It was the same old messy shack that Emmy had once worked in. It was the same old window that Hershel would always look out in search of Emmy's motorbike. It was the same old spot that Emmy would always park her bike and bound up to meet the professor.

The messy shack no longer held residence to a famous mystery solver, but instead his apprentice, who was, thanks to his master, just as equally famous. The window was now a simple moving picture thatthe apprentice would occasionally look at to calm his nerves and to soothe his heartache.

The parking spot was now always empty. There was only a melancholic silhouette of two tires imprinted on the concrete, highlighted by the gray exhaust that Emmy's motorbike had pumped onto the ground.

Years later, Luke Triton had grown taller, wiser, and sturdier. He had grown to be a handsome young man, 17years of age. Hershel Layton had disappeared, gradually becoming nothing but a mystery for his apprentice and successors to solve. Emmy Altava never wrote, never visited, never returned to the agency.

On days like these, when Luke would sit alone in the office, he found himself gazing out the window for a yellow trench coat, sweeping the crowd for a black top hat, and listeningfor a blaring motor. After a while, he would come to terms with the fact that not Emmy, nor his dear professor Layton would ever return, and a stabbing pain would erupt in his heart. Luke, then, would tear his eyes away from the windows and be determined to do nothing else but work for the rest of the day.

Luke's eyes dimmed. A melancholic darkness seeped into his emotions as he watched the rain pour and the sky turn gray.

The apprentice watched as the citizens scattered to their own abode, leaving the streets empty. Luke's hand involuntarily made its way up to his chest, tapping gently to try and ease the pain. It seemed as though all thrill and happiness had left with the professor and Emmy.

Just as the apprentice began the procedure that he had always done and started to turn away from the window, a bright yellow caught his eye, then a blaring motor, then a screech and a crash. Luke jumped up from his chair, fully pressing his face onto the glass. There Emmy was, curling up from pain on the concrete, her bike lying sideways in the spot that she had always parked it, her helmet nowhere to be found.

It took Luke a minute too long to process the fact that Emmy was hurt and broken in the rain. He was too busy checking if what he was seeing was reality.

Luke threw open the door, rushing to Emmy's side in the rain. He crouched down, putting a hand on Emmy's shoulder.

"Er, Em, you alright?" Luke lamely asked, earning a long awaited sisterly chide from Emmy.

"Does it look like I'm fucking alright?" A pause. "Oh, Luke, pardon my language, although I'd be thankful if you could help me here."

And all of a sudden, a pervading warmth spread throughout Luke's body. He laughed wholeheartedly, forgetting the pain he had felt just a minute ago and disregarding the amount of time that had spanned between the present and the last time he had felt truly happy.

"Of course, of course. Come on!"