before channelings.
Muttering something under her breath, she halts when there is a sudden cloud of cold air snaking around them, and Miles’s attention is snagged by the man who is now standing in front of him, blue suit and all.
His shoulders sag with relief for the first time since he first put Phoenix upon them.
“Finally.”
Phoenix rubs the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly – and God, how Miles has missed that smile.
“Finally.”
---------------------------------------
“Y’know, I actually kinda miss it.”
Miles hums. “Miss what?”
“Being a mongoose.”
The prosecutor spits the tea he was in the process of gulping, choking on the half that remained inside him and goes down the wrong way.
“You what?!”
“I miss it.” Phoenix quirks a brow up at him as if he was the one being ridiculous.
Miles is speechless.
Phoenix takes his lack of response as a permit to continue with his insane rambling.
“It was kinda fun, riding on your shoulders all the time. I felt like those little cartoon devils that whisper in your ear. Or the angel. I don’t care. It was just cool to be with you all the time. See in something close to first person how you deal with life” He says, as if expecting that to make any sense.
As an afterthought, he adds. “And the pets were also nice.”
Miles stares at him, blinking slowly, dumbstruck.
Phoenix gazes expectantly at him, before averting his eyes to the side and sighing. Squeezing his own thigh.
“I’m sorry. That was dumb. Ignore it.”
Great. Now Miles is feeling guilty.
Reluctantly, he sets the tea cup down, and scoots closer to his companion. With not little hesitance, he lifts a hand up to cup his jaw, and sets the other between ebony strands of hair.
Phoenix’s eyes are wide, but as Miles softly scratches his scalp, they flutter closed, and his whole body relaxes in a way Miles didn’t think was possible for a human to achieve. Maybe some bits of mongoose still lingered in him.
“This is good.” He murmurs.
The corners of Miles’s lips quirk up, and his movements become less stiff.
“You do make a very nice pet. Though I am more inclined to think ‘porcupine’ than ‘mongoose’ when thinking about you.”
“Har-har. Very funny.”
Miles smirks.
“Which part? The one about being my pet or the porcupine bit?”
Phoenix flushes and Miles already knows his answer.
“I hate you sometimes.” The attorney says, but makes no move to untangle himself from Miles’s gentle hold.
“The sentiment is reciprocated.”