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.
