The Beijing safehouse stood as a battered sentinel against the creeping dawn, its walls pockmarked from Tianhua's collapse and the Liang's emerging threat. Feng Ruoxi faced the gold-eyed figure cloaked in shadow, her voice—a cold, feminine hiss—still echoing: "The phoenix rises, but the Liang queen waits." The phoenix pendant blazed against Ruoxi's chest, her mark flaring crimson as fire surged in her palms—wild, supreme, a force honed through Tianhua's defeat. Her blood roared, the golden-eyed woman's promise resounding: "Your blood is their doom."
Jiang Yukang stood at her side, his pistol drawn despite the blood staining his bandaged shoulder and ribs, his dark eyes locked on the figure—a new foe, not Liang Jin, but something colder, more commanding. "They're circling," he growled, voice steady but edged with exhaustion, the kingpin's calm a thin shield. "Tianhua's gone—this is their move."
