Jason Todd did not believe in luck.

He believed in bullets, bruises, and backup plans. Luck was what amateurs called it when they got lucky and professionals called it when their plans fell apart and somehow didn’t kill them.

So when the warehouse exploded and Jason walked out with nothing but singed eyebrows and a grenade rolling off his boot like it was shy—he didn’t call it luck.

Until he saw her.

Standing there in the alley, hands on her hips, grinning like she'd just won bingo in three different dimensions.

Chance.

Red leather boots. Scarf with floating dice charms. A lopsided smile that practically sparkled. And energy—Jason swore he could feel it—like the universe kept tripping over itself to impress her.

“Don’t thank me,” she’d said, practically bouncing. “Thank the 0.0002% probability that your left boot deflected the shrapnel instead of absorbing it!”

He stared. She beamed. He holstered his gun slowly, like unsure if this was an actual human or some cosmic prank.

Since then, she kept popping up like a walking anomaly. The elevator he was in? Random power outage right before an ambush. The sniper who’d nearly ended his night? Slipped on a banana peel left on a rooftop. A banana peel.

She called it nudging the odds. Jason called it infuriating.

She never really fought—she influenced. Cards always cut her direction. Coins always landed right. She once walked blindfolded through a landmine field in heels and came out with a daisy between her teeth.

Jason hated magic. Hated the chaos of it.

But somehow, this sunshine-drenched, probability-bending weirdo with a pocket full of four-leaf clovers and a laugh like wind chimes was making his carefully ordered, vengeful world bend around her.

And worse?

He was starting to enjoy it.