Chapter 3
Chapter three
I'd been lying on top of the covers, fully dressed, staring at my phone. When Kang's number appeared, adrenaline spiked through my chest.
"Griffin."
I was already moving. "On my way."
"He asked for you specifically. Don't make me regret supporting that."
The line went dead.
The Fairmont lobby at midnight was quiet but watched. I took the stairs, hitting sixteen without my breath changing.
The stairwell door opened as I approached.
Rune stepped out wearing wrinkled joggers and an oversized hoodie, unlaced sneakers, no socks. His face was bare, hair uncombed. He looked younger without the costume and makeup. Exhausted in a way that went bone-deep.
And frightened.
"Show me," I whispered.
Room 1622's door was closed but not latched—sitting in the frame without engaging the lock.
"It was open about four inches when I came back from the vending machine," he said. His voice was steady, but his hands weren't. "I was only gone ten minutes. I didn't go inside."
"Smart. Stay here. Don't let anyone approach who isn't Kang or me."
I pushed the door open with my forearm, avoiding the handle. The room was dim, with only the bathroom light on. I scanned before entering. Two beds and a desk. Clothes folded on the chair. Phone charger plugged in.
Nothing obviously disturbed.
But someone had been here.
Windows locked. Adjoining door secured. Closet and bathroom clear. The main door lock had no visible tool marks, but someone could bypass modern hotel locks with cloned credentials.
The bed was still made, but one side was rumpled, and the duvet had a faint impression. Someone had sat there. Waited. Then left.
That was worse than theft.
I returned to the hallway. Rune stood exactly where I'd left him, back against the wall, arms wrapped around himself.
"Someone was inside," I said. "Nothing taken, but there's an impression on the bed. The room isn't secure. I'm calling Kang to get you moved."
His breathing changed. Faster, shallower.
"This wasn't opportunistic," I continued. "Someone knew your room number and wanted you to know they'd been inside. It's psychological pressure."
He didn't deny that it was working.
I called Kang. Brief conversation. He'd handle the room change and pull the security footage.
"You're with me until Kang calls back," I said.
We took the stairs to the seventeenth floor. My room was southwest corner, different floor and different wing. I checked the corridor before letting us inside.
Rune stood in the center of the room as if he wasn't sure what to do with himself.
"Sit," I said, gesturing to the chair by the window.
He sat. Pulled his knees up slightly.
I took the desk chair, angling to see both him and the door. "Tell me about tonight. Everything."
He walked through it. Couldn't sleep. Went for water. Vending machines on the twelfth floor. Bought water, returned. Saw the door ajar. Didn't enter. Called Kang from the stairwell.
"How long were you gone?"
"Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes."
"See anyone? Either leaving or returning?"
"No. Empty both times."
Whoever accessed his room had been watching or got impossibly lucky with timing. My instincts said watching.
"The messages stopped three days ago," I said. "Right when I joined."
"I thought maybe it was working. Maybe tighter security made them back off."
"That's what they wanted you to think. They didn't back off, they changed tactics. Messages are psychological. Physical presence is an escalation. They're testing boundaries."
He processed that silently. His eyes held mine, dark brown, almost black. Something about the way he looked at me made it hard to focus on anything else. Like if I glanced away, he might disappear.
"You believe me," he said.
"Yes."
"Not everyone does when I say something feels wrong. Management has protocols. Data they trust. If the data doesn't show a threat, they assume I'm overreacting."
Redwater. The escalation pattern I'd reported that didn't meet the proper threshold. Being right and punished for it.
"I know what it's like when people don't believe you until it's too late," I said.
His gaze sharpened. "Seattle?"
I hadn't planned to tell him. But sitting here at midnight with this exhausted, frightened man who'd asked for me—the words came.
"Eighteen months ago. Someone got access to my principal's schedule—route maps, timing, vehicle assignments. Information only three people had." I flexed my hands. "I was one of them."
"What happened?"
"Someone hit his car. Planned ambush. He survived, but the crash destroyed his knee." The memory tasted metallic. "No proof I'd leaked anything. But someone got information I was responsible for securing."
Rune moved closer. Not touching, but near enough that I could feel his body heat. His scent—something clean and faintly sweet—made my awareness narrow.
"They blamed you," he breathed.
"They blamed the system failure. I was part of the system."
"You didn't do it."
"I can't prove that."
"I don't need proof." His voice was firm. "I've watched you work. You move like someone who sees three steps ahead. That's not carelessness."
My chest constricted. "That's why it's worse. If I'd been sloppy, I'd understand what I did wrong. But I wasn't. I was careful. And it still happened."
"What if someone set you up, and the system chose not to defend you because it was easier to let you go?"
No one had said it that plainly. Hearing it spoken made it real in a way that hurt.
"I don't know," I said finally.
"That's the worst part, isn't it? Not knowing. Carrying blame for something you can't prove you didn't cause."
"Yes."
He understood viscerally. I could see it in his shoulders and his breathing.
"What do you carry?" I asked.
His smile held no humor. "Everything I'm not allowed to want."
"Like what?"
"Honesty. The right to make my own choices. The ability to say my real name without it becoming dangerous." He paused. "The right to want someone without destroying everyone around me."
His voice dropped. "If anyone proves I'm—if they expose what I am—it ends not only for me. It ends for all of them: Jinwoo, Taemin, and Minjae. Everything they've sacrificed. Every endorsement deal. Every opportunity. Gone because of me."
My heart hammered. "Rune—"
"Yoon-jae." Barely above a whisper. "My real name is Seo Yoon-jae. When it's just us, that's who I am."
Heat flooded through me—immediate and visceral. Want and discipline collided. I gripped the chair arms to keep my hands still.
"That's not safe," I managed.
"Nothing about this is safe. I'm tired of pretending safety and erasure are the same thing."
I saw years of exhaustion carved into him. He looked almost translucent in the low light, something precious and impermanent.
When he turned to look at me, he was solid. Real. Close enough to touch.
My body made decisions my mind couldn't allow. Pulse elevated. Skin hypersensitive. Acute awareness of the six inches between us: temperature, breath, and the angle of his mouth.
"You asked for me specifically," I said. Voice rough.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I wanted you here." His breath caught. "Not security. You."
The distinction unmade me.
I wanted to close those six inches. Wanted to know if his skin was warm everywhere. Wanted to trace his collarbone. Wanted to hear him say my name the way he'd just said his own. My hands ached to reach out and touch.
"Yoon-jae." I tested his name carefully.
"I'm not asking you to cross lines. I just—I needed you here. To not feel alone."
That broke something seduction never could.
"I'll stay," I said. "As long as you need."
"Really?"
"Yes."
Relief transformed his face.
He moved to the far bed, settling with his back against the headboard, knees pulled up. Making space, but not distance.
I stayed in my chair. Far enough for boundaries. Close enough to respond.
The city breathed below us. Sirens. Traffic. San Francisco at night.
"Tell me something true," Rune said finally.
"About what?"
"Anything. Something you rarely say."
I thought about what I'd been holding since I'd touched his spine and felt his body trust mine.
"I forgot what it felt like to want to protect someone because the thought of them being hurt makes it hard to breathe. That's what scares me. When I redirected you during rehearsal, I held on for two seconds longer than necessary because letting go felt impossible."
"I know," he murmured. "I counted too."
The admission gutted me.
We stared at each other across twelve feet. The space was simultaneously too much and not enough.
I stood abruptly and walked to the window. Put my back to him because facing was dangerous.
"I should take you back to Kang," I said.
"Will you stay? After they change my room? Just—nearby?"
I turned. He was still on the bed, knees up, looking younger than twenty-eight should look.
"I'll stay outside your door if that's what you need."
His smile was small and real. "Thank you."
My phone buzzed. Kang. New room. 1533.
"Kang reassigned you. Room 1533."
We took the stairs to the fifteenth floor. Kang stood outside the door.
"Footage shows a figure entering at 23:34," he said. "Average height. Dark jacket. Ball cap. Face angled away from the camera. Professional work."
"Cloned keycard?"
"Most likely. Hotel security is reviewing access logs." He looked at Rune. "We registered the room under a different name. Only Griffin, myself, and Do-hyun know the number."
Kang handed over a keycard. "Briefing at eight."
He left.
Rune and I stood in the corridor. I wanted to touch his face. Smooth the worry lines. Promise safety I couldn't guarantee.
"Goodnight, Yoon-jae," I said instead.
"Goodnight, Griffin."
He went inside. Lock engaged. The security bar slid into place.
I walked down the hallway to 1511, my new room. I stood at the window, looking out at the city.
Somewhere, someone was watching. Someone who wanted Rune to feel hunted.
I was the thing standing between them.