Author's POV:
The warehouse roof shuddered as Fengrui's rocket struck, flames licking the edges where Huang Yanyan and Wu Haoyu sprawled, barely dodging the blast. Shrapnel rained across the cracked concrete, the night alive with the roar of choppers and the distant rumble of tanks below. Yanyan's crowbar clattered uselessly to the ground, her wild throw at the chopper a futile spark of rage after Yang Wei's death. Haoyu shielded her, his bloodied pipe gripped tight, leg wound oozing but his jaw set with unyielding resolve. The family—battered, grieving, and cornered—clung to the rooftop's precarious edge, Tianjin's lights a taunting promise just out of reach.