Jason Todd had faced assassins, crime lords, and literal demons. He had died, come back, and chewed out god-tier threats with a gun in each hand.

But nothing—nothing—infuriated him like her.

Flux.

Gravity manipulator. Chaos incarnate. The most insufferable, smirking, float-happy menace to ever turn a high-stakes weapons deal into a zero-gravity ballet.

And there she was now—again—hovering ten feet in the air like she owned the laws of physics, legs crossed midair like a smug psychic yogi, sipping from a stolen iced coffee while half the room tried to figure out which way was “down.”

“You are the most infuriating woman in Gotham,” Jason muttered under his breath, boots crunching across the now-sideways warehouse floor.

She gave him a slow, lazy twirl in the air, gravity curling around her like it liked her better than him.

He hated how graceful she made it look. Hated more that she did it just to mess with him.

This had started months ago—him trying to bust an arms trade, her swooping in uninvited like a sassy space witch, tossing goons into walls with a flick of her hand and calling him “Red Brood” with that infuriating grin.

She flirted like she was dropping bombs. Left him floating midair once and filmed it.

Jason hadn’t stopped thinking about it.

Now, he aimed a grapnel at a beam above her. He wasn’t above dragging her down by force if it meant getting through one mission without her sparkling through it like a smug gravitational glitch.

She stuck a finger out lazily and tilted her wrist.

Jason’s boots left the ground.

“Damn it, Flux!”

She laughed—he could tell, even without hearing it—and let him spin slowly, upside-down, arms flailing like a furious bat-ghost.

He swore if he ever caught her, he was going to—

Okay, he didn’t know what he’d do. Probably kiss her. Or strangle her. Or both.

But for now, he hung there, upside-down and glittering with rage, watching her sip her coffee like gravity was her pet.

And he hated that his heart thudded harder every time she looked down and winked.