She laughed, a low, rumbling sound. “Give me five minutes. I want to rehydrate. Then I’ll carry you too, if you want.”
“You’re not even breathing hard,” he whispered back.
By the third take, the crew was silent. The lighting tech, a grizzled man who’d worked on action movies for twenty years, muttered, “I’ve seen stunt rigs less stable than her.” She laughed, a low, rumbling sound
“You okay?” Amber murmured, not breaking character.
Then she shifted his weight to one arm— there —reached out for the ramp’s railing, and climbed. Each step was a triumph of biology and will. Her quadriceps, carved from years of deadlifts and hack squats, turned to granite. Sweat beaded on her brow, not from strain, but from the heat of the lights. Then I’ll carry you too, if you want
She walked. Through the rubble, past the fog machines, her quadriceps flexing with each deliberate step. Kai’s eyes were wide—not with fear, but with the strange vertigo of being completely, utterly weightless in someone else’s arms.
Amber smirked, her lats flaring as she leaned back in her chair. She’d done lift-and-carry videos before—fireman’s carries, shoulder sits, the classic cradle hold that made grown men blush. But this felt different. Voss wanted a scene: a futuristic warrior retrieving a fallen comrade from a collapsing alien ruin. Then she shifted his weight to one arm—
When she reached the top, Voss didn’t say cut. He just stood there, mouth slightly open.
Voss turned red. The crew laughed. And Amber Steel—Amber DeLuca, the FBB, the Amazon—walked over to her water bottle, every muscle still humming, ready to lift the world again.