The house was unusually quiet.

Miles Edgeworth sat on the couch with an open book resting in one hand, though he hadn’t turned the page in several minutes. The late evening rain tapped softly against the windows while the warm light from the lamp beside him cast long shadows across the room.

From down the hallway came muffled laughter — Trucy and Kay clearly still awake despite the fact they had been sent to bed nearly an hour ago.

“…I trust you intend to handle that,” he said dryly as his husband, Phoenix, entered the room.

Still, he made no actual move to get up himself.

Instead, Edgeworth closed the book carefully and looked toward Phoenix over the rim of his glasses, expression calmer than usual after a long day.

“I must admit,” he said after a moment, quieter, “I’m beginning to suspect they inherited their inability to follow simple instructions from you.”