Thirteen
The assignment wasn’t glamorous. Budget preview. Quick reaction bite. B-roll of City Hall. A standup to close. The predictable rhythm of a daytime, midweek story.
Tilly liked predictability. Predictable meant control.
But nothing about working with the new reporter had felt predictable yet.
Savannah stood on the sidewalk just outside the main steps, phone in one hand, the other wrapped around her coat collar to block the wind. Her stance was familiar, though. MMJ posture. Someone who had spent too many shoots balancing a camera bag and trying to get a quote before a deadline.
She wasn’t lost. Just adjusting. New station, new city, new partner.
“The council member texted again,” she said when Tilly stopped beside her. “He’s about fifteen minutes behind.”
“That’s fine,” Tilly said. “Gives us time.”
Savannah let out a breath she’d probably been holding since they arrived. “Good. I didn’t want you to feel rushed.”
Tilly blinked. “I’m not rushing you.”
“Oh. I didn’t mean—” She shut her mouth. “Never mind.”
They opened the gear case and immediately frowned. “Battery is dead.”
Savannah looked over sharply. “For the mic?”
“Yeah. And the spare is empty too.”
Savannah crouched next to them without waiting for an invitation. Not clumsy. Not frantic. Confident. She knew what she was looking for. Her hands moved through the pockets like someone who could build a live shot from scratch with duct tape and a prayer.
“That’s a light battery,” she said, holding one up.
“Yeah.”
She tossed it aside gently and grabbed another. “And that one is… wrong voltage.”
“Yeah.”
She reached deeper and pulled out a tiny pack. “This fits the old Sony kits we used at WKTB.”
“We don’t use those here,” Tilly said.
“I figured,” she murmured.
She paused, then met their eyes. “I’m not trying to step on your job. I just… know what it feels like when gear screws you over.”
Tilly hesitated. “I didn’t think you were stepping on anything.”
Her mouth tugged at the corner, something halfway to relieved.
Tilly finally found a half-charged spare wedged under a coiled cord. Savannah saw it at the same time they did.
“That one’ll last,” she said.
“Yeah.”
She stood and brushed her hands off. “Then we’re good.”
The wind picked up, scattering leaves across the pavement. Savannah tucked her hair behind her ear, annoyed but composed.
“You want me for framing?” she asked. “Or do you want to handle it?”
“You can help,” Tilly said. “If you want.”
“I do.” She stepped beside them. “I miss this part, actually.”
“What part?”
“Framing things. Seeing the picture before the picture.”
Tilly wasn’t ready for that answer. Something warm flicked in their chest before they could stop it.
They adjusted the tripod. “See the top ledge? Keep it in the upper third.”
Savannah leaned in. “Like this?”
“Yeah.”
She knew what she was doing. Her eye was sharp. She tilted her head, studying the monitor with an ease that told Tilly she wasn’t performing. She genuinely loved the work. Maybe even missed being behind the camera.
“That’s really clean,” Tilly said.
Savannah lifted her gaze. “Coming from you, that means a lot.”
Tilly looked away before they could react to that.
The council member finally emerged from the building, apologizing as if that fixed anything. Savannah straightened, reporter mask slipping into place. Confident. Focused. Experienced.
Halfway through the interview, the wind caught her hair and slapped it straight across her face. She didn’t break, just held her mic a little higher and tried to keep going.
“Hold,” Tilly said.
She froze mid-sentence, blinking hair out of her eye. “Sorry. It’s like this city is personally offended by me.”
“Step a little left.”
She moved instantly, perfect muscle memory from years of adjusting her own live shots. She stopped right where she needed to be without Tilly even touching the tripod.
The sun snuck through the clouds at that exact moment, lighting her face with a soft golden edge.
“You good?” Savannah asked, searching their expression.
Tilly swallowed. “Yeah. The light… it works.”
Savannah stilled. Her breath hitched the tiniest bit. Her cheeks warmed, and she looked down at her notes like the printed lines had suddenly become poetry.
“Oh. Thanks.”
The interview restarted. Smooth. Precise. Strong.
When it came time for the standup, Savannah positioned herself without needing direction. Tilly still gave some anyway, their voice quieter than usual, and she followed each cue with calm confidence.
Closer. Right. Lift your chin. Center yourself in the frame.
She stepped in just slightly too close during one adjustment, close enough that her arm brushed theirs. Close enough that Tilly felt the heat of her body through her coat. Close enough to feel the air shift between them.
Savannah noticed. Her pupils widened just a fraction. Her breath caught.
She held the line for her standup. Voice steady. Eyes sharp. But her shoulders were not tense for once. They were softening, just barely.
After the final take, she didn’t step back immediately.
Then she realized.
And took two quick steps away like the pavement was burning beneath her.
“That should… that should work,” she said.
“It does,” Tilly said, trying to keep their voice even. “Nice job.”
Her head whipped around. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
She took that in. Carefully. Like it meant something. Maybe it did.
“Thank you,” she said, softer than anything she’d said all day.
Tilly busied themself with the camera to break whatever was threading between them.
Savannah cleared her throat. “I’ll head back and start logging. You want to grab B-roll?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
But she didn’t leave right away. She hovered, shifting her weight, glancing at Tilly like she was trying to decide whether to say something real.
She didn’t.
She tucked her hair again, though the wind would undo it immediately. “I’ll see you there.”
“Yeah.”
She walked off, boots clicking on the stone, then hesitated at the curb. Looked back once. Just once.
Tilly pretended they weren’t still watching her.
It wasn’t a fight. It wasn’t tension.
Savannah crossed the street with that same careful posture she always carried.
Determined. Trying. Guarded. But something about her silhouette looked different as she disappeared into the crowd.
Lighter, maybe. Or maybe Tilly was projecting.
They weren’t sure, and they didn’t linger on it long enough to find out.
They lifted the camera again and panned across the square, capturing buses, pedestrians, and the shimmer of late-afternoon light against the stone buildings.
The sort of B-roll Jamie used to narrate over with quick jokes or complaints about the cold.
Savannah didn’t fill the silence like that.
She wasn’t loud, wasn’t flashy, wasn’t anything other than focused.
And yet her absence now felt sharper than it should have for a routine assignment.
By the time Tilly finished and headed back to the car, the wind had picked up again, cutting across the plaza. They paused before getting in, glancing once in the direction Savannah had gone, as if expecting her to still be there. Waiting. Saying something she hadn’t said.
She wasn’t.
Tilly exhaled, long and steady, then slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. They had B-roll to ingest, a script to match, and a reporter waiting in the newsroom who didn’t know she had left a small mark on the afternoon.
A small crack.
Not a moment they’d talk about.
Not anything that changed the day.
But it changed something. Quietly. Barely. Just enough for Tilly to feel the shift as the car pulled away from City Hall and the distance between them stretched and settled into something new.