She was on the leg press, halfway through her fourth set, when her quadriceps seized. Not a cramp—something deeper. A violent, silent rebellion of muscle and nerve. She didn’t scream. She didn’t even gasp. She just froze, her leg locked at an unnatural angle, her face a mask of sudden, animal stillness.

She gathered her things slowly, not because she was in a hurry to leave, but because she wasn’t. At the door, she turned back. He was at the squat rack, loading plates like nothing had happened. But she saw the slight pause before his first rep—the way his eyes flicked to the spot where she had been.