The Beijing safehouse trembled under the weight of the night, its concrete walls a fragile shield against the red-eyed figure looming in the doorway, its hulking frame dwarfing the shadows, its voice a guttural hiss: "Father sends his love." Feng Ruoxi stood at the center, the phoenix pendant blazing against her chest, her mark pulsing crimson as fire sparked in her palms—wild, fierce, barely contained. Her blood roared, the golden-eyed woman's vision echoing: "Your blood claims all."
Jiang Yukang flanked her, his pistol raised despite the blood seeping through his bandaged shoulder, his dark eyes burning with defiance. "Tianhua's toy," he growled, voice raw but steady, the kingpin's calm a thin veneer over his fury. "We break it—now."
Liang Mei gripped her blade, her pendant—Pang Yuwei's twin—glinting as she positioned herself beside Ruoxi, her scar stark under the flickering light. "It's enhanced," she warned, her insider's edge sharp. "Stronger than the others—his latest batch."
