Tilly didn’t look over. “Yes.”
Savannah hesitated. “About last night—”
“You said not to talk about it,” Tilly said softly.
Not sharp.
Not cold.
Just true.
Savannah shut her mouth.
They finished the work. She grabbed statements. Interviewed a couple of neighbors shoveling out their driveways. Tilly stayed near the car, eyes somewhere far away but always aware of her.
Back at the station, Tilly cut her package fast, while Savannah pretended to go through emails, her mind replaying the way Tilly had watched her through the camera.
When the package was fed, she packed up, grabbed her bag, and headed out before anyone could pull her back.
Harper caught her at the doors.
“You leaving already?”
“I’ve been here since nine.”
“You working mornings tomorrow?”
“No.”
“Good. You look like you need sleep or a shot of whiskey or a spiritual cleanse.”
“Thanks.”
“That was a concern,” Harper said. “Sorry, it sounds like an insult.”
Savannah sighed. “What do you want?”
“Nothing.” Harper paused. “Except maybe for you to stop pretending you don’t notice Tilly’s acting like you lit them on fire.”
Heat shot up Savannah’s neck. “Harper.”
“What? Am I wrong?”
“Drop it.”
Harper held up both hands. “Fine. I’ll let it go. Today.”
Savannah didn’t believe that for a second.
She walked out into the cold, crossed the lot, and climbed into her car. Once the door shut, the silence pressed in.
She set her hands on the wheel.
They were shaking.
She tightened her grip until the tremor stopped. Or until she could pretend it had.
The silence in the car felt too loud after the day she’d just had. Too much space for thoughts she didn’t want to sort through yet.
