She smiled through it anyway, because that was what she did best. Smile, nod, keep moving.
By the time she reached the edit bay, the glow from the Dorchester story had already cooled. The hum of machines filled the air, screens flickering blue over gray walls. Tilly was hunched over the monitor, sleeves shoved up past their elbows, tattoos along their forearms catching light as they adjusted the timeline. Their hair looked freshly trimmed at the sides, the top still messy from the wind outside. It wasn’t a style Savannah would ever try, but on them it worked. More than it had any right to.
They had a way of staying completely still while they focused—shoulders squared, steady hands, that small furrow between their brows that didn’t go away until they exhaled. It was precision, not performance, and Savannah found herself watching longer than she meant to. Long enough to notice details she didn’t need. A small pulse of heat climbed behind her collar before she straightened her posture.
“You’re already cutting?” she asked.
“Trying to,” they said without looking up. “You wanted it turned by five.”
“I saidbyfive, notatfive,” Savannah said, but her tone was softer than she intended. “I just wanted to check levels.”
Tilly shifted aside with a short nod. “Go for it.”
She leaned in to listen, close enough to catch the faint scent of cold air and something sharper she couldn’t place.
She stepped back a second later than she needed to.
The audio from the tenant’s interview was uneven, with static popping on one side. Savannah winced. “That’ll need a filter.”
“Already did that. Twice.”
She blinked. “Right.”
Tilly clicked through another clip, muttering to themself about white balance. Savannah folded her arms. “The stand-up shot needs tightening.”
“It’s framed the way you asked.”
“It’s a little wide.”
Tilly finally looked up. “You said you wanted background context.”
“I did, but the poles in the back look distracting.”
“They’re streetlights. In a street.”
The silence stretched until Savannah sighed. “Can you just zoom in ten percent? It’ll read cleaner.”
They didn’t answer, only adjusted the crop and pressed play. The difference was minor but noticeable. Savannah nodded. “Better.”
Tilly’s jaw worked once, like they were biting back a comment. “Glad it meets your standards.”
“Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting.”
“Yes, you are. You have that tone.”
They gave a small, humorless laugh. “What tone?”
“The one that says you’re annoyed I asked for something.”
Tilly turned in the chair, fully facing her now. “You always ask for something.”
“That’s my job.”
“And mine’s to make it work, which I do. But you treat every frame like it’s a test I’m supposed to pass.”
Savannah crossed her arms tighter. “I’m not grading you.”
