“I’m not speaking for you.” His voice was calm. “I’m speaking for the people who decide what you are.”
The words hit a nerve, still partially raw after eighteen months.
Soo-jin had studied my past. He built his plan around it.
We reached the security nerve center, stacked monitors and feeds from every corridor and entrance. The room smelled like stale coffee. Screens hummed. Radios chattered.
Chief Kang stood near the monitors, jaw tight, radio clipped to his shoulder. Two venue security supervisors sat in front of screens. Tour staff hovered near the door, handlers with tablets, and an exhausted production coordinator.
In the back corner, where he could see without interrupting, Eamon Price stood with his arms folded.
Our eyes met. He didn't move. He remained solid and present.
Mac McCabe was beside him, tablet in hand. Michael stood near the door, not blocking it or drawing attention. Ready.
They didn’t intervene. They made sure no one could rewrite the truth of what would unfold.
Everyone looked at Soo-jin’s cuffs. Then they looked at me.
I brought him inside and stopped where the cameras could see us clearly. If the system demanded a narrative, I was choosing the lighting.
“Kang,” I said. “He’s detained.”
Kang’s eyes narrowed. “On what grounds?”
“Interference with protective operations,” I said. “Manipulation of routing and access protocols. Creating conditions that endangered the principals.”
Soo-jin’s smile returned, soft as velvet. “That’s an interpretation,” he said.
Kang looked at him. “You’re claiming he's wrong?”
Soo-jin’s voice was calm. “Griffin doesn’t have arrest authority. Neither do you. This is—” he paused, as if searching for the right word, “—theater.”
I kept my tone level. “Lock down his system access and pull the last three hours of authorization logs tied to management credentials.”
Kang leaned forward, attention sharpening. “Do-hyun is already pulling data.”
“Do-hyun isn’t here,” Soo-jin said gently. “Kang, you need to consider what kind of instability you’re allowing into your chain of command.”
He turned his head, treating those in the room like an improvised jury. “This man has a documented history of compromised judgment.”
An icy cold sensation spread through my chest, the memory of Redwater flooding back.
“He’s been emotionally involved with one of the band members,” Soo-jin continued. “That’s not speculation. Many have observed it.”
As I listened, a memory surfaced. It was Rune's voice in the dark, trusting me with the truth of himself. Soo-jin used that as a weapon.
Every pair of eyes focused on me.
My expression revealed nothing. Inside, rage began building.
He was using Rune as his lever to pry open my weaknesses. If they believed this and decided I'd breached ethics, they wouldn't stop at removing me. They’d use our relationship to frame Rune as unstable. Compromised.
Erase him with bureaucratic language and regretful faces.
Kang’s jaw flexed. “What are you saying?”
Soo-jin sighed as if burdened by the need to explain. “I’ve spent the past two weeks managing a volatile situation. Internal instability. A contractor who inserted himself into an artist’s emotional life and began making unilateral decisions under the guise of protection.”
