“An early-morning fire forced residents out of this Dorchester triple-decker just before sunrise—”
She gestured back toward the building, and Tilly widened the shot exactly when she needed it, catching the ladder truck and the blackened windows. Savannah didn’t think about pacing or framing. She didn’t have to.
When she wrapped, Tilly lowered the camera and grinned.
“That was clean,” they said.
Savannah laughed, breathless. “Right?”
They reset in sync. Savannah checked her phone while Tilly swapped lenses. Another crew glanced over, then looked away again, clearly clocking that they were watching something work.
Savannah’s IFB crackled.
“Stand by,” the producer said. “Fire department briefing in five.”
“Copy,” Savannah replied. She glanced at Tilly. “Five minutes.”
Tilly was already moving. “We’re ready.”
Savannah adjusted her jacket, squared her shoulders, and stepped back toward the camera position.
This wasn’t careful anymore.
It was instinct.
“Let’s grab one more for safety,” Savannah said.
Tilly was already rolling. “Already on it.”
Savannah smiled as she stepped into frame.
They weren’t just covering the story.
They were owning it.
By the time they packed up, the street had settled.
The fire trucks pulled away one by one, the lights disappearing down the block. The family with the unicorn had been ushered somewhere warm. The sidewalk tape came down. What had felt urgent an hour ago already had the hollow quiet of something finished.
Savannah slung her bag over her shoulder and exhaled. “Okay,” she said. “I think we actually nailed that.”
Tilly locked the tripod and glanced up at her, a grin already there. “We absolutely nailed that.”
Savannah laughed, the sound bright and unguarded. “That second live shot? I didn’t even feel my heart rate spike.”
“Same,” Tilly said. “Which is wild, because normally that’s when everything goes sideways.”
They loaded the gear into the car, movements still in sync, like the rhythm hadn’t shut off just because the camera had. Savannah slid into the passenger seat and buckled, her phone buzzing with a quick text from the producer.
Clean hits. Nice work.
She held it up. “Producer approved.”
Tilly pulled out from the curb, triumphant. “I love to hear it.”
They drove in companionable silence for a minute, the adrenaline slowly bleeding off, replaced by something lighter.Savannah glanced over at Tilly, who was drumming their fingers against the steering wheel, still smiling to themself.
“You know,” Savannah said, “we’re going to jinx it if we keep talking about how good that was.”
