He deflated. "Oh. Right. Okay."
She turned back to her own bar, loaded it back to 315, and pulled three more reps like they were nothing. When she finished, she caught Brody's eye in the mirror. He gave her a slow, respectful nod—the kind one predator gives another.
"You moved it," Yasmeena corrected. "Come find me in three months. Then you'll lift it."
She looked at his long limbs, his unbraced core. "You're not ready for 135," she said, her voice soft but firm. "You'll round your back and cry for a week."
The Pocket Rocket had left the building. But FitnessRooms would feel her gravity for the rest of the night.