Author's POV:
The riverbank was a jagged scar of earth and shadow, the air thick with the tang of blood and the river's cold spray. The family stood battered but defiant, their silhouettes stark against the faint glow of Wuhan's distant skyline. Huang Yanyan gripped her star-etched dagger, its twin lost to the village's flames, her knife raised as she faced the approaching headlights—elite vehicles, crestless, rolling ominously from the north. Wu Haoyu flanked her, his pipe slick with blood, his wounded arm trembling, eyes torn between Yanyan's rigid back and the threat ahead.
