Twenty Three
Tilly snapped the battery case shut and swallowed the tight feeling in their throat.
Six hit. They could do this. They would do this.
They’d done live shots with sprained ankles and broken gear and producers screaming in their ear.
They could survive thirty minutes with Savannah pretending they didn’t exist.
Henry stood by the assignment desk, scrolling on his tablet. “Medford update,” he said, not looking up. “Charges reduced this morning. DA just sent revised language. Savannah, I want a clean stand-up. No speculation. Six o’clock.”
Savannah nodded too fast. “We should get courthouse exteriors first. Then, the police headquarters signage, just in case they tighten access. If we lose daylight, we lose flexibility.”
Henry blinked, thrown off for half a second. “Yeah. Sure. That works.”
Tilly clocked it. Savannah didn’t usually jump in like that. She waited, listened, and asked questions later. Today, she already had the plan mapped out in her head, like she needed the control locked down before anything else could slip.
“Car two,” Tilly said quietly, because Henry was still within earshot.
Savannah nodded without looking at them. “Fine.”
They walked out to the garage side by side but not touching. The cold slapped them both when the bay door opened. Savannah brushed past them to the passenger side so abruptly that Tilly felt it like a shove, the edge of her sleeve catching their arm for half a second before she pulled away.
The silence in the car was immediate and thick.
Tilly focused on driving. Savannah stared out the window so hard it was like she was trying to burn through the glass.
“You can take the next left,” she said.
Tilly nodded and did it without comment.
A block later, “If you stay right, you’ll avoid the hill.”
Tilly stayed right.
They hit a patch of uneven snow anyway, the car jolting hard enough to rattle the camera case in the back. Something metallic clinked once and settled.
Savannah’s hand caught the door. “Can you not do that?”
Tilly’s jaw tightened. “Do what?”
“Hit every pothole in Massachusetts?”
“I didn’t hit every pothole.”
“You’re trying.”
Tilly’s eyes flicked toward her before they could stop themself. “If I were trying, you’d know.”
Savannah inhaled sharply, breath cutting off halfway. “Right. Because everything you do is intentional.”
That landed like a slap.
Tilly looked back at the road. “I’m not doing this with you right now.”
“Great,” Savannah muttered. “We agree.”
They drove in brittle silence the rest of the way. Savannah corrected directions once more, then stopped speaking altogether. Her breathing went shallow, clipped, like she was holding back words that had teeth. The heater hummed too loudly in the quiet.
At the courthouse, Savannah got out without waiting. She crossed the steps too fast, boots skidding slightly before she caught herself. She squared her shoulders and pulled her coat tighter like none of it had happened.
Tilly followed, already setting up shots. Wide of the building. Seal over the entrance. Flag snapping in the wind. Savannah paced just off to the side, murmuring phrasing under her breath, stopping herself mid-sentence, starting again.
“No,” she said once, shaking her head. “That sounds definitive.”
Tilly adjusted framing and kept filming.
Savannah stepped into place, breath visible now. She looked at Tilly. Just once.
“Ready.”
Tilly lifted the camera. “Rolling.”
Savannah squared herself and looked into the lens.
“Breaking news this afternoon on a case WDTV has been following since early fall.”
She didn’t rush it.
“Prosecutors have reduced charges in the Medford homicide investigation, announcing today that the original homicide charge against the suspect has been lowered to a lesser offense following a review of new evidence.”
Her voice stayed level. Controlled.
“The case first drew attention earlier this fall after investigators alleged the suspect acted alone in a fatal incident. From the beginning, defense attorneys argued the situation was more complex, claiming their client had been coerced and impaired at the time of the crime.”
No emphasis. No judgment.
“Those claims were disputed in the initial stages of the investigation, but today’s announcement signals a shift in how prosecutors are now framing the case and its timeline.
Officials emphasized the investigation remains ongoing and that the revised charge reflects procedure, not a final determination. ”
She held eye contact with the camera.
“The district attorney’s office declined to comment on what evidence prompted the change. We’ll continue to follow developments as they become available.”
A beat.
“Reporting in Medford, Savannah Wells, WDTV.”
She held still a second longer than necessary.
Tilly let the shot breathe, then lowered the camera. “That’s good.”
Savannah nodded once. Didn’t smile.
They grabbed a few more shots for safety. Signage. Doors. A patrol car idling across the street. Savannah stayed focused, efficient, already pulling away emotionally as soon as the work was done.
Back in the car, she opened her notebook, then closed it without writing anything. Her pen tapped once against the cover. Then stilled.
She never fidgeted. Never.
Tilly hated that they noticed.
“I don’t know what you want from me,” Savannah said quietly.
Tilly stared at the windshield. “I didn’t ask for anything.”
“That’s the problem.” Her voice shook despite her effort. “You act like nothing happened. Like I imagined it.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Tilly opened their mouth. Closed it. “Savannah.”
“Just get us back.”
They drove the rest of the way in silence.
Inside the station, Savannah was already at her desk, head down, typing. She didn’t look up.
Henry called across the room. “Franklin, send me your footage.”
“Yeah,” Tilly said.
Savannah didn’t flinch at their voice.
Tilly gathered the camera and headed for the gear room, legs unsteady from something that had nothing to do with the cold. They set the camera down on the counter and leaned their weight against it, breath slow, controlled.
There was work to do.
Whatever sat between them would have to wait.