The taxi dropped Martha in front of the TV station.
She paid, stepped out, and looked up at the familiar glass building. Through the doors she could already see cameras, lights, people rushing around with clipboards.
Last time, she had walked into a hospital and handed her life over.
This time, she walked into her job.
As soon as she pushed through the revolving door, someone shouted her name.
“Martha!"
Caroline rushed across the lobby, nearly tripping over a cable. She grabbed Martha's arm.
“There you are," she said. “I was about to send a search team. Do you know what today is?"
“You already told me," Martha said. “Pulitzer day."
Caroline smacked her lightly on the shoulder. “Pulitzer day," she repeated. “As in, our station's first ever Pulitzer. As in, they printed your face in
