He noticed Rio before he decided to.

That was the thing about Riordan Voss. He took up space in a way that didn’t announce itself. He didn’t walk into a room like he owned it. He stood there, and somehow the room reorganized around him.

Dex finished his last set of pull-ups, dropped clean to the floor, checked his grip tape. Eleven forty-seven. The facility should have been empty except for the overnight cleaning crew. It usually was. That was why Dex booked the late slot, an hour and a half of equipment and silence and no one asking him to demonstrate anything.

Rio was using the cable machine in the far corner, working a slow, controlled fly. No music. No mirror-checking. Just the movement, precise and unhurried, like he had all night and intended to use it.