Huang Yanyan's POV:
The headlights cut through the smoke like knives, a dozen trucks growling toward us from the north. My leg stung where shrapnel had kissed it, but I squared up, crowbar slick with blood in my hand. Behind me, the steelworks burned, a monster of fire and twisted metal swallowing Zhao's eleventh wave. We'd barely caught our breath—ten of us left, battered but breathing—and now this? I wasn't in the mood for round two, but the universe didn't give a damn about my mood.
