Yang Wei's POV:
The world was a haze of pain and shadow, my chest a furnace of blood and fire where bullets had torn through, my shoulder a throbbing ruin under Yue's trembling hands. I lay in the muddy ditch, the earth cold against my back, my breath shallow as Yanyan's voice—fierce, unbroken—cut through the fog, barking orders beside me. Lao Zhang's trucks roared, his men's gunfire a lifeline stitching the dawn, but Zhao's fifth wave loomed—boats cutting the water, dozens strong, rifles gleaming, their engines a death knell growing louder. I'd walked away from Island B, from this throne, but it had pulled me back, and now my family bled for it—Jiang down, Wu Qiang battered, and I was dying, too weak to stand, too stubborn to quit.
"Yang Wei!" Yue's voice broke, sharp and desperate, her hands pressing my chest, blood seeping through her fingers, her tears dripping onto my face—warm, real, the woman I'd lost and found again. "Stay with me—don't you dare go!"
