Page 19 of K-Pop Double Life

Landing now. Everyone remember the plan. Tired but grateful, technical malfunction, investigation ongoing. No drama.

Min-kyu

Understood.

Tae

Do I have to talk to anyone? My knee hurts.

Jin

Use the knee. Limp if you need to. Woo, stay close to Min-kyu.

Woo

Grace

I’ll handle press if needed.

Grace Han was our interpreter and translator. Her father was a Korean diplomat, her mother American, and she’d grown up all over the world, mastering languages as easy as Tae learned dance moves. At twenty-five she was two years older than I was, but had only joined Starhouse eighteen months before.

The plane taxied to a private terminal, another small mercy of traveling on the company jet. No public checkpoints, just two sleek black vans waiting on the tarmac and security keeping the perimeter clear.

Aidan stood near the exit, scanning the area with that quiet intensity I was learning to recognize. Liam had already left the plane and was stationed near the first van, speaking into his phone. They moved like parts of the same organism, coordinated without needing to communicate.

I wondered if Sang-hoon and I would ever have that. The ease of long partnership, the trust that came from years instead of stolen moments.

“Let’s go,” Eun-ji said, her voice cutting through my thoughts. “Vehicles are ready. Same configuration as Cannes. Jin, you’re in the first car with Mr. Greene and Sang-hoon.”

I caught Sang-hoon’s eye. He gave me the smallest nod and picked up my carry-on along with his own kit.

We filed out into the cool Paris afternoon, and I let the performance take over. Tired smile, careful wave to the handful of airport staff watching from a distance, posture that suggested exhaustion but not trauma.

The van’s interior smelled like new leather and air freshener. I slid into the back seat, Sang-hoon beside me, Aidan up front next to the driver. The door closed, sealing us into artificial quiet.

“Hotel’s twenty minutes,” Aidan said without turning around. “We’ll enter through the service entrance. Your floor is already secured.”

“Thank you,” I said.

He glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m worried about Tae’s knee. I saw him limping when he got into the other van. But I’m fine.”

“That’s what everyone says.” His tone was matter-of-fact, not unkind. “You don’t have to perform for me.”

Something in my chest loosened slightly. “I’m tired. And scared. But I’m okay.”

“Good. Being scared keeps you alert.” He turned his attention back to the road. “We’ll do a full briefing tonight after you’ve rested. I want everyone on the same page about protocols going forward.”

Beside me, Sang-hoon’s hand rested on the seat between us. I felt the warmth of it, close enough to touch but maintaining that careful distance.

Paris slid past the windows: elegant buildings, café awnings, pedestrians enjoying the mild spring weather. I’d been here before, twice on tour, but I’d barely seen the city beyond the view from hotel windows and the route between venues.

Maybe this time would be different.

Maybe this time, I’d actually remember it.

The hotel was predictably luxurious, the kind of place that catered to celebrities and didn’t blink at last-minute security requirements. We filed through the service entrance and into a freight elevator that smelled faintly of room service and cleaning solution.