Huang Yue's POV
The cold bit into my skin as we stumbled out of that forsaken warehouse, the Shanghai docks stretching out before us like a graveyard of rusted steel and forgotten dreams. My legs trembled beneath me, barely holding my weight, and I clung to Dad's arm, his grip steady and warm—a lifeline I hadn't felt in twenty years. The night air tasted of salt and oil, sharp against my bruised lips, but it was the sound of Xie Liang's laughter—echoing in my head even after he'd vanished—that made my stomach twist with dread.
He was gone. Slipped away like smoke, leaving blood and chaos in his wake, and I knew, deep in my bones, that this wasn't over. Not for me, not for Yanyan, not for any of us. I'd seen the glint in his eyes when he'd held that gun to my head—wild, unhinged, a man with nothing left to lose. And his words—"She knows more than she's told you"—clawed at me, a truth I'd buried so deep I'd almost convinced myself it was a lie.
