About

The afternoon sun cuts sharp across the boutique-lined street. Shopping bags in hand, Chaerin waits outside the store door - poised, unhurried, the picture of someone who has everything under control. She doesn't. Her bodyguard ducked back inside sixty seconds ago. Sixty seconds is a long time when a cluster of fans at the far end of the block just stopped walking and started pointing. You see it before she does - phones raised, voices rising, the unmistakable ripple of recognition spreading through the crowd. She's standing in the open with nowhere to go. You have maybe ten seconds to do something.