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Laurel laughs and shakes her head. "See? This is what I mean. You three keep communicating in subtitles I can’t read."

"That's friendship," Briggs says. "Years of accumulated nonsense."

"It's... concerning."

"It's beautiful."

Ashby lifts a hand. "I'd like the record to show that Briggs is responsible for at least seventy percent of the nonsense."

"Eighty," Briggs counters. "I’m a high achiever."

The conversation dissolves into laughter again, easy and familiar.

The strange thing is how natural it feels.

Laurel picks up her phone and rubs tiredly at her forehead as she stares at the dark screen. After a few moments, when nothing enlightening appears, she sighs and lays it back down. "I keep convincing myself we're close. Then I start wondering if I've made this whole thing up," she confides.

Ashby folds his hands in his lap. "You haven't."

"We have evidence," Briggs puts in. "Real, solid evidence."

Laurel gives a small nod but doesn’t seem reassured. "But what if she leaves before we reach her? What if we're always one step behind?"

"You saw those photos," Ashby says. "You saw where they came from. That's more progress than we've had in weeks."

"I know," she agrees, but still she sounds unconvinced.

Briggs watches her for a few seconds before pulling himself up further against the bed head. Then he reaches over and tenderly brushes a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

Laurel freezes for a second before turning her head to meet his eyes.

Briggs holds her gaze and shakes his head slightly. "You know, you spend a lot of energy acting like you're responsible for everything."

A faint crease appears between her brows. "I am responsible for Maggie."

"You're responsible for caring about Maggie. Different thing."

"Briggs—"

"No, hear me out." His tone stays gentle, but there's enough conviction behind it to keep her from interrupting. "You've been carrying this whole search like the universe handed you a bill and demanded immediate payment. Meanwhile, you've got three people sitting here who’ll gladly take off some of that load."

Laurel's throat works from emotion, and her eyes start to shine like she’s holding back tears.

Briggs gives her one of his rare smiles. "We’ve told you already. You don't have to do all of it yourself."

Then, he leans in and presses a kiss to her lips.

Laurel stiffens for a heartbeat, before every line of tension suddenly leaves her body. Her shoulders loosen, her eyes drift closed. When Briggs pulls back, she looks dazed, as though she's trying to catch up to a choice she's already made.

Her fingers rise to her mouth.

She stares at him.

Then she turns to me.

My pulse slams against my ribs.

I know that look.