The safehouse lights flickered like a dying heartbeat, casting jagged shadows across the wooden walls as Xia Zhenguo's voice faded from the radio, his final words—"Kyoto's where I bury you"—hanging in the air like a curse. Feng Ruoxi stood frozen on the porch, the phoenix pendant clutched in her fist, its jade surface warm against her skin as the mark on her wrist pulsed with a restless, crimson glow. The shadow she'd glimpsed in the trees was gone, swallowed by the Kyoto night, but the chill it left behind coiled tight around her spine.
Jiang Yukang stepped beside her, his pistol drawn, his dark eyes scanning the forested hills beyond. "He's close," he said, voice low and taut, the kingpin's calm edged with something fiercer—fear, not for himself, but for her. "We're not waiting for him to hit first."
