Chapter 8 #2
Four hours later, after the flight south, we were in Portland and disembarking at the concert hall. The Schnitz was a smaller venue, seating just under 3,000, historic and beautifully maintained. The backstage was a maze.
A handler appeared at my elbow. "Soundcheck in ninety minutes. The green room is ready if you want to settle in."
I nodded. "Bathroom first?"
"Second door on the left, past the main corridor. I'll show you."
"I can find it."
She hesitated, then relented. "Stay in the main corridor. Security's still clearing the upper levels."
I waited until she’d moved off before changing direction.
I didn’t want to be escorted. Suddenly, guided everywhere seemed wrong. Like someone else deciding where I could exist.
Setting off for the bathroom, I was grateful for thirty seconds without someone managing my location. The corridor was narrow and dimly lit, unfinished in a way public spaces never were. Concrete floor. Exposed pipes. No signage.
It was usually off-limits for idols or fans. It was a space the staff used when they assumed privacy by default.
When I was on my way back, I heard voices. They were low and professional, coming from a half-open door on my left.
"…not saying it's unmanageable." An unfamiliar male voice, American accent. "I'm saying we need to be realistic about the trajectory."
I slowed, yet I knew the conversation wasn’t meant for me.
"Agreed." I recognized that voice. It belonged to one of the Korean senior staff. "Which is why we're monitoring closely."
"The question is whether the current approach is sufficient. If the behavior pattern continues—"
"It won't." The second voice was firm. Certain. "The increased presence is already prompting necessary adjustments. We've seen this before. The Seattle incident and the Vancouver proximity issues. He doesn’t deviate unless he's given space. He responds to structure."
A pause. Papers rustling.
"And if he doesn't?"
"Then we escalate containment before LA. Adjust the detail assignments. Limit unsupervised access. All standard protocols."
A long pause ensued.
"The concern," the first voice said carefully, "is that he's becoming a risk. Not to himself, but to the overall stability."
Risk—a heavy word.
"I'm aware." The second voice remained steady and professional. "Which is why the protocols are in place. This isn't the first time we've had to manage this kind of situation. It's containable as long as everyone remains aligned."
"And if they don't?"
"We address it before it becomes visible. Preferably before Seattle."
Seattle. That was eight days away. Eight days to contain whoever or whatever had become inconvenient.
I'd stopped walking. I stood in the corridor, breathing carefully through my nose. The phrasing had been precise and clinical.
The Seattle incident. The Vancouver proximity issues. He responds to structure.
I thought about the messages that had stopped and the surveillance that continued. Griffin warned: For us to make a mistake.
They weren't talking about external threats. They were talking about managing us and containing someone not aligned with the management framework.
I continued my path down the corridor and turned a corner before anyone emerged. No one followed or checked the corridor.
They spoke as if the walls were on their side.
I tried to sort through everything I'd heard:
Adjust the detail assignments. Before it becomes visible. Preferably before Seattle.
That was Griffin's city.
I found Taemin near the stage entrance. We walked onto the stage together. He talked about lighting while I nodded at appropriate intervals, only half-listening.
I stood on the empty stage, looking out at almost three thousand empty seats, with a cold message forming in my mind. They weren't trying to protect us from danger. They were trying to protect the system from disruption.
The girl's words from the morning came back. You didn't have to be braver. You just had to be what you already are.
"Are you coming?" Taemin called from the wings.
I turned away from the thousands of seats. "Yeah. I'm coming."
As I moved off the stage, the decision settled.
I would not wait.
The sound check ran long. There were technical issues with the monitor mix, and a lighting cue needed adjustment. All were usual issues.
By the time we finished, I had twenty minutes before I needed to get ready for the show. I found Griffin in the corridor outside the green room. He was speaking with Chief Kang, both of them reviewing something on a tablet. When he saw me approach, he excused himself and moved to meet me halfway.
"Everything okay?"
"I need to talk to you privately. Now."
He immediately scanned the corridor for listening ears and open doors. "Green room's clear." He glanced around again. "Five minutes."
I nodded and walked ahead of him, pushing through the door. The green room was standard: a worn couch, mini fridge, and a table with water bottles and snacks.
No people.
Griffin followed me in and closed the door. He positioned himself where he'd see anyone approaching.
"What happened?"
"I overheard a conversation," I said. "Management. Right after we arrived." I kept my voice low and controlled. "They were talking about containment protocols. About someone becoming a risk. About adjusting detail assignments and limiting access before Seattle."
Griffin's expression sharpened. "What exactly did they say?"
I repeated what I could remember. When I finished, he was quiet for a moment.
"They didn't use names?"
"No. They used the he pronoun."
"And the context suggested—"
"Someone on the inside. Someone they are monitoring."
Griffin's jaw tensed. "That could be anyone."
"No, it couldn't."
I saw when understanding kicked in for him.
"Rune—"
"Yoon-jae," I whispered.
He stopped.
"They're planning something," I continued. "Before Seattle. Before we're on your territory, where you have more resources. They're going to move first."
"I know." His voice was low. "Kang told me on the plane. Said there's been a request to adjust security protocols. Rotate personnel. They want me off the detail when the LA show is complete."
The words hit like cold water.
"When?" I asked.
"That's five days from now."
Five days. Not eight. Five days before they separated us and made whatever came next impossible.
He raised his hand, not touching me, but close enough to feel the pull of it. His fingers hovered near my jaw, trembling with restraint.
"If I leave, you'll be safer. They'll back off. The threat will de-escalate."
"Or they'll find another way to control me." I didn't step back. "You said it yourself. This isn't about external danger. It's about managing variables."
"And I'm the variable they can remove."
"I'm one, too."
His hand dropped. "What do you want to do?" he asked.
I'd been asking myself the question all day. What the girl had been answering without knowing it. What the system had been trying to prevent me from choosing.
"I want to stop hiding," I said. "I want to stop pretending that compliance equals safety, and I want—" My voice failed momentarily. "I want to trust you completely. Even if it costs me everything."
Griffin took a step closer. "It might cost you everything."
I wanted to close the distance and press my cheek to his. Gain reassurance from something solid while the ground shifted underneath us.
"I know," I said.
"And you're choosing it anyway?"
"Yes."
He looked for doubt or hesitation in my expression, but I knew he wouldn't find it.
"Okay," he said finally. "We move first. It's important that we document and communicate. We make sure that when they try to contain this, they can't do it quietly."
"Will that work?"
"I don't know, but it's better than waiting for them to set the terms."
Someone knocked on the door. A handler's voice called through: "Thirty minutes."
"Understood," I called back.
Griffin moved toward the door and paused with his hand on the handle.
"Yoon-jae," he said. Just my name. Nothing else.
I heard everything he couldn't say out loud.
Whatever happens, I'm staying.
He left me standing alone in the green room, heart pounding but hands steady. A reckoning was coming in five days, and I would not wait for someone to decide whether I deserved to exist.
Whatever happened next, it would happen because I chose it.