Part one of Metanoia.

Lunch. September fifth. 12:30.

Four words in her own handwriting should not have been able to excite Adrian so, but she was nonetheless transfixed just by thinking of them. She had jotted the message in her planner a week and four days ago, and for a week and four days, she could scarcely sleep for her anticipation.

Now that the day had arrived, however, she wasn't quite so eager.

Adrian stood on the sidewalk across the street from the restaurant, for all intents and purposes a flesh-colored statue. Her heart slammed against her ribcage like a bird against a windowpane, and her breath came fast and shallow. 12:10. She thought she might pass out from the strain.

Somehow, it had been easier to handle getting out of prison than meeting a friend of sorts for lunch. Putting her life back in order had been a mundane sort of challenge. Find a new apartment. Reinstate a cell phone provider. Send out résumés. Adrian had a hefty pile of savings to fall back on while she looked for a new job, so she didn't even have to worry overmuch about her finances. But the whole time, a letter tugged at her consciousness, her thoughts held on a fishhook of words.

When you are released from prison, if you need anything, you can call me, it said, buried in the middle of an eloquent (if meandering) message. A phone number had been written at the bottom under an over-the-top signature.

Franziska von Karma.

I am coming to America in a few days' time, she had said on the phone, her voice enough to make Adrian's hands shake. If you would be so inclined, I would like to meet you again. I have reservations for two at twelve thirty on the fifth, if that is agreeable.

It was, and so Adrian came to stand across from the restaurant, half an hour early. Her memory of Franziska was a little frayed around the edges, the confusion of State v Engarde eating away at her clarity like moths on wool. She remembered confidence, though, infectious, radiant confidence; she remembered cool grey eyes; she remembered a quick whip and a quicker tongue. Franziska had been fierce, but fair, and the one person in the trial who had cared about her. Adrian didn't know how that attitude would change outside the investigation, though.

Her hands twisted her planner between them, wringing it like a soaked washcloth. 12:15. Could someone's heart burst just from the stress of meeting with someone? Adrian didn't think so, but she feared all the same.

Just head over, she thought. You already committed, you're here, so just walk across the road and wait where she'll see you. Celeste would-

Adrian shook the thought from her head. It didn't matter what Celeste would or wouldn't do, just what she, Adrian Andrews, would. It wasn't a very empowering thought, but it was one her therapist encouraged.

She put one foot in front of the other, walking too quickly, her hands kneading at the strap of her purse. 12:20. Her feet touched the sidewalk outside the restaurant, and she let out her breath in a shaky rattle.

Almost on cue, a sleek black car pulled up. Adrian didn't recognize the scruffy driver that ran to hold the door open, but she did recognize the woman who stepped out the back.

"Franziska!" she called, a stupid smile spreading over her face.

"Adrian Andrews," the other woman replied, severe but not unkind. She handed a bill to her driver and dismissed him with a wave of her hand.

"It's good to see you," Adrian said. The tension in her chest hadn't faded in the slightest, but she sounded normal enough to her own ears.

"I could say the same," Franziska responded.

For a moment, they stood in silence, looking each other over. Had Franziska always been so beautiful? Surely not—Adrian couldn't have forgotten that strongly-defined jaw, that slightly upturned nose, those well-muscled arms...Even in her heels, Franziska was scarcely taller than Adrian herself, but she possessed a presence that radiated off her in heat-mirage waves. Coupled with her black suit and the coiled bullwhip at her side, Franziska was impossible to ignore.

Adrian fiddled with her glasses as an excuse to look away and let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding.

"Shall we go inside?" she asked.

Franziska nodded and lead the way without fanfare. In a matter of minutes, they were seated at a little table against the wall, next to a window with the curtains drawn. Franziska's brows furrowed slightly as she read over the menu. Adrian imagined she looked the same in court, staring down the report as if she thought it would confess its secrets if only she glared fiercely enough. The image almost made Adrian laugh, but she managed to keep a straight face.

"So, what brings you to America? Do you have another case?" Adrian asked.

Franziska's eyes flickered up to her before returning to the menu.

"I'm done with foolish American law and foolish American defense attorneys for the present time. I'm merely visiting my little brother."

"Oh, that's exciting! Does your family live here?"

"Certainly not," Franziska returned with a sniff. "The von Karma manor is just outside of Munich, the finest city in the world. Only my little brother would live in such a foolish country."

Adrian tried to work out just how someone younger than Franziska was living alone in Los Angeles, but she let it go after a moment. She remembered hearing that Franziska had started her law career at thirteen, too young to drive and already more successful than many adults. Perhaps Franziska's brother was much the same.

"America has its charms," Adrian replied with a shrug. "I've lived here my whole life, though, so I'll yield to your experience. You can't hate it too much if you've come back, right?"

Franziska's eyes narrowed, but she conceded the point with a nod.

"It isn't terrible. You, at least, have never visited Germany, or you would understand my irritation. Little Brother has no such excuse."

This time, Adrian did laugh. Here was Prosecutor Franziska von Karma, getting vexed over something as simple as Los Angeles's existence. She tried to hide her smile behind her menu, but Franziska scowled at her nonetheless.

"And what is so amusing about that?"

Adrian didn't know how to explain, so she shook her head.

"Nothing, nothing...So, what is your brother like?"

"You've met him, have you not?" Franziska replied, looking at her peculiarly. At Adrian's confusion, she said, "His name is Miles Edgeworth."

The waiter's arrival was the only thing that saved Adrian from making a fool of herself. She ordered a drink while her mind went through tilt-a-whirl turns, her memories spinning by in blurred splashes of color. Miles Edgeworth had prosecuted State v Engarde, and so Miles Edgeworth had stood idly by while she was accused of a murder they both knew hadn't committed. Miles Edgeworth had once said that he didn't care if she died so long as he got the truth. True, he had eventually brought Matt Engarde to justice, but his calculated ruthlessness had left a mark on her.

Still, Franziska sounded fond of the man, and Adrian didn't quite want to talk about that trial yet.

"Yes, I've met him. I believe you were in the hospital at the time...Oh! I beg your pardon! I never asked how you were doing after that!" Adrian exclaimed.

Franziska massaged her right shoulder and grimaced.

"It healed well enough," she said after a moment. "My shoulder still aches sometimes, but it does not affect my work. My dominant hand is my left, regardless."

She flexed her fingers for a moment like a cat stretching its claws. Adrian wanted to offer support, but she didn't know what to say. She had a scar of her own, a horrible red line across her neck, but there was a world's difference between a bullet wound and the mark of a failed suicide attempt. Franziska could wear her injury openly, like a war commendation, while Adrian could never, ever let anyone know her shame.

She smiled stiffly instead of mentioning it.

"It's good to hear you're doing well, then."

"I would expect nothing less of myself. What about you, Adrian Andrews? Are you...doing well?" she asked.

"As much as can be expected, I suppose," Adrian replied. She didn't know if Franziska meant physically or mentally, but she didn't ask. Talking about her mental health would inevitably lead to talk of therapy and disorders and prison, and it was just too nice a day to darken with such talk.

"Good. Have you been up to anything recently?"

They both knew she hadn't, having left police custody a week and a half prior, but Adrian appreciated the question anyway.

"Just been getting my affairs in order, I'm afraid. I have a lot to do before I can afford to relax."

Franziska made an approving noise, and Adrian's heart quickened.

The waiter returned with their drinks—red wine for Franziska and white for Adrian—and took their orders. Adrian briefly wondered just how eighteen-year-old Franziska got away with ordering alcohol, but she dismissed it; Franziska stared down the waiter with the same forcefulness with which she seemed to do everything. She didn't act with flame and verve, but she possessed a certain intensity nonetheless, something cool and pervasive as static on a winter day.

Franziska took a sip of her wine, and Adrian couldn't help but stare as the other woman left a thin smudge of lipstick on the edge of the glass. Adrian brought her own drink up to her suddenly too-dry lips.

"Thank you for coming out here to see me. I honestly didn't expect you to," she said.

"And why not? I said I would, and I keep my word."

"No, it's not that I doubted you. It's just...well, we met once, six months ago. We're basically strangers, aren't we?"

Franziska arched an eyebrow.

"Phoenix Wright knew my brother in primary school before he moved away. Fifteen years later, he tracked Miles Edgeworth down and continued like they'd never been apart. Is meeting you really so strange?" she asked, smirking at her own logic.

"I suppose not...Thank you anyway. It was kind of you."

Franziska's cheeks reddened, and she suddenly couldn't tear her eyes from a spot on the floor.

"It was nothing," she muttered.

Franziska was like peppermint, Adrian thought with a smile. Sharp, but sweet. She hadn't smiled nearly so often in weeks as she had in twenty minutes with Franziska.

"In any case, if you're worried about seeming like a stranger, then tell me about yourself," the prosecutor said, resting her head on one hand. "You already know about me-"

"Not really!"

"Miss Adrian Andrews, I was speaking. You already know me, but beyond that case, I know nothing of you."

"There isn't much to know," Adrian said, feeling a blush creep across her cheeks. "As I said, I've lived here my whole life. At eighteen, I started working part-time at Global Studios, and by twenty, I was managing minor stars. By twenty-one, I had been transferred to Matt Engarde, and there I stayed until six months ago. That's really it. No living family, no friends, no...trifling details."

"I didn't ask for your life history. I asked about you," Franziska said. She leaned forward, her grey eyes half-lidded and her hair falling forward. Adrian dimly wondered if someone in the restaurant had turned the heat up.

"Oh," she managed. "All right. I'm not very exciting, either, just so you know. I suppose you could call me a career woman. My job is—was-my life. I'm good at managing, and I'm proud of it. You probably understand that, though."

Franziska nodded lazily.

"Of course. A von Karma is a perfect prosecutor first and a person second."

She sounded pleased with that fact, while Adrian had to fight to keep her face blank. She didn't value her own career quite that highly. Still, Adrian couldn't imagine that someone who started prosecuting at thirteen had much time for frivolity.

"It must be amazing watching you in action," Adrian said, before hurriedly adding, "But you can tell me more about that, right? Tell me about yourself."

The waiter returned before Franziska could reply. He set a steak before her and a plate of pasta before Adrian.

Franziska took a bite, chewed, and swallowed.

"You already know plenty about me. I strive for perfection, and I do not tolerate fools."

"How do you stand me, then?" Adrian blurted. She inwardly groaned as soon as the words passed her lips. She hadn't wanted to look weak in front of Franziska, but here she was, making a fool of herself.

Franziska looked at her oddly.

"Trust me, you would know if I did not like you," she said, hand seeking out the handle of her whip. "I certainly wouldn't be here if I didn't wish to be."

She followed her words with a sip of wine. Adrian brought her own fork up to her lips as she thought. How could a woman like Franziska not find her foolish? Franziska knew not only what she'd done, Juan's blood on her hand and her own at her throat, but who she was, scared and pathetic and guilty. She couldn't bring herself to ask, though, afraid that her words would turn the carriage back into a pumpkin.

She looked up only to catch Franziska staring. The other woman hurriedly looked away. Had Franziska been checking her out? Surely not. Adrian couldn't be that lucky. More likely than not, Franziska had been watching to make sure she was okay after such an insecure question.

Adrian felt her heart flutter regardless.

"So, are you staying with Mr. Edgeworth?" she asked.

"Of course not. His apartment is sized for one, and neither he nor I will sleep on the couch. The building is terrible to find parking for, he's an awful cook, and his dog hates me," Franziska grumbled.

"What do you mean?"

"The foolish mutt follows me everywhere I go, always staring as if I were a criminal. It barks whenever I so much as look at Little Brother. He must have trained it to do that. A von Karma is naturally well-versed in handling animals; that dog couldn't just dislike me."

She stabbed a piece of steak far more forcefully than necessary, causing Adrian to jump.

"I have trained and ridden horses my whole life. What is one foolish collie compared to my Hanoverian?" Franziska continued.

"That's amazing! I rode horses a little when I was younger, but it wasn't anything serious. I wasn't very good, anyway," Adrian said with a shrug. She hadn't been very good at any sport, really—for all that she was good with her hands, she had never been the most coordinated. Franziska didn't seem nearly so clumsy, cracking that whip with perfect precision and making those brutally high heels look graceful.

"Well, I must be capable of riding well if I ever hope to hunt. Americans-" she sighed the word as if barely able to tolerate it "-think hunting is all camouflage and howling dogs. You have none of the finesse of a good European hunt."

Adrian didn't care much about hunting one way or the other, but she nodded along as Franziska launched into a lecture on caliber of guns and shooting techniques, land leasing and hunting licenses. Most of it went over Adrian's head. She enjoyed the chance to see Franziska that animated, though, her hands playing a dance of electric energy as she mimicked holding pistol and reins. She made a good storyteller, or perhaps Adrian was merely entranced by her lightly-accented voice.

"Is there anything you aren't good at?" Adrian asked as Franziska's story about taking down a wild boar wound to a close.

"Papa..." Franziska started. She licked her lips. "Papa expected all of us to be the perfect picture of German nobility. We were to know how to hunt and how to ride. We were to be fluent in both German and English. We were to have perfect etiquette and dress. At age six, I could play the violin better than most adults. At age eight, I was in secondary school. Failure was not ever an option."

She sounded equal parts proud and bitter. Adrian's heart gave a big "whoomp!" of sympathy.

"When did you play?"

"I didn't waste my time on such foolishness," she replied.

"Oh," Adrian said for lack of anything better.

The waiter returned to take their plates, providing relief from the awkward silence.

"One check or two?" he asked.

"One," Adrian and Franziska replied at once. They both looked sharply at each other.

"Franziska, you flew all the way out here-"

"Adrian Andrews, I have a fortune at my disposal, so-"

"Please, it's just a meal, I've-"

"I insist-"

"Come on, you're being-"

"I got you thrown in prison! I cannot begin to make up for that!" Franziska cut in, her voice raised enough that people turned to stare. Their poor waiter mumbled something unintelligible and excused himself, Franziska's credit card in hand.

Adrian felt the energy drain out of her like water from a ruptured flask. She suddenly felt like she had eaten far too much, and the faint fuzziness from her wine did not sit well with her.

"Is that why you're here? To repay a debt?" she asked quietly.

Franziska massaged her temples with one hand.

"I...no, that's not what I meant. I didn't intend to mention that. I truly did arrange this meeting because I wished to see you," she said with a grimace.

Adrian nodded numbly.

"All right."

Franziska looked on the verge of tearing out her hair.

"I won't condescend myself to beg, but I ask that you believe me. I have no ulterior motive in coming here beyond having pleasant conversation—which I have now entirely ruined—and good food."

The blonde smiled despite herself.

"You didn't ruin the conversation. I really am having a good time. I just...You startled me. That's all."

Franziska nodded and hesitantly smiled back. It was the most gentle smile Adrian had ever seen on Franziska's lips, warming those cool grey eyes, and her own smile stretched into a goofy grin.

The waiter returned with the receipts, and Franziska tore her eyes away. Adrian couldn't quite stop herself from staring still.

"I'm afraid I have an engagement to attend in a short while," Franziska said without looking up.

"Me, too," Adrian said, although in truth the rest of her unpacking could wait, she could wait, however long Franziska wished.

She followed the prosecutor as she got up and left the restaurant. Adrian was acutely aware of how closely they walked, of how just a slight stutter in either of their steps would lead to their fingers brushing. Her breath came fast and shallow as Franziska stopped at the curbside and turned to her.

"I will be quite busy during the rest of my visit here, but perhaps I can find an opening to see you again," Franziska said, words coming out slightly too quickly.

"My schedule is wide open," Adrian replied, her mouth dry. "You already have my number, so...just keep in touch, okay?"

The other woman nodded. They couldn't have been more than a foot apart, and something in Adrian screamed at her to just kiss Franziska already. But she couldn't bring herself to ruin their newfound friendship, so she stepped back.

"I'll see you later," she offered. "There's a great coffeehouse down by Gourd Lake Park, and it would be a real shame to miss it."

"I'm sure I can find room in my schedule for a cup of coffee," Franziska returned, and there was that smile of hers again. "Farewell, Adrian Andrews."

The way her name sounded in Franziska's voice made her heart skip. Adrian wanted to stay there and just talk until the sun set, to show Franziska all the beautiful parts of the city, to laugh and smile so much she'd feel giddy for days. She would have to settle for waiting until later, though; for now, she walked back to her car, excitement painting a blush across her cheeks. As Adrian climbed into her familiar sedan, she was sure of three things:

One, she was well on her way to putting State v Engarde behind her.

Two, Franziska von Karma was kind of unreasonably attractive.

And three, in some capacity, however small, Franziska liked her, too.