Miles was sitting on the end of a line of empty chairs close to the docking bay, looking out of the window as he wondered when the storm would pass. It had been a while since he came to the country for a trial, which had now finished and justice had been passed, and he was ready to go home. Yet he had been stuck at the air port for a good few hours, waiting for the flashes of lightning and low rumbling to subside. Every time the sudden thunder clap sounded, it felt like the ground he stood on was shaking, and the walls closing in, only for Edgeworth to look up from his flash of terror to see that everything was alright. For the time being, he had only to sit there, his briefcase clutched in one hand, his knuckles white from gripping it so hard.