Huang Yanyan's POV:
The cave's collapse hit like a punch, dust choking my lungs, my scream for Dad and Yue raw in my throat. My star-etched dagger trembled in my hand, its scratch—Yue's mark, my anchor—glinting through the haze, but the rubble burying Dad's stretcher was a wall, a grave, and I couldn't breathe. Yang Wei, barely alive, machines beeping somewhere under stone, and Yue, my mom, trapped with him. My knife stayed up, blood crusted on my cheek, ribs screaming from every fight—village, compound, hills—but pain was nothing. I'd dig them out with my hands if I had to.
