Phei rose from the bench, towel slung over one shoulder like a conqueror who'd forgotten the war was already won. The gym had gone quiet again.
He crossed the rubberized floor with that slow, deliberate stride that made every step feel like it carried more weight than physics allowed — each footfall a quiet promise that gravity was only obeying him out of politeness.
She didn't stop running until he was close enough that she could feel the shift in temperature — the air cooling, thickening, pressing against her skin like the prelude to a storm she hadn't ordered.
Then—without breaking rhythm, without looking at him, without any acknowledgment that she'd noticed his approach — she tapped the emergency stop on the console. The belt slowed beneath her feet in a smooth, controlled deceleration.
She stepped off, ponytail swinging once like a whip that hadn't decided whether to strike, and turned to face him.
