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I’d opened my mouth to respond, but abruptly shut it when I realised I had nothing to say to that, so instead I moved into what felt like a less-charged question.

“Is it weird that I’m a journalist when you hate them so much?”

I was surprised I cared so much about the answer. He had every reason in the world to dislike my profession when people in my position had treated him and his family so badly, and continued to be one of the reasons that people in his world were forced to hide so much about themselves.

“You’re the only one I like,” he said easily, smiling lopsidedly at me. I had to turn away as I barked out a laugh, a wave of relief I’d been unprepared for rolling through me.

Quiet fell between us, but it was a comfortable sort of pause that felt more like an inhale than a gap. But then–

“Kaiya,” he said quietly, and something in his tone pulled my eyes to his face.

He was no longer smiling.

“I am not sure if you want to know this, but Park Hana,” he trailed off as his eyes rose to meet mine. “She doesn’t work for ENT anymore.”

Air punched out of me, and I didn’t know if it was the information, or just hearing the name of the person I had come to associate with so much of my life derailing.

“Okay,” I faltered. “Why?”

A shadow passed over his expression, and he raised a hand to brush the hair out of his eyes.

“I was not there,” he clarified. “Youngsoo found out after it happened.”

“What happened?” I prompted.

I felt cold, but it was the nervous kind of cold that rushed through your veins when you’re waiting on bad news.

“There was a suspicion that she had leaked confidential travel details to that website. ENT Tabs. They could not prove she leaked it, but they knew she had seen the documents. They couldn’t rule it out.”

My eyebrows flew up, and I scoffed in disbelief.

“Why the hell did she even have access to something like that?”

Jihoon shook his head. “She was asked to print out a stack of them so they could be handed out during a meeting.”

“Oh my god,” I scoffed, dragging a hand down my face. “That’s almost boring. Not exactly big-brained corporate espionage.”

Jihoon made a noise in the back of his throat that was somewhere between a laugh and a groan.

“It gets worse,” he said, shaking his head.

“Of course it does,” I sighed. “Go on.”

“That wasn’t why she was terminated. They couldn’t prove anything. They’ve never been able to tie her to the Tabs. She was fired because she was caught filming a dance practice of one of the trainee groups.”

A laugh fell out of me before I could stop it. Not because it was funny – filming the performers was an absolute taboo in any company like ENT, and had been written into our contracts. Instant termination.

“She gets away with so much for so long, and the reason she’s sacked is because she got caught with her phone out,” I said weakly, hanging my head. “Life is wild.”

Jihoon murmured an agreement, and we lapsed into silence for a moment while I absorbed the news.

“So, she’s gone? Just like that?” It was a question, and not a statement, because after everything, it seemed inconceivable to me. She’d become a sort of permanent feature to me. An obstacle to any kind of return I might ever entertain the idea of.

Jihoon’s hesitation was loud, and I turned to him.

“The company took out a restraining order on her,” he admitted with a sigh.

“What?” I exclaimed, and then quickly looked around to make sure I hadn’t bothered anyone, but we were currently the only people in the area. “Why?” I asked in a quieter, more measured voice.