“That’s not what I asked.”
Savannah’s gaze flicked up. Alana’s eyes were steady, soft, and sharp at the same time.
“Is there someone at work you care about?” Alana asked. “More than the others.”
Savannah went still.
The restaurant noise blurred into a low hum, like a sound underwater. For a second, all she could hear was the echo of the back door of the truck slamming shut and the tiny stutter in Tilly’s breath when their hands had met on cold metal.
Her lips parted, then closed again. The truth rose, hot and immediate, pressing against the back of her teeth. If she let it out, even a fraction, everything else would follow. The hotel room. The way she had woken up. The panic. The way she had shut down because letting herself want that felt too big, too risky.
She looked down at her plate and scraped her fork through the sauce instead.
“It’s a newsroom,” she said, forcing her voice steady. “You kind of have to care about everyone, or nothing works.”
The answer was vague enough to be safe and precise enough to hurt.
Alana leaned back a little. “Okay,” she said. She didn’t sound convinced, but she didn’t press the question again. Instead, she let the silence breathe for a few seconds before shifting into another lane. “I’m proud of you, you know.”
Savannah blinked. “For what?”
“For doing this,” Alana said. “For being here. For chasing the thing you used to talk about on the couch at home when we watched the news, and you complained about how boring the anchors were.”
Heat climbed up Savannah’s neck. She looked at the candle because it was easier than looking at her sister.
“You moved away,” Alana continued. “You started over in a new city. You got the job you wanted. You keep going even when you sound like you’re running on fumes.”
Savannah’s eyes burned. She blinked hard.
“I don’t feel very impressive right now,” she said quietly.
“That’s not how it works,” Alana said. She reached across the table, sliding her hand over Savannah’s, where it rested near the glass. Her fingers were warm, calloused from craft projects and too many hours with scissors and glue. “You don’t stop being impressive just because it’s hard.”
Savannah stared at their joined hands. Her throat felt too narrow. She didn’t pull away.
“I feel like I’m messing everything up,” she said, the words slipping out smaller than she intended.
Alana’s grip tightened. “You’re not.”
Savannah’s eyes finally lifted. “You don’t know that.”
“I know you,” Alana said. “You care too much to let things completely fall apart without trying to fix them first. Whatever this is… you’re trying.”
Savannah’s chest ached. She drew in a slow breath and let it out through her nose.
Alana traced the rim of her glass with one finger. “You know,” she said, not looking up, “you don’t have to tell me what’s wrong. Not if you’re not ready.”
Savannah’s heartbeat ticked faster.
“But something is hurting you,” Alana said. “That part is obvious. Even through a phone call.”
Savannah’s eyes stung. She focused on the melting ice cube in her water, the way it bumped softly against the side of the glass.
“I don’t want you worrying,” she said, voice low.
“Well, I am,” Alana said. “Worrying, I mean.”
Savannah’s laugh cracked on the way out. She pressed her lips together until it steadied.
