She stayed where she was, one shoulder resting lightly against the console, watching the progress bar disappear.
“The piece looked good,” she said.
“Your sound levels were hot in the second SOT.”
“No one at home noticed.”
“People at home watch with their fridge humming.”
A small laugh slipped out of her before she could stop it. It softened her face for a second, made her look younger than she ever let herself appear on camera.
“Thanks for fixing the mic earlier,” she said. “And for cutting the ice thing.”
“It’s part of the job.”
“I know.” A beat. “Still. Thank you.”
Silence settled again. Not awkward. Just charged.
Savannah tapped her fingers once against the edge of the console like she was timing her words.
“Henry has me on a Common live tomorrow morning,” she said. “If you end up on it too, sorry in advance.”
“I can handle it.”
“I know,” she said quietly.
She didn’t move.
Tilly could feel her looking at them even without turning around.
“Good work today,” she added.
The words landed heavier than they should have.
“You too.”
For a moment, it felt like something else might follow. An explanation. A joke. A second impulsive decision.
Instead, Savannah straightened.
“See you tomorrow,” she said.
She opened the door and stepped back into the hallway. The light from outside spilled into the room for half a second before the door swung shut again.
Tilly sat there staring at the space she’d left behind.
The bay felt too quiet.
The whole building did.
They shut down the monitor and grabbed their bag, but the echo of her voice followed them all the way to the parking lot and into the cold evening air.
It followed them home, too.
Twelve
Savannah woke up already annoyed.
