Page 5 of K-Pop Double Life

A text message. No sender ID, just a string of numbers and a single line of Korean.

Her face tightened. “It says, The center should have burned brighter.”

“What does that mean?”

“In K-pop, the center is the member who stands in the middle of the choreography. The face of the group.” She looked toward Jin. “Him.”

I took a photo of the screen with my own phone. “You should forward this to the police. They’ll want to trace the number.” I looked at her. “Has anyone else received messages like this?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“I’m still not sure we’re the right men for your job. We have a lot of experience in close protection, and we’re accustomed to foreign travel and negotiating international situations. But surely there are bigger agencies you can call on.”

“Jin is very sensitive to security,” she said. “He believes, and I agree with him, that he has a right to a private life. But he is willing to make an exception for you and…” She looked over at Liam.

“My husband. Liam McCullough. We work as a team through a French company called Agence de Sécurité.”

I glanced toward the tent entrance where Liam was finishing with the officers. He caught my look and gave a slight nod. After sixteen years together, the last twelve of them married, we could have entire conversations without words.

“I guess that’s a good enough reason. Our rate for extended protection details is higher than event security,” I said, because being clear about business keeps relationships clean. “And we’ll need full access to schedules, venue layouts, and personnel rosters throughout the tour.”

“Done.” She didn’t even blink at the rate implication. “Just keep them breathing.”

“We’ll need a formal contract through Agence de Sécurité,” I said. I gave her a card I kept in my wallet. “We’ll consider today under the existing contract with Starhouse, but as of tomorrow we need to start fresh.”

“I can do that,” she said.

Through the tent opening, I saw the harbor had gone quiet. The crowd that had been screaming Pryzm’s name an hour ago had been reduced by police. Some evacuated for safety, others held behind extended barricades while emergency crews worked. The floating stage sat dark and silent in the distance, surrounded by fire department boats with spotlights scanning the damaged barge.

“The police will handle the investigation,” I said. “That’s their job. Ours is threat assessment and prevention. We’ll need to know everyone who had access backstage tonight, and anyone who’s been added to your tour staff in the last two weeks.”

“You’ll have it within the hour.” She glanced at Jin again, something unguarded crossing her face—fear, fury, protective instinct, maybe all three. “The lead pyrotechnician disappeared right after the blast. Police are searching for him now.”

Liam stepped into the tent. “French authorities are treating this as a criminal investigation. They’ve impounded the barge and they’re pulling all the security footage from the venue.”

“Good,” Eun-ji said. “We’ll cooperate fully.”

“They’ll want statements from all the performers,” Liam continued. “But they’ve agreed to do it at the hotel tomorrow morning. For tonight, they want everyone secured and accounted for.”

“Forward me the text message you received to the personal number on the card, and I’ll send it to a consultant we use who can often get quicker and better results.” I looked at Eun-ji. “We’ll want to talk to each of the performers, when they’re rested,” I said. “Tomorrow, after they talk to the police.”

I turned to Jin, who was watching our exchange in English with growing comprehension. “Do you have any idea who might want to hurt you?”

Something shuttered behind his eyes. “No.”

It wasn’t quite a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. I filed that away for later.

Sang-hoon’s hand tightened on Jin’s shoulder. A warning, or comfort, or both.

Eun-ji gestured to Kim Sun-hee, the woman I’d met as the group was arriving. She was in her forties and she’d been quietly moving between the members, offering water bottles and checking on each of them with practiced efficiency. She wore comfortable black pants and a blazer, her hair pulled back in a practical ponytail, and she had the kind of calm, competent energy that suggested she’d handled worse crises than this.

“Kim Sun-hee is our tour manager,” Eun-ji said. “She handles all logistics. Schedules, transport, accommodations. And serves as the group’s personal manager. Anything the members need, day to day, Sun-hee coordinates it.”

“We met earlier,” I said, smiling.

Sun-hee gave a small bow. “Please, call me Sunny. That’s what everyone outside Korea does. Thank you for getting them off that platform.” Her English was excellent, with a British accent. “As you know, we came in direct from the airport in Nice. I’ve already contacted the Majestic and confirmed that the rooms for talent and senior staff are ready and baggage has been delivered. I’m arranging food to be sent up as soon as we arrive.” She looked down at her tablet. “The other team members traveling with us will be at the Hotel Splendide, and I’m making similar arrangements there.”

“Good,” I said. “We’ll want all the performers on the same floor if possible.”