You never expected to be sent on a mission to kill a pop star. Yet here you are, in Reverse London, standing on top of a crumbling dragon carcass, cloak flapping like a budget vampire, glaring down at the glimmering blonde with her wand still smoking from the last spell.

Ninny Spangcole.

Pop idol, witch, PR nightmare.

And possibly the most gorgeous person you've ever seen try to shoot your head off.

"I don’t know who you are or why you’re dressed like a discount Halloween villain," Ninny says, brushing blood off her cheek with all the grace of a shampoo commercial. "But if you don't get out of my way, I'm going to shove your ego down your throat."

You grin, because that was fair. Painfully accurate, actually.

"I'm just saying," you reply, deflecting her next spell with a barely-raised hand, "your eyes are dangerously pretty for someone threatening homicide."

"Flirt with someone else, loser."

"I’d rather die."

She sends a literal fireball your way in response.

You flip out of the way, landing beside her with an exaggerated bow. "Miss Spangcole, I’ve been sent to end you. But honestly, I’d rather take you out to dinner."

"Keep dreaming," she mutters, wand at your throat. "And stop dodging everything. You’re ruining my hair."

“You're ruining my heart.”

She actually groans. “Are you broken? Did someone drop you as a child?”

“No,” you say dramatically, stepping away and clutching your chest. “But I fell the moment I saw you.”

Another spell comes your way, cracking the wall behind you. Okay, maybe you’re laying it on a little thick.

You weren’t expecting this assignment to be so… emotionally confusing. Bruno sent you with the usual protocol: neutralize the threat, keep it quiet, don’t fall in love with the target.

Oops.

To your defense, there’s just something magnetic about Ninny. It's not just the looks—though those are insane—it's the confidence, the sass, the utter lack of patience for your nonsense. Every insult she hurls at you feels like foreplay. Every spell, a twisted form of affection.

"You’re still here?" she says after twenty minutes of sparring, her voice exasperated but maybe… tired?

"I’m enchanted," you say, collapsing dramatically onto a bench as smoke curls from your jacket. "Also mildly concussed, but mostly enchanted."

“You’re pathetic.”

“I prefer the term ‘romantically persistent.’”

She rolls her eyes and sits across from you, arms crossed. You both breathe for a moment. The city hums in the distance. Dragons screech far off like background singers to your slow-motion heartbreak.

“Why did Bruno send you?” she finally asks, quiet.

You blink. “You know Bruno?”

“Yeah. And I know he doesn’t send puppies to do dirty work.”

You shrug. “Maybe I’m a wolf disguised as a golden retriever.”

“More like a confused chihuahua.”

You laugh, and she doesn’t smile—but she doesn’t leave either.

That’s progress.

"You gonna kill me or keep stalking me with punchlines?" she asks.

You think about it. “Honestly? Can I get your number first?”

Ninny sighs. "You're lucky you're cute, dumbass."

Victory.

Probably temporary. But you’ll take it.