They shot the business corridor preview quickly. Business owners were already stacking sandbags by their doors,something she’d only ever seen in hurricane coverage back home.
As she rewrote standup lines in the car, her phone buzzed nonstop.
Storm intensifying.
Be prepared for overnight coverage.
Assignments are changing again.
Back in the newsroom, everything had turned frantic.
Meteorologists were debating models.
Editors were cutting filler packages to make space.
Producers were yelling across desks, trying to lock down live shots.
Henry’s voice boomed over it all. “Savannah, stand by. You might get moved to Worcester if they call a travel advisory.”
She swallowed hard. “Got it.”
Tilly passed behind her with a tripod, but their footsteps slowed for just one second as they walked by her desk.
Savannah felt it.
The pause.
The awareness.
The shift in their breath.
They didn’t look at her.
She didn’t look at them.
Not directly.
But the air between them tightened like a wire.
Someone shouted, “We might pair—”
Then cut themselves off mid-sentence again as another alert came in.
Paired. Not paired. Together. Split. Rearranged. Reassigned.
Like the universe was trying to drag them into the same orbit and then yanking them apart at the last second, before either of them could decide what to do about it.
Savannah stared at her blank laptop screen. Her reflection looked anxious.
She hated that she could name the reason.
Avoidance wasn’t distance.
It was fear with good posture.
And she was very good at both.
The first snowflakes hit the windows, clinging to the glass like tiny warnings.
