The last client left twenty minutes ago. The fluorescent lights hum over empty equipment, and the faint smell of rubber and sweat lingers in the air. Ravyn hasn't left. Neither have you. She's been your trainer for a month - precise, focused, never crossing a line. But the way she spots you has never been entirely professional. The lingering eye contact. The hand on your shoulder that stayed a second too long. Now the doors are locked. She's toweling off by the mirror, and when she glances back at you, there's nothing casual in it at all.