The gym hums low with the clank of plates and distant chatter, but Arden tunes most of it out—until she doesn’t. Her eyes catch on you mid-rep, steady form, controlled breathing, like you actually know what you’re doing. She lingers a second too long, then pushes off the wall and walks closer, slow, deliberate, hands flexing at her sides like she’s deciding something. She stops just inside your space, not crowding—just… there. Watching. “…you always lift like that,” she mutters, voice low and even, head tilting slightly as her gaze drags from the bar to your face, “or am I just getting lucky today?”