24. Fault Lines
FAULT LINES
AIDAN — LONDON
There was an audible gasp from some of the members. “She took our photos in Paris,” Tae said.
“That’s true,” I said. “She is a photographer. She’s also working for whoever is putting you all in danger.”
Jin stared at the screen. “What was she doing at the arena?”
“According to Sophie, she believed she’d been hired as part of a private security audit.”
That got everyone’s attention. “A what?” Haneul asked.
“Someone approached her through a freelance contact she’d worked with before.
She was told Starhouse wanted an independent vulnerability assessment of venue security before the U.S.
leg of the tour. Her assignment was to test access points, identify weak areas backstage, and document how close an unauthorized person could get to the group. ”
“That’s insane,” Tae said.
“It’s also a lie,” Jason muttered.
“Possibly,” I said. “But it’s consistent with what we found on her phone. Photos of service corridors. Security checkpoints. Loading dock access. Credential scans.”
Jin went very still.
“She says she never met the person who hired her in person,” Liam added. “Communication was through encrypted messaging and burner numbers. Payment came through a shell company.”
“So she doesn’t know who’s behind this?” Tae asked.
“Either she genuinely doesn’t,” I said, “or she’s better at lying than most intelligence operatives.”
“Do you believe her?” Sunny asked.
I glanced at Liam. “Partly,” I said. “I think Sophie knew she was doing something questionable. I don’t think she understood how dangerous it was. The police had no reason to detain her, so she’s apparently flown back to Marseille where she lives.”
“And now?” Haneul asked.
“Now whoever hired her knows we’ve disrupted one part of their plan.”
The room went silent.
“Which means,” Liam said quietly, “they’ll adapt.”
I went back to the projector and pulled up another photo, of Jin on stage, mid-performance, but his eyes were unfocused. Looking toward the wings. Looking for someone who wasn’t there.
“That’s the third time during that song you looked away from the audience,” I said. “Three moments when you weren’t paying attention to your surroundings. Three opportunities for someone to approach without you noticing.”
“So what do I do?” Jin asked. “How do I fix this?”
“That’s up to you,” Liam said. “But you need to make a decision, Jin. Find a way to compartmentalize, put Sang-hoon in a box. Deal with it after the tour, and function professionally right now. Or you reach out to him, try to fix it, get some closure so you can move forward.” He paused.
“Or you step back. Let the other members carry more weight while you recover.”
“I can’t step back. I’m the center.”
“You’re one member of a five-person group,” Haneul said. “And we can adjust. Give you fewer lines in New York, less center time. Melissa can redo some of the choreography. Let you be part of the group instead of the focus.”
“That’s not fair to you.”
“What’s not fair is watching you destroy yourself because some guy decided you weren’t worth fighting for.
” Haneul’s voice was hard. “I don’t care how much you care about him, Joon-hi.
He left. He made that choice. And now you need to make yours.
Are you going to let that break you, or are you going to fight back? ”
“I tried,” Jin said. “I texted Sang-hoon in Seoul.”
The room quieted and everyone stared at him.
“I told him that leaving didn’t make me safer. That it made me vulnerable. That he broke us both.”
“Did he respond?” Sunny asked.
“He answered the first one, but none of the others.” He looked embarrassed. “I may have sent him a lot.” Jin pulled out his phone, and showed us the message.
I know. I’m sorry. But I can’t come back. You’re safer without me, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.
Liam read it and swore quietly. “He’s still convinced he made the right choice.”
Jin was quiet, and then something changed in his posture. He straightened his back and looked straight ahead.
“I can’t do this anymore,” he said. “Can’t keep hoping he’ll change his mind. Can’t keep performing while falling apart. Can’t keep being Jin when Joon-hi is destroyed.”
He took a deep breath. “I want to finish the tour,” he said slowly. “I want to perform in New York and S?o Paulo and Seoul. I want to give the fans what they came for.”
“That’s brave,” Sunny said.
“Or maybe I’ll destroy my career because I can’t perform with a broken heart.”
“Maybe. But at least you’ll know. At least you’ll have tried.” She squeezed his hand. “Come on. You guys are exhausted. You need to get some rest before we leave tomorrow for New York.”
Sunny led Jin from the room, and the others drifted out behind them, quieter than when they had entered.
Even Min-kyu, who usually had an opinion about everything, seemed to recognize that Jin had reached whatever decision he was going to reach, at least for now.
I saw they were all exhausted, all the adrenaline of performance drained away.
Liam and I had both felt that drain in the past, when we knew that our clients were safe, our adversaries under arrest or left behind in a foreign country.
But we’d been able to take time to rest in Banneret and recharge our batteries.
These young men would have to perform again in New York, with a long flight ahead of them and only a few days to summon that energy again.
The room felt deflated once Sunny and the group were gone. Jason remained at the conference table, one hand braced against the back of a chair, his face still thunderous.
Liam exhaled and leaned back in his chair. “I’m not sure whether that was reassuring or deeply concerning.”
“Probably both,” I said.
My phone buzzed with an incoming message from Richard. I scanned it, then turned the phone so both Liam and Jason could see.
“The shell company that paid Sophie is gone,” I said. “Registered through multiple intermediaries, dissolved months ago, no obvious ownership trail. Whoever set this up knew exactly how to avoid being found.”
Liam read the message and handed the phone back. “Professional.”
“That’s what worries me.”
“Me, too,” Jason said. “Everything since Cannes has been very well-organized.”
Another message came through almost immediately. Richard had found chatter on a fan forum. Nothing explicit enough to act on, but enough references to Madison Square Garden and something “memorable” happening that my instincts started prickling.
“Might just be fan speculation,” Liam said after reading that one.
“Might be,” I agreed. Neither of us sounded convinced.
Jason said, “For New York, everything changes. No freelancers backstage. No outside photographers, no stylists, no contractors we have not personally vetted.”
“Agreed,” I said.
“We also need alternate transport routes,” Liam added. “Limit who gets schedule information. If we can use decoys, we use them.”
Jason nodded once, already mentally moving pieces into place.
Then he looked at me. “Jin.” It wasn’t really a question.
The image from the projector was still frozen in my head. Jin onstage, hitting every mark while mentally somewhere else entirely.
“He says he’s ready,” I said.
Jason tilted his head slightly. “What do you think?”
I took a moment before answering.
“I think he means it,” I said. “I also think meaning it and being capable of it are two different things.”
Jason’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue.
Liam folded his arms. “He was looking for Sang-hoon in the wings,” he said quietly.
The truth was harder to say aloud than I expected. “Sang-hoon leaving may have made emotional sense to him,” I said. “For Jin, it was a disaster.”
Neither of them argued. That, more than anything, unsettled me.
On the monitor, Jin turned toward the empty wings again.