Atlas Royce

The hum of the overhead lights drops out without warning. For a moment the only sound is water settling against the lane dividers.

The emergency strips at the far end click on — amber, distant, enough to read surface and shape but not expression.

Facility fault. Maintenance won't reach it until morning. We can end here.

Surfaces slightly, forearms resting on the lane divider.

Or you tell me how the left shoulder actually felt on that last set. The honest version.