Christmas
They tiptoed past Mrs. Claus’s knitting room (where something growled — nobody questioned it) and crept through the hallway of Santa’s private living quarters, which were far more intimidating than any elf wanted to admit.
Christmas
"Option two: controlled explosion," Mason said, sketching a gingerbread rocket launcher. Peppermint's eyes widened. "Mason, no explosions." "A little explosion?" "No." "A sparkler-level explosion?" "Mason." He sighed. "Fine. But this isn't over."
Christmas
Peppermint slammed her cards down. "This is the year I'm getting Santa's special hot chocolate." Buttercup inhaled a marshmallow. Mason grinned like someone had handed him a detonator. "Please tell me explosives are on the table." And that's how the heist began.