Page 32 of K-Pop Double Life

I thought about the choreographer, musical engineer, content producer, and physical therapist, who were all Starhouse employees but who had only joined us for the tour. Melissa, the choreographer, had been with Starhouse for six months. Ji-ho, who generated social media content, had been with Starhouse about the same length of time.

All of them had been screened by the company, and were professional and competent.

And all of them had access to backstage.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Everyone seems normal. But then...” I gestured at the photograph. “Whoever did this seems normal. That’s the whole point.”

My phone buzzed. Text from Jin: Rehearsal’s wrapping up. Coming back to change. Five minutes.

“He can’t see this,” I said immediately. “He’ll spiral.”

Aidan nodded. “Agreed. We remove the box, sweep the room again, and brief him later. He needs to focus on staying safe, not on being scared.”

“He has a right to know⁠—”

“And he will know.” Aidan’s voice was firm but not unkind. “When he’s off stage and secure and can process it without having to perform in front of twenty thousand people. Right now, our job is to keep him calm and protected.”

11

TERRIBLE LIARS

SANG-HOON — PARIS

Jason was already moving, still wearing those blue rubber gloves that made his hands look alien. He gathered the evidence, the tissue paper, even the ribbon. He was intent on making the room look untouched.

“I’ll give this to the gendarmes,” he said. “See if their forensic people can pull prints, trace the paper stock, identify the marker.”

“And I’ll start cross-referencing temporary hires to see if any of them had access to both venues,” Liam added.

Aidan looked at me. “You’re going to do what you always do. Help him get ready, keep him calm, make sure he’s perfect. Can you do that?”

I remembered Jin’s face when he’d asked me to tell him if he needed to worry. The trust in his eyes, the way he’d let me deflect because he believed I’d protect him.

“Yes,” I said. “I can do that.”

“Good.” Aidan squeezed my shoulder briefly, in a surprising gesture of solidarity. “We’ve got your back. And his.”

The door opened. Jin stepped in, still sweaty from rehearsal, pulling his damp shirt over his head.

He froze when he saw all of us crowded in his small dressing room.

“What’s going on?” His eyes went immediately to me. “Sang-hoon?”

I crossed to him, took the shirt from his hands, dropped it in the laundry bag with movements so practiced they were muscle memory.

“Security briefing,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “Nothing urgent. Aidan just wanted to go over the evacuation routes in case of emergency.”

It was close enough to true that I didn’t choke on it.

Jin’s gaze flicked from me to Aidan to Jason, reading the room the way he read everything—with uncomfortable accuracy.

“You’re all terrible liars,” he said quietly.

Aidan stepped forward. “There was an unauthorized item in your dressing room. We’re removing it and investigating how it got here. But there’s no immediate danger, and everyone needs you focused on the performance.”

Jin’s jaw tightened. “What kind of item?”

“A gift. Probably from an overzealous fan who bribed a staff member.” Aidan’s voice was calm, factual. “We’re handling it. Your job is to go out there tomorrow and be brilliant. Our job is to make sure you’re safe while doing it.”