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Laurel peeks at him through her fingers. "I haven't murdered anyone."

"Good. One less body to hide."

She laughs despite herself, then drags both hands down her face. "Okay," she says. "I just need to say it."

Nobody interrupts.

Laurel takes a breath, looks at each of us in turn, and says, "I'm pregnant."

The room freezes.

My brain immediately abandons me. Across the table, Briggs goes completely still. Ashby's pen slips from his fingers and clatters against the tabletop.

I stare at Laurel.

Pregnant.

The word bounces around my skull without finding anywhere to land.

Laurel is pregnant.

Laurel.

Pregnant.

I know exactly what those words mean. Together, they make the entire world tilt sideways.

Laurel's gaze moves between us, and concern gradually replaces her nervousness. "Well," she says tentatively, "this is somehow worse than the conversation I rehearsed."

Nobody says anything.

We look at each other.

We’re trying to find words.

And failing spectacularly.

Briggs recovers first. "Pregnant?" He can’t quite keep the shock out of his voice.

Laurel looks at him. "That was my reaction too."

"Good. Glad to contribute."

Ashby finally blinks a few times, reaches for a notebook, and flips it open.

I turn toward him. "What are you doing?"

"Calculating."

"Calculating what?"

"Everything."

"That's not an answer."

"It is if you have enough spreadsheets."

Laurel laughs, and the sound pulls all three of us back into the room.