"He doesn't want me dead," I whispered. "He wants me erased."
Griffin leaned in and kissed me. Brief, controlled pressure, not desperate heat. It was an eyes-open acknowledgment of what we had chosen and what it might cost.
His lips were warm against mine. His breath caught once before he steadied it. When I pulled back, he held onto my wrist, thumb pressed against my pulse point.
He reached up with his other hand and threaded his fingers through my hair.
"Thank you," I said. "For seeing and believing me. I've been told I'm overreacting for so long that I started believing it. I should go."
Griffin stood, re-establishing professional distance from me with visible effort.
"We're aligned," he said.
"Yes."
I pulled my hood up, tucking the person I'd been in this room back beneath the performance. Piece by piece, Yoon-jae disappeared and Rune re-emerged.
At the door, his hand reached past me to unlock the deadbolt. We stood close enough that I felt his breath against my temple.
"Yoon-jae," he whispered again.
I looked up.
"Whatever happens—neither of us is alone in this."
I left before the words could become heavier than what either of us could carry.
By 7:35 AM, I was standing outside Jinwoo's suite. The camera in the corridor stared down at me, its angle slightly tighter than it should have been.
Taemin opened the door mid-yawn. "Rune. You look terrible."
"Good morning to you too."
The suite smelled like home—sesame oil and ginger, doenjang mixing with steam. Room service breakfast: rice, grilled fish, and banchan arranged in small dishes.
Jinwoo stood at the table, plating food with methodical attention. "Sit. Eat."
Minjae curled at one end of the couch, phone in hand, thumb scrolling too fast. Something was wrong.
Taemin stole a piece of fish from Minjae's plate.
"That's mine," Minjae said.
"You weren't eating it."
Jinwoo set a plate in front of me. "The briefing is at eight. Soo-jin wants to discuss LA logistics after." He paused. "He asked me to bring you."
My throat went dry. "Just us?"
"And Soyeon."
I forced myself to take a bite of rice and then set the chopsticks down carefully. "Minjae. Come sit at the table."
He unfolded himself from the couch and padded over, sinking into the chair beside me, close enough that our shoulders almost touched.
I lowered my voice, switching to Korean. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
