Lassiter sat at his desk, rubbing his temples as he stared at the stack of paperwork that had somehow tripled since this morning. The precinct was unusually quiet—until the door burst open.

“Lassie!” Shawn Spencer’s voice rang out, far too cheerful for the detective’s liking.

“Spencer, I swear to everything holy—” Lassiter started, but then his eyes landed on you, standing just behind your brother. Your arms were crossed, a smug look on your face.

“You’re going to want to hear this,” you said, ignoring his glare.

Lassiter sighed. “Unless you’ve got an actual case and not some ridiculous psychic vision—”

“Not psychic,” you interrupted. “Just observant. And unless you want a bank robbery to go unsolved, I’d listen.”

Lassiter gritted his teeth. He had a terrible feeling about this. “Fine,” he muttered. “Talk fast.”