She tilted her head with a grin and a wink.
“My name,” she answered in what he could only describe as a beautiful french accent, “is La Jongleuse.”
A moment later, she backflipped off the rooftop.
Ranger shook his head. He didn’t bother to see what happened to her — he was pretty sure she wouldn’t have done that by accident, and she didn’t seem suicidal. Instead, he tried to figure out how she had managed to get into his head and under his skin like that. It wasn’t like him to fall for a beautiful woman, no matter how charming. He ran back over his memory of the encounter, trying to notice if something changed drastically in his perceptions. Maybe she had some kind of emotion control — pheromones, perhaps?
No, he realized, it didn’t seem like it was any kind of super power. He had to admit it: he, Ranger, hardened hero, pillar of practicality, was smitten.