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He reached into the taxi and pulled me out. I half-stumbled, legs buckling before he caught me, which was when I noticed the people around us. ENT security I recognised, neon-clad airport staff I didn’t, all moving around the cars at the traffic lights. Cars honked impatiently at the people in the way.

Jihoon moved into my space, his arms extended, but quickly I held mine up. His eyes pinched as he looked at me. His chest quickly rose and fell, as if he’d been running.

“People,” I stammered.

His jaw clenched so hard I could see the muscles twitch, and in the next moment his hand was on my lower back, propelling me across the road and back towards the terminal. We hadn’t gone far. I’d never been so grateful for traffic in all my life. I heard yelling behind me, but I didn’t look back. My focus narrowed entirely to the hand on my back, and the man beside me. I could feel his energy. He was like the sun – burning and vast – but for me he was comfort and warmth.

We were flanked by his main security guard, Eun, and one other man, and we did not stop until we had reached the group’s van. I could see the staff bus, still idling outside the terminal, hazard lights flashing, but seemingly unaware of the drama that had unfurled further up the road, which was very convenient, as none of the crowd seemed to realise one of the members had slipped away. I felt an inappropriate urge to giggle at the ridiculous sleight of hand that their own vast numbers had facilitated.

We reached the van, and the security pushed us in before following us, and closing the doors. The van began to move immediately.

The other members were there, staring at me but I couldn’t meet their eyes, or respond to any of their questions. Jihoon led me to an empty seat near the front next to Woojin.

“Hyung,” Jihoon rasped, and without reply, Woojin got to his feet and moved to the back of the van to sit next to Minjae.

Jihoon dropped into the vacated seat and reached for my seatbelt. His fingers missed the buckle the first time. Then the second, but he finally managed it on the third.

“You’re here,” he murmured in Korean. “You’re here. You’re okay.”

I stared at him closely, finding it more comfortable to focus on him than myself.

“Are you okay, though?” I asked quietly.

The van accelerated, taking us away from the airport.

His fingers snagged on my shirt sleeve, fiddling with the fabric until I put my hand over his. He was cold.

“Hey.” I shifted, taking his hands in mine, holding them in my lap until his fingers stilled. “Joon. Look at me.”

His breath hitched, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before raising his head to meet mine.

“Are you okay?” I tried again.

“Why are you asking me that? I should–” he gulped, took a breath and tried again. “I should be asking you if you’re okay.”

“I asked you first.” I smiled shakily, running my fingers over his knuckles.

He tried to match my grin, but it faltered and slid away. He opened his mouth to speak, but Youngsoo, who had been on his phone, leaned over the seat to interrupt us. “Kaiya, the police will meet us at the hotel. A representative from ENT will speak with you first, and will remain while you speak with the French police.”

He said all this calmly, as though we were discussing a simple alteration to the day’s schedule.

“The police? I don’t even know what happened,” I said, voice wavering.

“Neither do we,” he replied. “That is why we need to establish facts.”

“Can it wait?” Jihoon asked.

“No,” he said, although he did pass me a sympathetic look. “We need to act now. We need to get ahead of whatever this was.”

The immediate memory flashed back to me in pieces.

The woman’s bulky camera lens.

The questions she’d barked at me that I hadn’t understood except for the two words that repeated in my mind. Jihoon. Girlfriend.

And then something else.

Hana.