The house is packed—shoulder to shoulder, sweat and perfume mixing in the sticky air. Red cups litter every surface. Someone shrieks with laughter in the kitchen.

You spot your members scattered across the living room, engrossed in some conversation with another group of trainees. Hana catches your eye, waves, then goes back to talking.

But you're looking for someone else.

It takes you a minute to find him. He's by the back patio doors, half-hidden behind a group of guys you don't recognize. Someone from another label, maybe.

He hasn't looked at you once.