Huang Yanyan's POV:
The scroll felt like a brick in my hands, its ink glaring up at me like a curse: Huang Zhao. True Huang, my ass. Another snake with my family's name, slithering through Wuhan's elite shadows, pulling Zhao's strings like a puppet master. I wanted to shred the damn thing, burn it, anything to stop the chill crawling up my spine, but I couldn't look away. Amber's street instincts screamed to run, cut my losses, but Yanyan's blood—this princess crap I still hadn't swallowed—kept me rooted, my knife trembling in my other hand. Blood crusted my cheek, my ribs throbbed from that ambush, and the night air stung my lungs, but none of it hurt like the thought of another Zhao. Family. My family.
