A head shake is all Laurel will get in response, at first.

Her heart is heavy.

She loved Henry. It doesn't compare to Barry's grief, but she cared for him. She still remembers vividly the night Barry came to live with them. She remembers feeling irrationally threatened. It had been her and Joe, just her and Joe, for so long that she hadn't wanted anything to change. But it did, and for the better, because then it was the three of them, and anything else was unthinkable. She remembers telling Barry she believed him because she did, and the day Henry was awarded his freedom she'd been so certain a new beginning was in store.

Now it has been taken from Barry, just as he was finally making peace with Nora's death. She knows better than to ask fairness of a world that never promised it, but a part of her is angry, too. Iris sits down beside Laurel in the space that is afforded to her, and lets her brave face crumble.

"I don't know how he's going to get through this."

Joe keeps looking to her like she'll have the answer, and she doesn't. Not this time.