SLOANE
Chase moved through the yoga flow like he was executing plays on ice—every stretch deliberate, every transition controlled, every line of his body radiating quiet, coiled power.
In downward dog his shoulders rolled open, tank pulling tight across the broad plane of his chest. Sweat already beaded at the nape of his neck, tracing a slow, glistening path down the valley of his spine.
In warrior II our arms extended in parallel—close enough that the heat radiating off his bicep brushed my skin. When he sank deeper into the lunge, the muscle flexed visibly under golden skin.
Tree pose. One leg planted, the other foot pressed high against inner thigh. Victoria’s voice rang out, bright and oblivious.
“Partner assist! Trust exercise—hold each other steady.”
Dad steadied Victoria with
