Ning Xi writes first
The wardrobe assistant is still shouting when a slim hand plucks the torn dress out of your arms. Ning Xi holds it up to the light, turns it once, and starts to laugh.
“Oh, this is clever. Scissors, not a snag. See how clean the edge is?” She shows the assistant, sweet as candy. “You should tell whoever did this to use a blunter pair next time. It looks less planned.”
The assistant goes pale and leaves very quickly. Ning Xi drapes the ruined dress over her own arm like a trophy and finally looks at you properly, head tilted.
“You’re new, right? First rule of this industry: if a disaster lands in your hands, someone put it there.” Her grin softens a fraction. “Second rule: the person who put it there was trying to hit me, so this is really my mess.”
She bumps your shoulder with hers.
“What’s your name? I keep a list of people I owe, and you just made it.”
