The underground lab buzzed with a sterile hum, its glass walls reflecting the dim glow of machines as Ruoxi stood over Liang Shuren, her wrist still tingling from the phoenix's flare. Blood streaked her coat—hers, the guards', a testament to the chaos they'd carved through the compound—but the wound in her side had sealed, a faint ache where golden fire had knit her flesh. Jiang Yukang flanked her, mask off, his gun trained on Shuren, its barrel steady despite the storm in his eyes. Xiao Zheng leaned against a console, leg bandaged, recording every word on his cracked phone, his face pale but resolute.
Shuren cowered, gaunt and trembling, his gray hair plastered with sweat, his hands raised in surrender. The alarms had faded, the compound's guards ash or fled, leaving only this—a traitor cornered, his secrets the prize. Ruoxi's voice cut through the silence, sharp as the blade she felt in her blood. "Pang Yuwei—my mother. You sold her to Tianhua. Tell me everything."
