“I am,” Jamie said, already on her feet. Tilly had the camera bag slung over their shoulder before Henry even turned. They tossed her a spare battery and grabbed two more.
“Jamie, you and Tilly. Grab the live kit. Take car three,” Henry said, voice clipped. “IFB stays open. I want you ready for a phoner within five.”
“Got it.”
The room crackled with motion. Producers shouted about a breaking double-box. A graphics editor swore as he rebuilt the lower third. The air itself seemed to vibrate. Jamie snatched her coat and sprinted for the elevators, the noise chasing her all the way down.
By the time they hit the parking garage, her pulse was racing. The air outside was cold and wet, that sharp November smell rising from the pavement. Tilly popped the trunk and shoved the tripod and live pack inside before sliding behind the wheel.
“Scanner,” Jamie said.
They handed it over while backing out. A dispatcher’s voice filled the car, clipped but calm. “Central to units on Common. One victim, gunshot wound. Witness reports a male in a dark jacket fleeing on foot, direction unknown.Possible narcotics activity in the area. Use caution.”
Jamie pressed her palm against her thigh, trying to keep her focus where it belonged. The press conference replayed in her head—the way Erin’s voice had almost faltered, the tightness around her mouth.
“Hey,” Tilly said, eyes on the road. “Breathe.”
“I’m fine,” Jamie muttered, though she wasn’t. The city blurred past in streaks of red and white.
Her IFB chirped. “Jamie, you with me?” the producer said.
“Yeah. Just crossing Beacon.”
“First live hit in three. Confirm single victim, nothing else.”
“Copy.”
They parked two blocks away. The sound hit first—sirens, overlapping radio chatter, the shuffle of onlookers pressed behind tape. The air was thick with exhaust and the faint bite of cordite.
Jamie climbed out, gripping her mic and notepad. The glow of blue lights painted everything cold. Officers moved in tight lines, heads bent toward radios. She caught flashes of latex gloves, evidence markers staked in damp grass, and a shape on the ground covered by a white sheet. The edge of it fluttered when the wind pushed through.
Her throat tightened.
“Stay here,” she told Tilly, but she was already stepping closer, careful to keep her press badge visible. The tape hummed against its post in the wind. A uniformed officer lifted a hand, stopping her.
“Media perimeter’s back there.”
“I just need a closer look for color,” Jamie said, voice steady out of habit.
He hesitated, then sighed. “Two minutes. Don’t cross the line.”
She nodded, crouching slightly to see past a cruiser. The puddle near the curb caught the flash of red and blue, turning the street into a smear of color. A medic zipped a bag of equipment shut. Another officer whispered something low—she only caught the words “female,” “mid-twenties,” “mayor’s office is being notified.”
Her chest went cold. She looked up just in time to spot Erin.
She was on the far side of the scene, framed by cruisers, talking fast to alieutenant. Her shoulders were rigid, one hand pressed against her temple like she was holding herself together by force. Even from that distance, Jamie could see the tension in her jaw.
She lifted her mic as the IFB crackled again.
“WCVB live in ten.”
Jamie swallowed hard and forced herself into position, the glare of the cruiser lights washing her out. When the cue came, her voice found its rhythm.
“This is Jamie Garrison reporting live from Boston Common, where police have confirmed one person was shot earlier this evening,” she said. “Sources tell WCVB this may have been a drug deal gone wrong. The victim’s identity has not been released, but officers remain on scene gathering evidence and canvassing witnesses.”
She finished clean, voice steady. The moment the light clicked off, she lowered the mic, heart hammering.
Tilly started rolling b-roll, zooming on the police tape, the medics, the cluster of detectives near the bench line. Jamie tried to focus on what she’d just reported, but her gaze kept drifting toward Erin. She was talking to someone again, her movements sharp, her expression breaking through in flashes of panic.
