The Kyoto night burned with the echoes of gunfire, the safehouse a battered shell as Xia Zhenguo's SUV tore through the trees, its taillights swallowed by the dark. Feng Ruoxi stood in the doorway, her phoenix mark pulsing faintly against her wrist, the pendant swinging from her neck as Feng Wei's words—"The Fengs—they're falling. I did it."—rang in her ears like a death knell. The illegitimate son's face was pale, his eyes wide with a mix of triumph and fear, the phone trembling in his hand.
Jiang Yukang stepped beside her, his pistol still warm from the fight, blood and mud streaking his jacket. "What the hell do you mean?" he demanded, his voice a low growl as he eyed Feng Wei. "Explain—now."
