Chapter 7 #2
We stood in the diesel-scented quiet of the loading bay. I didn't want to have the conversation. Not here. Not now.
"Everything's good?" he asked.
"Yes." The answer was simultaneously true and false.
"You're lying."
"We need to go." I gestured toward the vehicles. "The convoy's waiting."
As the convoy pulled away from Rogers Arena, I watched Vancouver's lights blur past and thought about all the ways I'd let myself become compromised.
Soo-jin was right. Attachment changed my perspective.
My hotel room was quiet. I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at my phone for three full minutes before calling Eamon.
He answered on the second ring. "Griffin. Talk to me."
I leaned back against the headboard. "Someone accessed the principal's hotel room last night. Moved personal items. Left evidence specifically to show they'd been watching him sleep."
"They reported it?"
"Immediately." I paused. "Then nothing. No follow-up. Minjae witnessed an unauthorized presence during the show, someone filming from the wings. Today's rehearsal was clean. Tonight's show was flawless. Management is interpreting the silence as evidence that increased security worked."
"You don't agree."
"No." I tightened my grip on the phone. "The pattern doesn't fit standard escalation. It was a demonstration of access and awareness."
Eamon was quiet for a moment. "What's your read?"
"Confirmation," I said. "Someone establishing what they can see. Testing whether the principal would seek help or try to handle it alone. When he sought help immediately, the contact stopped."
"So the silence is tactical."
"Yes. And the system is responding by assuming the threat resolved itself. That creates precisely the complacency that makes the next phase easier."
"What does your gut tell you?"
My gut told me someone had been watching Rune sleep. That they knew about the kiss. That they'd seen enough to understand what we tried to hide.
"That the threat didn't stop," I said. "It completed its first phase."
"I agree." Eamon's voice lowered. "What's management's position?"
"The senior manager is proposing reduced restrictions for Portland. He thinks I'm overreacting." I stood up and walked to the window. "He also suggested that my proximity to the principal might affect my judgment."
Eamon was silent for a beat too long.
"Is he right?"
"The investment is real," I said.
"That's not what I asked. Griffin, are you operating from competence, or from fear of what could happen to your principal?"
I gripped the phone harder. "I see the threat. I trust my assessment."
"That's still not an answer."
"Both." The word came out rough. "I see the threat clearly. I also know what it costs when a system decides someone's safety is negotiable. When they become—" I stopped. My breathing had changed. "When they become inconvenient."
"Griffin."
"I can't—" I pressed my palm against the window glass. Cold. Solid. "I can't let what happened in Seattle happen again. I can't watch someone get hurt because I second-guessed myself. Because I tried to be professional instead of—"
"Instead of what?"
"Instead of trusting what I know is true." My voice cracked slightly. "Someone was in his room, Eamon. They watched him sleep. They're waiting."
I stopped. Closed my eyes. Forced my breathing to slow.
"I can't lose him."
I'd confessed.
Eamon was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Griffin. Are you in love with him?"
I didn't answer immediately. Couldn't. My throat was too tight.
"Griffin."
"I don't know." My words came out raw. "I don't—I'm trying not to be.
I'm trying to stay professional and maintain distance and do my job, but—" I stopped.
"I can't stop thinking about him. I forgot to track the crew tonight because I was watching him perform.
I stood there and forgot to do my job because all I could think about was—"
I couldn't finish.
"You're falling," Eamon said quietly.
"Yes, and I don't know how to stop."
Silence on the other end. No judgment
"Does that disqualify me?" I asked.
"No." Eamon's voice was firm. "It means you're in dangerous territory. The emotions aren't the problem—it's whether you can still separate your judgment from your fear. Right now, I hear the terror in your voice."
"How will I know whether I'm still doing my job?"
"You ask someone you trust whether your assessment makes sense, independent of your emotional investment." Papers rustling. "So I'm asking. If this were a different principal with no attachment, would you still be concerned about the threat pattern?"
I ran the scenario through my head, stripping away everything personal.
"Yes," I said. "The pattern is wrong."
"Then trust that. Your instincts are sound. The attachment might complicate your life, but it's not compromising your judgment. At least not yet."
"What happens if it does?"
"You communicate it, and you give the principal agency to decide what risks they're willing to take. Document everything so no one can accuse you of acting unilaterally." Eamon's voice softened. "And remember that protecting someone doesn't mean deciding for them."
"What if staying creates vulnerability?"
"Then you make that vulnerability visible.
You don't make yourself the variable that disappears to solve the problem.
Stay. Be honest. Let the principal choose.
" Eamon's voice was firm but gentle. "And Griffin, whatever's happening between you and Rune, handle it carefully.
Not because it's wrong, but because it matters. "
"I don't know how to do this. How to protect him and—"
"And care for him at the same time?"
"Yes."
"Do both. Openly. Honestly. Trust your judgment and always give him truth." He paused. "Call me tomorrow and get some sleep. You sound like you're holding yourself together with duct tape and spite."
He ended the call.