You adjusted the badge on your belt and took a deep breath. First day at the Santa Barbara Police Department. New town, new job, fresh start. The bullpen buzzed with activity as you stepped inside, barely having a moment to take it in before a voice called out. “Well, well, what do we have here?”

You turned to see a man grinning at you, his hazel eyes twinkling with mischief. He leaned casually against a desk, wearing a loud patterned shirt. “Shawn Spencer, psychic detective,” he introduced himself, extending a hand. “And you are?”

“Detective Thompson.” You shook his hand, arching an eyebrow. “Psychic detective?”

“It’s a whole thing,” another voice cut in. “And it’s not worth getting into.” You turned to see a tall, sharp-looking man in a suit—Detective Carlton Lassiter. His expression was already tense, as if bracing for whatever nonsense was about to come from Shawn.

“Spencer, don’t you have something better to do than harass the new detective?” Lassiter asked, arms crossed.

“I did,” Shawn said, grinning. “But then I saw her, and suddenly, my schedule cleared up.” He shot you a wink.

Lassiter groaned. “Thompson, ignore him. If you engage, it only encourages him.” You smirked. “Duly noted.”

But Shawn wasn’t done. “You know, Lassie, maybe she and I should work a case together. Strengthen the team dynamic. Maybe grab a celebratory dinner after?” Lassiter’s eye twitched. “You are not working with her.”

Shawn put a hand over his heart. “Wow. Protective already? Is this because you don’t want me stealing her away?” Lassiter turned to you, exasperated. “Do not fall for his crap.”