His eyes met mine—dark, bright, too present. “You should be careful,” he murmured. “This is already being misinterpreted.”
My hand went to my belt, for the restraints I’d carried for eight days and hoped I’d never touch.
The Guardians ran high-risk protective detail. Credential checks. We carried what we were licensed to carry. It wasn’t exotic or cinematic.
It was a responsibility.
I pulled the cuffs free from the pouch. Hinged. Black. Cold in my palm. Heavier than I wanted them to be.
“Hands behind your back,” I said.
Soo-jin raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have arrest authority.”
“Detention,” I said. “Until SPD or venue security takes over.”
That was enough. He understood the legal language. The camera would take whatever I gave it and build its own story.
His mouth curved slightly. Almost a smile.
“Detention,” he repeated, tasting the word. “How… flexible.”
I stepped in and his body tensed. Surprise followed by preparation. Almost like he'd been waiting for this moment.
I caught his wrist, turned him toward the wall, controlled the shoulder. Correct procedure.
My hands knew the mechanics, pressure points and leverage. The quiet geometry of control that kept someone contained without leaving bruises.
My hands remembered something else, the notch between Rune’s shoulder blades. The warmth of his spine under my palm the night he’d trusted me in the dark.
This wasn’t protection. This was containment.
My pulse hammered, but my hands didn’t shake. Soo-jin resisted once, a half-second push. Then he was quiet.
Above us, muffled by concrete, the crowd erupted. I pictured the band blending vocal harmonies.
Rune still onstage. Still visible.
“Be precise when you describe this,” Soo-jin said. “Precision matters.”
“I’m always precise."
He smiled faintly.
We returned to the corridor. My grip remained on his upper arm, firm and professional. Heat bled through his suit jacket, a steady pulse.
The building swallowed us into its backstage warren. Black-clad crew moved past with purpose, barely glancing at us. Radios crackled with production calls.
The show kept running. The machinery didn’t stop for a simple human crisis.
We rounded into the wider service corridor. A security guard’s eyes spotted the cuffs and my face. He nodded slightly.
Soo-jin walked easily, posture erect, hands secured behind him. “You know,” he said conversationally, “this is where things usually go wrong for men like you.”
I didn't hesitate, continued forward.
"You think stopping someone is the same as proving something.”
“Save it.”
