“We’re hearing reports of multiple accidents on I-ninety-three,” she said, raising her voice as the wind howled even louder, “including jackknifed semis and several stalled vehicles. Plows are out, but the snowfall rate is increasing so quickly that many roads are becoming impassable shortly after they’re cleared.”
Another gust hit so hard it shoved Savannah back half a step.
Tilly cursed under their breath and widened the frame slightly, tracking her movement to keep her centered.
Savannah steadied herself, dug her boots into the snow, and raised her mic again. Her cheeks were red, her lashes dripping, her hood half off — but her voice stayed clear.
“This is a fast-moving system, and forecasters say the worst bands of snow are still ahead,” she said, eyes narrowing against the sting of the cold. “Wind gusts like the ones you’re hearing behind me are expected to reach forty to fifty miles per hour over the next few hours.”
A cluster of snow blasted directly across the lens.
Tilly wiped it clean with their sleeve, breath catching from the cold.
Savannah kept talking.
“Officials are encouraging residents to check on elderly neighbors, keep extra layers and blankets on hand, and avoid driving until conditions improve. If you do have to be on the roads, reduce your speed and give plows plenty of space to work.”
Her voice wavered for the first time — not fear, just the cold drilling straight through her lungs. She tightened her grip on the mic.
Tilly found themselves leaning in without meaning to, as if that would help steady her.
But Savannah didn’t need steadying.
“The city has opened warming shelters across multiple neighborhoods,” she said. “We’ll have those locations on our website and app. For now, officials are urging everyone to stay indoors and stay safe.”
She finished the hit with a small breath, fog rolling in front of her face.
“This is Savannah Wells, WDTV News.”
The tally light snapped off.
Savannah lowered the mic immediately, her hand shaking once before she tucked it under her arm.
The storm roared so loud it felt like the world was cracking in half around them.
“You good?” Tilly asked, stepping out from behind the camera.
Savannah nodded, pushing snow off her eyelashes with the back of her wrist. “Yeah. You?”
Tilly didn’t answer because in that moment she shivered — a quick, sharp involuntary tremor — and before they could stopthemself, they reached out and brushed snow from the side of her hood.
Her breath hitched again.
Not fear.
Not discomfort.
Just something that lived too close to the edge of awareness.
Neither of them said a word about the moment.
Savannah cleared her throat. “We should… get the next hit prepped.”
“Yeah,” Tilly said, stepping back. “Let’s move.”
Snow swirled between them, thick and cold and relentless.
But something else moved there too.
