“Savannah did good work today,” Henry said to someone passing by. “Clean shots. Quick turnaround. She’s one of our strongest new reporters.”
“She’s sharp,” the producer said. “Give her the right story, and she’ll be chasing an Emmy within the next year.”
Tilly stayed where they were, Savannah’s gloves still in their hand.
Savannah was steady.
Savannah was rising.
Savannah was fine.
Tilly folded the gloves once, carefully, and tucked them into their jacket pocket. Then they finished what they’d started in the gear room. Wiped down lenses that didn’t need it. Reorganized cases already in order. Logged footage they’d logged a hundred times before.
The work gave them something to stand inside, even if it didn’t fix anything.
By the time they checked the clock, more than an hour had passed.
Savannah didn’t come back.
Tilly shut down the computer, slung their bag over their shoulder, and headed for the back hallway. They could tell Henry later. Or tomorrow. Right now, they just needed out.
“Tilly?”
Jamie’s voice cut through the hallway behind them.
When Tilly turned, Jamie was already walking toward them, expression focused in that way that meant she’d clocked something and wasn’t going to pretend she hadn’t.
“You’re leaving early?” Jamie asked.
“So did Savannah.”
Jamie stopped short, eyes flicking past Tilly to the empty desk. “Yeah. I noticed.”
“Then you know why I’m leaving.”
“And I know you don’t do that unless something’s wrong,” Jamie said. “So talk.”
“Not now.”
“No,” Jamie said calmly. “Exactly now.”
Tilly exhaled and leaned back against the wall, the cold seeping through their jacket. “She kissed me.”
Jamie stilled. “Savannah kissed you?”
“The night of the storm. In the truck.”
“That explains a lot,” Jamie said quietly.
“And then she wouldn’t look at me,” Tilly added. “And now she’s gone.”
Jamie’s jaw tightened. “She left shaking.”
Tilly’s hand slipped into their pocket, fingers closing around the folded gloves.
“She feels something,” Jamie said. “And she’s scared.”
“Or she regrets it?”
