The Beijing night was a shroud of rain and shadow as the SUV rolled to a stop a half-mile from Shuren's compound, its engine cutting to a whisper. Ruoxi gripped her pistol, the phoenix's dream—"wield me, or fall"—still burning in her mind, its voice a fire in her veins. Her wrist pulsed faintly, the tattoo a quiet ember beneath her sleeve, but she felt it stirring, awake, alive. Jiang Yukang sat beside her, mask on, the kingpin's lethal calm radiating through the dim interior. Xiao Zheng checked his jammer one last time, its low hum a lifeline in their plan—north gate, 2 a.m., Tanaka's blind spot their only shot.
"Clock's ticking," Yukang said, voice muffled through the mask, his eyes glinting as he scanned the darkness beyond. "Xiao, jammer up—drones first, then we move."
"On it," Xiao Zheng replied, flipping a switch. The device whined, a faint static crackling as it scrambled the compound's aerial eyes. "Thirty seconds—go."
