It was a stupid habit — logging her first impressions like she was still twenty-two and terrified of disappointing every person above her on the masthead. Providence had drilled that into her. One bad story, one shaky live shot, one mistake in the field, and suddenly the whispers started:maybe she’s not ready, maybe she peaked early, maybe she only got the job because someone vouched for her.
Boston was worse. Bigger market, bigger ego. There were a dozen people in this newsroom who would kill for a permanent nightside spot. If she messed up in front of Tilly — one of the best shooters here, someone people actually listened to — it wouldn’t just be embarrassing. It would be ammunition.
She swallowed hard, her thumb hovering over the screen.
It wasn’t that she wanted Tilly to like her.
It was that she couldn’t afford for them not to.
She’d learned that at ten — make yourself useful, make yourself needed, earn your place. At twenty-nine, she still couldn’t work any other way.
Savannah closed the Notes app, but her phone didn’t dim fast enough to hide the notification banner that popped up at the top of the screen.
Missed call — Alana.
Then:
Hope Boston’s treating you okay. Call when you can.
Her stomach tightened.
Alana didn’t call to check in. She called when shefeltsomething was off, when Savannah sounded a little too put together, a little too careful. Providence had been safe, but small. Boston was louder, sharper, and Savannah hadn’t figured out yet how much of herself she was allowed to show here.
She deleted her sister’s voicemail without opening it.
Through the rig’s window, she caught her reflection in the glass: hair neat, makeup sharp, posture straight. Exactly the version of herself people expected. Exactly the version she couldn’t afford to let crack.
Tilly climbed back into the driver’s seat, brushing the cold from their jacket. Savannah dropped her phone into her lap a little too fast.
Tilly noticed. “What’s that look for? I catch you texting your secret lover or something?”
Savannah blinked. “What? No. Notes.”
“Work notes?”
“Yeah,” she said, forcing it to sound casual. “I like to keep track of what I can tighten next time.”
Tilly started the engine. “You mean tonight.”
Savannah turned toward them. “Is that a critique?”
“Observation.”
“Right,” she said. “Because I’m sure my pacing offended your artistic sensibilities.”
That earned the faintest smirk. “You said it, not me.”
The expression was quick, almost gone as soon as it appeared.
Savannah noticed anyway.
Which was… new.
The heater kicked on with a soft hum as they merged onto the main road. Outside, the city lights slid past in blurred reflections across the windshield. Savannah stared straight ahead, pretending not to think about the phone burning in her lap.
She told herself it was just another note. Another name in a long list of coworkers she’d learned how to win over. Nothing new. Nothing complicated.
She didn’t believe it.
