Huang Yanyan's POV
The vault's light spilled through Bunker 7's cracked door, cold and sharp, glinting off Master Wu's blade and Huang Zhao's twisted crest like a damn taunt. My star-etched dagger burned in my hand, its scratch—Yue's mark, my blood—screaming I was the key, the one to unlock Island B's secrets or burn them. Wu's smirk was poison, his eyes too much like Haoyu's but dead inside, calling me cousin. Zhao's grin was worse, Meilin's shadow in his face—my uncle, my enemy, her fire twisted sick. My knife stayed up, blood crusted on my cheek, arm and thigh oozing from the factory fight, ribs aching, but I didn't care. Dad was behind me, Yang Wei's stretcher beeping, Yue's hands on him, and I'd die before Wu or Zhao touched them.
