A friend from Providence.
Anyone.
Instead, she sat on the couch and stared at her phone for a long moment, not because she wanted to reach out, but because she hated that she knew exactly whose voice she wished she could hear.
She put the phone facedown.
The room was too quiet.
She wasn’t lonely, she told herself.
She was tired.
She was stressed.
She was focused on work.
But when she closed her eyes, the last thing she saw was the way Tilly had paused in the hallway outside the audio booth, like they had heard something in her voice she had tried to hide.
It followed her into sleep the same way her words had followed them home.
Thirteen
The assignment wasn’t glamorous. Budget preview. Quick reaction bite. B-roll of City Hall. A standup to close. The predictable rhythm of a daytime, midweek story.
Tilly liked predictability. Predictable meant control.
But nothing about working with the new reporter had felt predictable yet.
Savannah stood on the sidewalk just outside the main steps, phone in one hand, the other wrapped around her coat collar to block the wind. Her stance was familiar, though. MMJ posture. Someone who had spent too many shoots balancing a camera bag and trying to get a quote before a deadline.
She wasn’t lost. Just adjusting. New station, new city, new partner.
“The council member texted again,” she said when Tilly stopped beside her. “He’s about fifteen minutes behind.”
“That’s fine,” Tilly said. “Gives us time.”
Savannah let out a breath she’d probably been holding since they arrived. “Good. I didn’t want you to feel rushed.”
Tilly blinked. “I’m not rushing you.”
“Oh. I didn’t mean—” She shut her mouth. “Never mind.”
They opened the gear case and immediately frowned. “Battery is dead.”
Savannah looked over sharply. “For the mic?”
“Yeah. And the spare is empty too.”
Savannah crouched next to them without waiting for an invitation. Not clumsy. Not frantic. Confident. She knew what she was looking for. Her hands moved through the pockets like someone who could build a live shot from scratch with duct tape and a prayer.
“That’s a light battery,” she said, holding one up.
“Yeah.”
She tossed it aside gently and grabbed another. “And that one is… wrong voltage.”
“Yeah.”
