Page 8 of K-Pop Double Life

Phones were up, recording, flashes firing. Jin’s shoulders hunched, and I felt him wanting to stop, to acknowledge them, to give them what they needed.

“Keep moving,” I said quietly. “You can’t stop now.”

Sang-hoon’s hand tightened on Jin’s arm, guiding him forward.

The first vehicle was waiting, engine running, rear door open. I handed Jin in, then Sang-hoon, and climbed in after them along with two other men. One had been introduced as the team’s vocal coach, and the other was the physical therapist. The door shut, muffling the screams.

The second vehicle was loading behind us. Tae limped in with Sunny’s help, Woo and Min-kyu climbed in behind him, and Haneul got in last waiting until the others were situated. The other crew members rode in a third vehicle.

The ride to the hotel was silent except for the hum of the engine and the distant wail of sirens. Fire department, probably, still dealing with the barge. Jin sat in the back between Sang-hoon and me, staring out the window at the lights of Cannes sliding past. Sang-hoon kept one hand on Jin’s knee, a touch so casual it might have meant nothing if you didn’t know what to look for.

I gave them space, keeping my attention on the street, the vehicles around us, the pedestrians on the sidewalks. Old habits. You learn to read a city’s rhythm, to notice when something’s out of sync.

Everything looked normal. Tourist couples. Late diners. A group of French teens laughing outside a café. We passed a movie theater where one of the Marché films was letting out. The red carpet was lined with spectators five or six deep, but they stood behind the barriers, phones raised, waiting for a glimpse of an actor or director. Security was almost relaxed.

Two blocks later we crawled past another venue, where fans clustered around the entrance hoping to catch a filmmaker between screenings. They called out names, snapped pictures, applauded when someone waved.

Then we turned toward the hotel.

Hundreds of Pryzm fans filled the sidewalk outside the Majestic. They weren’t waiting for a glimpse of a celebrity. They were waiting for their idols.

We pulled into the service entrance of the Majestic, a narrow alley behind the hotel, blessedly free of cameras and crowds. Liam’s vehicle arrived thirty seconds later, the rest of the group spilling out with Starhouse security guards forming a loose perimeter.

“Jason’s security team has already cleared the freight elevator and the suite,” Liam said. “Freight elevator. Straight up. Jason and I will do a full sweep once everyone’s settled, but right now we need them off the street and behind locked doors.”

We moved as a unit: tight, controlled, professional. The elevator was industrial, smelling of cleaning solution and old metal. We packed in close, and I felt Jin’s breathing pick up, just slightly. Confined spaces after an explosion. Normal response.

The elevator opened onto a carpeted hallway on the top floor, as promised. Eun-ji led the way to a suite at the end, swiping a key card and pushing the door open to reveal the kind of luxury that costs more per night than most people make in a month.

Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the bay. The floating stage was still visible in the distance, lights dimmed now, a few boats circling. Probably emergency crews, making sure nothing else was about to explode. The Croisette was crowded with limos, men in tuxedos on mopeds with women in fancy dresses behind them, and plenty of pedestrians trying to find their way wherever they were going.

“This is Jin’s suite,” Eun-ji said. “The rest of the group is across the hall. My room is next door.”

Liam was already moving through the space, checking windows, sight lines, testing locks. “These windows don’t open, which is good. Clear view from that yacht, though.” He pointed. “We’ll want curtains closed at night.”

“Noted,” Eun-ji said.

“Food?” I asked.

“I’ll have room service sent up. Something light. Rice, soup. And water. Lots of water.” She stepped into the hallway, phone already at her ear.

Liam caught my eye and tilted his head toward the door. I followed him out, leaving Sang-hoon and Jin alone in the suite.

In the hallway, Liam kept his voice low. “I’ve got two of Starhouse’s regular security team doing hallway rotation. They’ve been with the group for two years, background checks clean.”

He pulled out his tablet, showing me a schematic of the floor. “I’ve also mapped the hotel. Three stairwells, two elevators, service access here and here. Fire exits are alarmed. Hotel security is cooperating, but they’re stretched thin with other celebrity guests.”

“So we assume we’re on our own.”

“Always do.” He glanced back toward Jin’s door. “What do you think? Professional hit or obsessed fan?”

“The message Eun-ji got showed too much insider knowledge for a typical stalker,” I said. “Most obsessed fans go after a particular person. They don’t talk about ‘the center’ as if they’re discussing choreography. And the timing’s too precise. Whoever did this had access, knowledge, and resources.”

I rubbed my eyes, feeling the exhaustion settling in. “Especially with the disappearance of the fireworks tech, it’s clear this was planned.”

“Agreed.” Liam twisted his neck to release the tension in his shoulders. “Which means they’re not done.”

My phone buzzed. Text from Eun-ji: Here’s the personnel roster you requested. Everyone who traveled with us from Seoul, plus local hires in Cannes.