The temple attic trembled faintly under the distant rumble of engines, the air thick with incense and the weight of Tianhua's latest taunt crackling through Tanaka's radio: "The phoenix rises, but the eagle strikes." Feng Ruoxi stood near the shrine, the phoenix pendant glowing faintly in her hand, her mark pulsing against her wrist as the shadow she'd glimpsed below—a figure with a glinting blade—stirred unease in her chest. Her blood hummed, the golden-eyed woman's voice a quiet echo: "The war begins."
Jiang Yukang leaned against a beam, his shoulder bandaged but his pistol steady, his dark eyes scanning the attic's trapdoor where the shadow had flickered. "Tianhua's sending someone," he said, voice low and taut, the kingpin's calm masking the pain etched in his features. "Kyoto's ours, but he's not done."
