The silence that followed was still tense, but not sharp.
Not exactly comfortable either.
The city yard was loud and freezing. Trucks idled. Workers shouted over the engines. Salt piles rose like small mountains behind fences.
Tilly filmed the usual sequence of interviews while Savannah worked through her questions. She moved with the kind of focus she only showed when she was trying not to show anything else.
Her standup went fine until the wind caught her mid-sentence and the mic crackled hard in Tilly’s headphones.
“Cut,” they said immediately. “Hold on.”
Savannah stopped mid-sentence, eyes flicking toward them. Around them, engines roared, and a plow clanged into reverse. The city yard was suddenly too loud, too exposed.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Cable’s loose. Don’t move.”
Tilly stepped in, faster than they meant to. Their hands found the pack at her back by instinct. The cold had stiffened the wire; it took more force than usual to seat it properly.
Savannah went completely still.
Not passive. Intentional.
Like she was aware of exactly how close they were and had decided not to step away.
Tilly could feel the heat of her through the layers. Could smell the winter air caught in her scarf. Could remember, with brutal clarity, the brush of her mouth against their cheek the night before.
“Okay,” they said, voice rougher now. “Try again.”
She didn’t move right away. Just looked at them for half a second too long.
Then she reset.
“Rolling in three, two.”
* * *
Back at the station, Savannah followed Tilly straight into the edit bay.
The room felt smaller with the door closed. Darker too, lit mostly by the glow of the monitors. Tilly slid into the chair and started loading the footage, hyper-aware of her standing just behind their shoulder.
Her sleeve brushed the back of the chair once. Light. Accidental.
Tilly noticed.
Savannah leaned forward slightly, studying the timeline as clips stacked into place. “Cut that shot,” she said when a frame showed her slipping on the ice near the plows. “No one needs to see that.”
“It proves you’re human,” Tilly said.
“I’d rather prove I can walk.”
They cut it.
The rest of the edit moved quickly. Familiar rhythm. Quiet cooperation. Too smooth for people who were pretending nothing had shifted between them.
When the package was exported, Tilly sent it to control and reached for a random drive just to have something to do with their hands.
Savannah didn’t leave.
