“About what?” Tilly didn’t look away from the timeline.
“The new reporter. You and Jamie are tight — she tell you anything?”
“Jamie doesn’t tell me gossip, Harper.”
“So thereisgossip.” Harper grinned. “I knew it.”
Tilly sighed and paused the playback. “I know exactly as much as you do. Which is nothing.”
“Yet,” Harper said, already walking away. “Give it twelve hours.”
* * *
By Tuesday morning, the rumor had grown legs, lungs, and a name. It carried straight into the daily meeting, where half the newsroom pretended not to care while the other half pretended to already know.
Tilly sat near the back of the conference table, nursing bad coffee and scrolling through their rundown notes while Harper whispered theories across the room. The usual chatter—budget cuts, a possible station transfer, a new hire. Tilly didn’t bother looking up until Aimee Tillet walked in with that unbothered kind of confidence that meant something was about to happen.
Aimee set her tablet on the table and smiled. “All right, before we start, I want to introduce everyone to our new nightside reporter, Savannah Wells.”
Heads turned.
Savannah stood near the door, perfectly composed, a folder tucked under one arm, and that bright, ready smile that made her look like she’d been in the building for years instead of minutes. She was put together in a way that read as intentional rather than stiff — dark hair smooth and controlled, blazer fitted cleanly at the shoulders, heels that clicked softly but confidentlyagainst the floor. Camera-ready, yes, but not fragile. The kind of polish that suggested discipline, not decoration.
Tilly found themselves watching the way Savannah scanned the room, taking in faces, names, the unspoken hierarchy that every newsroom had. Her posture didn’t change as she took people in, shoulders relaxed, chin level, like she wasn’t looking for approval so much as orientation. Her gaze moved efficiently, cataloging, and when it landed on Tilly for half a second, something assessing in it. Not unfriendly. Just… aware.
Savannah watched the room like she was already learning it — posture perfect, expression calm, taking everyone in with the kind of quiet assessment Tilly usually expected from seasoned producers, not day-one reporters.
Her hair caught the overhead light as she nodded once, precise and practiced. A loose strand slipped near her cheek, and she tucked it back without breaking eye contact, the movement smooth enough to look unconscious.
Tilly told themself they were only noticing because new reporters were usually a mess — jittery, too cheerful, trying to impress the wrong people. Savannah wasn’t any of that.
They watched a second longer than necessary and felt irritation prickle low in their chest, heat rising under the collar of their hoodie.
They sat back in their chair like they weren’t impressed, arms crossed tight across their chest. Brand-new reporter polish never lasted. She’d unravel like everyone else by week two.
Still, they didn’t look away until Harper nudged them.
Harper leaned close to Tilly’s ear. “She looks like she actually slept.”
Tilly had to hide a grin behind their coffee cup, but the more they looked, the less funny it seemed. Savannah carried herself as if she belonged here already, like she’d already memorized the pecking order and decided where she fit.
Aimee was still talking, giving the short version of Savannah’s résumé: Providence, crime beat, strong reel, hit the ground running. Jamie caught Tilly’s eye from the front row and raised a brow that saidgood luck with this one.
Tilly’s first thought was that she looked like trouble. The second was that she’d probably be very good at it. And somewhere under all that, quieter but harder to shake, was the thought that maybe the station was about to wake up again.
The meeting started to wind down, Aimee flipping through her notes as she called out assignments. “Harper, you’re on the city council presser. Marcy, take the health desk follow-up. And Savannah—”
Every head turned again.
Aimee didn’t look up from her tablet. “You’ll be nightside with Tilly Franklin this week. Get a feel for how we do things here.”
The words hit Tilly like cold water. Their hand froze halfway to their coffee cup. Partnered. With the new girl. They hadn’t been partnered with anyone new since Jamie left the field to anchor the desk two months ago, and that transition had been natural—Jamie moving up, Tilly staying put, the rhythm barely interrupted.
This was different. This was starting over.
They’d gotten used to the quiet again, to working alone in the edit bay, to not having to manage someone else’s energy or expectations. They’d built a routine. Safe. Predictable.
And now Aimee was handing them someone who looked like she’d never met a routine she couldn’t improve.
