Wu Qiang's POV
The fishing boat cut through the dark waves, its engine a strained growl under Haoyu's hands, the cold spray biting my face as I crouched at the stern, my blood-slick shard gripped tight. My arm throbbed, the graze a dull ache beneath the soaked bandage, but I ignored it, my eyes locked on the horizon where Island B shrank into a smoldering ruin—flames licking the citadel, Beijing's ships swarming like vultures. Zhao's voice still rang in my ears—"Find them—kill them all but the girl"—a death sentence chasing us, and the lights flaring north confirmed it: his hunters were coming, fast and relentless.
"Grandpa!" Haoyu shouted over the wind, his voice tight as he wrestled the throttle, the boat lurching through choppy water. "They're gaining—two boats, maybe three!"
