Page 61 of I Fell for an Alien Popstar

My throat tightened.

“Then what do you need from me?”

“I need you to be aware,” she said. “Of where you stand. Of how often you are in clear view when cameras are out. Of the fact that if this goes further, anonymity will not be an option.”

She ticked invisible boxes in the air.

“No camping in the same obvious spot at the barrier every night,” she said. “No developing rituals that put you in the front of every side-stage video. If you notice ten devices pointed at you at once, perhaps step to the side. Enjoy the shows. Enjoy your time here. But remember that every wide shot is content for someone.”

“I can do that,” I said. “Less ‘main character,’ more ‘blurry background prop.’”

“That is a terrible way to describe yourself,” she said. “But yes. For now, blending into the set dressing a little more would help.”

We watched a loader drone glide past with a stack of cases.

“Can I ask you something?” I said.

“Yes.”

“If this all explodes,” I said, “if people figure it out and the label loses its mind—are you going to make me leave?”

Her jaw tensed for a second. When she answered, her voice was steady.

“If I believed you being here was hurting her more than it helped, yes,” she said. “I would send you back to Earth myself.”

My heart squeezed.

“But right now?” she went on. “Right now, she is lighter than I have seen her in a long time. You are walking around trying very hard not to put a foot wrong. So no. I am not planning your exit. I am planning around your presence.”

“Okay,” I said.

“One more thing,” she added. “If, at any point, this becomes too much for you—too many eyes, too many headlines—tell me before you vanish. We can find other options. I can only imagine how it feels to be sort of dating a pop star. It’s overwhelming. I understand that. Things will be okay, though.”

The idea that she believed there might be options did something strange and warm in my chest.

“I will,” I said. “Tell you, I mean. Before any dramatic disappearing acts.”

“Good,” she said. “Now go eat. You have walked around Orin for hours, and I do not wish to file an injury report because my cultural guest fell over from low blood sugar.”

I huffed out a laugh that felt more like a sigh.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She snapped the phone shut and slid it into her pocket.

As I climbed back up the ramp, the little gravity charm bounced against my wrist, light and insistent. I still felt a little like a misfiled document in someone else’s cabinet. But at least now I knew the tour manager had a folder labeled Reasons We’re Keeping Her.

I just needed to make sure I didn’t get in the way.

As I made my way back to the mess hall, it was mostly cleared out. A few of the crew still lingered, spread across the room in loose knots.

Lyn and Yuki had claimed our usual table near the back window. Lyn’s boots were up on a chair as she worked through a bowl of something steaming with her chopsticks. Yuki was slouched sideways, scrolling through his flip phone with one hand and eating Nebs with the other in a rhythm that had to be muscle memory by then.

Lyn spotted me and straightened slightly.

“There she is,” she said. “Our little resident headline.”

I sank into the seat across from her.