Chapter 20
Chapter twenty
Griffin was gone, and I didn't receive a response to my text message.
That didn't make the building emptier or less secure in any way that could be measured on a checklist. The venue still had perimeter guards. Metal detectors. Credential checks. Cameras everywhere.
What was missing was the quiet weight at my back.
He'd been off-grid since mid-afternoon. No texts or updates delivered in that dry voice.
He'd looked me in the eye before he left and said, "Stay with them."
Not stay with security or your handler. Stay with them.
I'd nodded as if that was easy.
In the dressing room, I sat with my hands on my knees and watched my fingers flex. Small checks. Small rituals. The makeup artist powdered my jawline without speaking.
Across the room, Taemin laced his boots. Minjae sat with his knees bouncing, hands clasped white-knuckle tight. Jinwoo leaned against the counter, scrolling through his phone with practiced calm.
Do-hyun came in quietly. He placed a folder on the table.
"Update," he said.
One word. No drama.
Jinwoo looked up. "Is it him?"
Do-hyun didn't look at me. "Not directly."
He opened the folder. Color-coded pages. Printed. Official. "Management has issued changes. Post-soundcheck movement. Route adjustments. Staff reassignments. Security post swaps. All framed as streamlining for a sponsor's arrival."
Taemin glanced at me. A check-in.
Jinwoo set his phone down. "Is the sponsor real?"
Do-hyun hesitated. That was answer enough.
I stared at the neat columns. The signatures that meant nothing if the person holding the stamp was trying to hurt you.
My skin prickled.
Jinwoo stood. "Who signed these?"
Do-hyun tapped a line with his finger.
Soo-jin.
Minjae's bounce stopped.
Taemin's voice flattened. "Busy day for him."
Do-hyun closed the folder. "I recommend following the original routing, but management has the authority."
"Authority isn't the same thing as right," Jinwoo said.
He looked at me then. Direct. Steady. "Are you okay?"
The question landed hard.
I swallowed. "Yes." Then, after a beat: "Thank you."
A knock at the door. Firm. Urgent. Do-hyun opened it.
A security supervisor stood there. "Need to confirm the green room to stage route. Management says there's been a change."
Three proposed changes appeared on his tablet when he turned it toward us. New corridors, timing, and staff positions.
All of them wrong.
Jinwoo stepped forward. "No change," he said.
The supervisor blinked. "Sir, management—"
"Management can explain later." Jinwoo's voice remained calm. "Tonight we perform. We arrive on time. We arrive together. Original route."
The supervisor's mouth opened and closed without saying anything.
Do-hyun smiled pleasantly. "Is there a problem?"
The supervisor looked at his tablet as if it might help him. It didn't.
"No, sir," he said finally. He backed away and closed the door.
Minjae let out a breath he'd been holding.
Taemin leaned against the counter. "So, we're doing a show."
Jinwoo glanced at the clock. "We always do."
I looked at my reflection. Stage makeup. Clean lines. Rune stared back with perfect neutrality.
Yoon-jae held his breath underneath.
I stood. Picked up my microphone pack. "Griffin said I should stay with you," I said quietly.
Minjae looked up. His eyes were red-rimmed but steady. "We know."
We left the green room to head to the stage.
Staff lined the hallway. Black shirts. Clipboards. Headsets. Eyes that glanced at us and looked away, respectful and impersonal.
I walked with Jinwoo slightly ahead. Taemin to my left. Minjae behind my right shoulder.
At the junction before the pre-stage, a man I didn't recognize stood with a tablet. "You'll go this way," he said, gesturing toward a side corridor.
The side corridor had no staff. No movement and no noise.
I saw the seam where the paint met the trim. A scuff on the floor. The overhead light flickered.
Griffin would have noticed that.
I stopped.
Jinwoo glanced back. Taemin's shoulder angled toward mine, blocking sightlines.
The man frowned. "We're behind schedule."
"Who are you?" Do-hyun asked pleasantly.
"Security liaison."
Do-hyun held out his hand. "Credentials?"
The man hesitated.
Minjae stepped forward and planted himself in the corridor entrance. Shoulder-width stance. Arms at his sides. Not aggressive. A simple block.
The man glared. "Move."
Minjae didn't.
Jinwoo's voice, clear and calm. "Original route. Now."
Do-hyun took a step toward the man. "If you have an issue, speak to management after the show."
"Management sent—"
"I am management," Do-hyun said.
Quiet. Certain. True.
The man stepped back. He made a small gesture toward the original corridor, granting permission.
We followed.
Minjae didn't move until I stepped forward. He fell in behind me again.
I wanted to touch his wrist and steady him, but we had a show to perform.
We reached the pre-stage holding.
The sound of the crowd bled through the walls. It was a low roar that vibrated against my ribs. Seventeen thousand people.
Seattle, Griffin's hometown.
I pressed my fingertips against the heavy black curtain. It was the threshold between shadow and light.
I heard Griffin's voice in my head: Stay with them.
Another voice, older, well-trained: Stay quiet. Stay managed. Stay safe.
I'd lived by that voice for years. It had kept me alive. Kept the band intact. Kept the world convinced they owned a version of me.
It also hollowed me out.
I thought about my real name in Griffin's mouth. Low and careful. Like he was holding something fragile.
Taemin stepped close. His shoulder brushed mine. "You good?"
"Yes."
He hummed. "Anyone tries to steer you off route again, I steer them first."
I looked at him. His expression was light, almost teasing, and his eyes were sharp.
The stage manager signaled. Thirty seconds.
Jinwoo adjusted his in-ear monitor. Minjae rolled his shoulders. Taemin flexed his fingers.
My pulse raced. Not because of the crowd. Because Griffin wasn't here to catch me.
I had to choose on my own whether to shrink or stand.
Ten seconds. I decided.
I would step onstage like the person Griffin saw when he said my name.
The curtain pulled aside. Light hit me full in the face. The crowd roared.
The first two songs were clean. Tight choreography. Precise timing. The crowd was loud enough to make the floor vibrate.
Between tracks, I scanned what I could see of the venue. Searching the pit for anything wrong.
Everything looked normal. That didn't mean it was safe.
On the third song, during a transition, my in-ear monitor cut out. My stomach dropped.
I kept my expression calm. My body moved through the choreography without missing a beat.
Taemin glanced at me. A silent check.
The in-ear came back.
At the end of the phrase, a stagehand appeared in my peripheral vision. Too close to the line. Too close to my exit path.
Minjae adjusted. A half-step.
He entered the space between the stagehand and me as if it were choreographed.
The stagehand stopped short and backed away.
I didn't look down. Didn't break my dance execution.
During the next break, Jinwoo stepped forward and addressed the crowd in English. He thanked Seattle. Joked about the rain. Made them love us.
Then he switched to Korean, soft enough that the mics didn't carry it.
"Stay close. Eyes up."
We nodded one by one.
The next segment was intimate, with less choreography and more room for improvised movement.
More room for Soo-jin.
I walked to the edge of the stage for the first time that night. Close enough to see individual faces. Tears. Mouths open in joy.
A sign in the front row caught my eye. Korean. Neat handwriting.
YOON-JAE, YOU DESERVE TO BE HAPPY.
I raised my hand. A small wave. Fingers splayed.
It wasn't a heart sign. It was only an acknowledgment.
My real name on a poster in public. Someone saw my wave and pointed.
Nothing shattered. The crowd screamed louder.
Taemin moved closer behind me. "Okay," he laughed. "They love you."
My throat burned. I stepped back into our formation.
The final three songs were our biggest hits. The arena shook with cheers. Lights strobed. Screens flashed our faces ten times larger than life.
Amid the manufactured storm, I made my choice visible.
On the final chorus, there was a planned moment where I usually turned away from a particular camera sweep. An old habit. A protected angle.
Tonight, I didn't turn. I kept my face forward. I held the camera's gaze.
My heart hammered like I'd stepped off a cliff.
Nothing happened. The crowd screamed.
Taemin grinned at me, quick and bright. Jinwoo's gaze softened. Minjae's shoulders dropped.
The camera moved on, and the moment passed.
Soo-jin could shuffle staff. He could change routes and cut comms and try to make the world feel unsafe enough that I crawled back into his version of protection.
He couldn't make the crowd stop loving us, and he couldn't make my band stop choosing me.
When the last note hit, we bowed in unison.
I straightened slower than usual, scanning the dark once more.
Searching for Griffin.
I didn't expect to see him, but I needed to imagine him somewhere in this city, hearing this roar.
He had to know I didn't disappear.
Backstage, staff still rushed by with headsets and clipboards, but the air felt different.
Stronger.
A runner appeared at the first junction, frantic. "Management says—"
Jinwoo waved her away. "Later."
She stepped aside.
Minjae exhaled, shaky. Taemin touched his shoulder. Brief. Grounding.
Do-hyun walked slightly ahead, scanning. Calm and controlled. I followed.
We reached the dressing room. Warm light spilled out. It was a safe pocket.
I pulled out my phone and typed a message to Griffin.
Rune: I didn’t hide.
I hit send.
The text didn’t deliver. No check mark or confirmation. Nothing but the words sitting there, suspended.
That was fine.
The point wasn’t to reach him. Not right now.
The point was to say it. To myself, if I had to.
I locked my phone. Put it back in my pocket like a vow.