Harper shot them a look that said everything without a word.Good luck.
“Got it,” Savannah said easily, as if she’d expected it. “I’m looking forward to it.”
Tilly didn’t do anything new anymore. New meant unpredictable, and unpredictable had teeth.
Aimee nodded, already moving on. “Okay, that’s all I’ve got. Let’s get back to it.”
Chairs scraped, phones buzzed, and the room scattered into its usual chaos. Tilly stayed seated for a moment, still processing. Partnered. With the new girl.
Savannah lingered near the front, chatting with Jamie and Aimee. From the back, Tilly couldn’t hear what was being said, but Savannah’s laughter carried easily. Confident. Warm. A little too much for day one.
Harper nudged Tilly on her way out. “You’re so screwed.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Tilly muttered.
When the room thinned, Savannah turned toward them. She moved with purpose, crossing the space in a few easy strides. Up close, she was slightly taller than Tilly had expected, or maybe it was just the heels and her posture. Close enough now that Tilly could see the faint crease at the corner of her mouth when she smiled, the kind that came from use, not nerves.
“Franklin, right?”
Tilly stood, setting their coffee aside. “That’s me.”
“I watched a few of your pieces from the spring,” Savannah said. Her voice was lower than it had been during the introductions, more conversational. “Sharp work. The housing crisis series especially — really clean storytelling.”
Tilly blinked, still catching up. Most people said they’d “heard good things” or gave some vague compliment. Savannah had actually watched their work. Remembered specifics. “You did your homework.”
Savannah smiled, all composure and easy charm. “First rule of a new station. Know who edits your pieces.”
Tilly wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or irritated. “Then I guess you’re already ahead of the curve.”
“Maybe,” Savannah said. “Guess we’ll find out tonight.”
It took a second for that to land. Tilly frowned. “Tonight?”
Savannah tilted her head, amused. “Nightside, remember? You and me.”
“Right.” Tilly felt off-balance, like they’d missed a step in a conversation they should have been prepared for. “Yeah. Tonight.”
Savannah’s smile softened, just slightly, like she could tell Tilly was still adjusting. “I’ll try not to make it painful.”
Before Tilly could figure out how to respond to that, Savannah was already moving, turning to catch someone else’s attention across the room. And then she was gone, off to shake another hand, her laughter trailing behind her.
Tilly stood there, still holding their empty coffee cup, trying to figure out what had just happened.
The newsroom had returned to its normal rhythm around them—keyboards clicking, phones ringing, the low murmur of a dozen conversations. Everything looked the same as it had twenty minutes ago. Same desks, same faces, same fluorescent lights.
But something had shifted. Tilly could feel it in the air, in the way Harper was already texting someone about the new hire, in the way Jamie glanced back at them from across the room with that knowing look.
They thought about the edit bay waiting for them, the ribbon-cutting footage still paused mid-frame, the comfortable routine of the past two months. Thought about how they’d convinced themselves that quiet was good, that routine was safe.
Savannah’s laughter carried from somewhere near the assignment desk, bright and easy, like she’d already found her place here.
Tilly headed back toward the edit bay. Through the glass partition, they could see their workspace exactly as they’d left it—three monitors glowing, timeline frozen, chair still warm.
Except now Tilly felt it in their shoulders, a restless tension there that hadn’t been present an hour ago. Not discomfort exactly. Anticipation, whether they wanted it or not.
Whatever calm WDTV had managed to find these past few months had just officially ended.
Two
