Savannah stared at them, stunned.
Not because the conversation was over, but because it felt like something else was.
Savannah stared at them, stunned. “Tilly—”
“We’re not getting anywhere. And I don’t want to say something I regret.”
That hit like a slap.
Before she could answer, traffic lurched forward. Tilly shifted the truck into gear with clipped precision, expression unreadable, body rigid with restraint.
The rest of the drive was silent, suffocatingly so.
When they finally pulled into the station lot, Savannah reached for the door handle — but Tilly beat her to it.
They opened their door fast. Too fast. Like they couldn’t get out of the truck quickly enough.
They grabbed their bag, slammed the door harder than they meant to, and walked off across the lot without a single glance back.
Savannah sat there, breathless, pulse still racing from the fight that never actually became a fight.
Heat crawled up her neck.
Anger. Confusion. Something sharper.
By the time she stepped out into the snow, she was shaking with it.
Tilly didn’t want to talk?
Fine.
She would make them talk.
Because she couldn’t leave it like this.
Not with them.
Seventeen
Tilly heard Savannah’s footsteps before she said a word — that same quick, irritated rhythm she’d had getting out of the truck an hour earlier.
Tilly had hidden away in the gear room since they got back to the station.
Sharp.
Determined.
Coming straight for them.
“Are you serious?” Savannah snapped, already heated.
Tilly stopped with one hand mid cable rewind, shoulders tightening. They turned slowly, jaw clenched. “What now?”
“Don’t do that.”
Tilly blinked, exhausted already. “Do what?”
“Pretend you don’t know.”
