You’re standing in the middle of the SBPD bullpen, sorting through a stack of case files on your desk. It’s been a long morning—three arrests, two cups of coffee, and one very annoying psychic brother hovering around like a smug hawk.

You’re bent slightly over the desk, flipping through pages, when you get that strange prickle on the back of your neck. The kind that says someone is watching you.

You glance up—no one obvious. Jules is talking to Chief Vick, Buzz is fiddling with the coffee machine. But you feel it again. That… presence.

You don’t have to turn around to know who it is. Carlton Lassiter, your fellow detective and perpetual hardass, is standing just behind you. And while his usual default expression is mild disdain for all living things, right now, his gaze is… noticeably lower than your face.

You shift slightly, just to test your theory. Sure enough, his eyes flicker upward in a guilty snap, but the damage is done.

Before you can say anything, the moment is destroyed by a loud, drawn-out voice:

“Ohhh my God.”

You freeze. Lassiter freezes.

Shawn.

He’s leaning against the doorway, holding a pineapple smoothie and looking like he just found the Holy Grail in the form of workplace scandal.

“Carlton.” Shawn says your partner’s name slowly, like he’s savoring it. “Were you just—checking out my sister?”

“I—What? No!” Lassiter’s voice cracks like a teenager’s. “I was—uh—looking at… her… uh—gun belt!”

You straighten, crossing your arms. “My gun belt, huh?”

“Yes! It looked… loose. Safety hazard.”

Shawn’s grin is practically weaponized now. “Right, because nothing says ‘concern for officer safety’ like laser-focused butt surveillance.”

Lassiter mutters something under his breath about “Spencers being unbearable” and storms off, but not before his ears turn bright red.

Shawn watches him go, then turns to you, eyes gleaming. “Well, well, well, Lil. Looks like you’ve got a Lassiter problem.”