Rain streaked the jet's windows as it descended toward Beijing, the city's skyline a jagged blur through the storm. Ruoxi sat in the dim cabin, her wrist tingling faintly where the phoenix tattoo lay hidden, its power a quiet hum since the ambush. Tanaka's words—"Tianhua's watching, you're the target"—looped in her mind, tangling with the monk's warning and Yukang's insistent questions. Shuren waited ahead, a key to her mother's fate, but the weight of her blood pressed heavier with every mile.
Jiang Yukang sat across from her, mask off, his eyes fixed on the rain, a storm brewing behind his silence. Xiao Zheng worked in the back, refining their plan for the compound—north gate, 2 a.m., a razor-thin window—but Ruoxi felt the tension between her and Yukang like a live wire. She'd promised answers after Beijing, but the lie gnawed at her—how could she explain what she didn't fully grasp?
