I hear a chuckle—Mason, I think—while I watch as Shawn rounds the bar. Like it’s nothing—like this is perfectly normal—he plucks her up by the back of her black robe. Whirling her around, he shoves the Ghost Face hood back, revealing a wide toothy grin that is borderline certifiable. Frizzy dark blonde hair lifts up around her head from the static, and a flush clings to her cheeks. “Busted,” she whispers dramatically, gray eyes sparkling.
