Huang Yanyan's POV:
The factory's rusted air burned my lungs, but it was Zhao's twisted crest and Meilin's star-dagger, glinting like Yue's but wrong, that cut deeper than the blood on my cheek. Their shout—"The Core's ours!"—echoed over Master Wu's blade and Vey's claw-crested elites, all circling the Accord Core's door, its steel seals—claw and star—pulsing, demanding my blood, Haoyu's, to unlock a global grid, power bigger than Island B's dead vault. My star-etched dagger trembled, Yue's scratched seal burning, marking me the Huang key, my knife raised, shoulder and thigh oozing, ribs screaming from every fight. I didn't care—Dad's stretcher beeped behind me, Yang Wei's breaths weak, Yue's hands on him, and I'd gut them all—Wu, Vey, Zhao, Meilin—before they touched my family.
