The air in the Iron Vault smelled of ozone, rubber flooring, and the sharp, metallic tang of old sweat. I gripped the knurling of the barbell, the cold steel biting into my palms. My breath came in jagged hitches, fogging the mirror in front of me.
Behind me, I felt the heat radiating off Zach before he even spoke. He stood too close, his chest nearly brushing my shoulder blades, a wall of solid muscle and expensive sandalwood cologne.
"Chest up, Kayda. Don't let the weight cave you in," Zach murmured.
His voice sounded like gravel grinding over velvet. He was forty-two, twenty years my senior, with salt-and-pepper hair cropped tight and eyes that looked through me rather than at me. I shifted my stance, feeling the spandex of my leggings cling to my thighs.
"I can't get the last rep,
