There are moments in life when every choice is a razor's edge—where one wrong move would ruin everything you've built. Tonight, standing in that small, poorly lit bathroom of our New Jade City safehouse, I felt that edge closing in tighter than ever. I had never thought that the simple process of bandaging a wound would be sufficient to mirror the severity of all my decisions. And there I stood, half-naked, staring at my own image in a grimy mirror as I peeled off the damp white bandage that hid a fresh gash on my chest. The gash, a souvenir of our last brutal clash, throbbed with each shallow gasp I drew.