In October, the cold and turbulent Bering Sea. A battered crab-catching ship sailed into the Dutch Harbor, the hull low in the water, almost to the highest waterline marked on the ship’s side, proving that the cargo hold was packed full. The dock workers knew that the “Emperor” had won the best catch of the crab season and had once again defeated Death’s hand.

Richie lugged the heavy equipment case onto the dock, his unsteady steps wobbling a few times. Just as he was about to fall, Tang Mi quickly grabbed his arm to steady him.

“I swear, if I step onto that deck one more time, I’ll twist my own head off and toss it into the sea to feed the sharks,” Richie panted, leaning against Tang Mi’s shoulder to catch his breath.

“Kid, stop whining like a little girl. Look at the lady next to you—she’s done more work than you, eaten less, and I’ve never heard her complain even once,” Captain Hansen barked, pointing at Tang Mi with his hand missing an index finger, a scar from a crab-catching incident years ago.

“Kid, stop whining like a little girl. Look at the young lady next to you—she’s done more work than you, eaten less, and I’ve never heard a single complaint from her,” Captain Hansen said, pointing at Tang Mi with his large hand, which was missing an index finger. The injury was a “badge of honor” from years ago, when his left hand was caught in a winch during crab fishing. By the time it was pulled free, his index finger was barely hanging on by a thread of flesh.

“Captain, thank you. The shoot went smoothly this time. I’ll send the photos to you once I’m back at the magazine,” Tang Mi said with a tired but polite smile, shaking Hansen’s hand firmly. Her weariness was apparent, but her handshake remained steady.

“Tang, I should be the one thanking you. You and your team helped us out a lot these past few days. You’re the first woman to climb onto the crab cages aboard the *Emperor*. That’s remarkable! You know, two veteran crab fishermen were swept off the cages by the waves just this week. When the next crab season comes, you’re always welcome back on the *Emperor*,” Hansen said, patting Tang Mi on the shoulder with a hearty laugh. His gaze held a rare respect, as if he were looking at an equal.

But Richie wanted nothing more than to never see Hansen—or his ship—again. He couldn’t understand why Tang Mi had taken on this assignment for an Alaska crab fishing feature. Sure, it was fresh, exciting, and lucrative, much like the king crabs they hauled in. But it was also as perilous as the Bering Sea storms. The 128-kilometer-per-hour gales, 12-meter-high waves, and grueling five-day, 21-hour shifts were enough to drive anyone to the brink of insanity. And there was always the looming danger of being crushed by the 318-kilogram steel crab cages swinging unpredictably on the tilting deck.

Alaskan crab fishing was ranked the world’s most dangerous job, and for photographers working in those same conditions, it was no less life-threatening. Ever since returning from her vacation, Tang Mi had been relentlessly taking on jobs, regardless of pay or interest. She would even accept projects others avoided, such as this one, as long as they kept her moving. Richie knew Tang Mi had always been a workaholic, but now it seemed less about dedication and more about escape.

What she was running from, he couldn’t say. Yet in quiet moments, her vacant gaze suggested that something once alive inside her had been torn away, leaving only an emptiness.

Now, she curled up in a chair on the hotel balcony, hugging her knees and staring at the starry sky. The silver light of the stars reflected in her glossy eyes, beautiful but hollow—like two dying asteroids burning through their final moments of brilliance, their glow tinged with a foreboding shadow.

“Tang, what happened to you during your vacation?” Richie asked, handing her a steaming cup of cocoa and sitting down in the chair across from her.

“Nothing much. I was at Black Truffle Manor with Ma Jin. Truffles, wine, and the annual tasting event—you know the drill,” Tang Mi replied, taking the cup and raising an eyebrow with a faint smile.

Her rosy lips touched the warm liquid, a picture of sweetness, yet a bitter undercurrent seemed to seep through her smile.

“Your pain comes from a man,” Richie sighed inwardly, gazing into her eyes. For a woman, few things could inspire such a bittersweet smile other than love.

Tang Mi didn’t answer, sipping her cocoa in silence, her gaze still distant.

“You slept with him, didn’t you?” Richie pressed, recognizing her avoidance as a classic defense mechanism.

“It’s no big deal, just like you and Jenny. Of course, you two had a perfect ending. You’re lucky, Richie,” Tang Mi said, turning her face to him with a calm voice tinged with weariness and a trace of envy. During his vacation, Richie had met a girl who swept him off his feet, and within a few short months, they were engaged. Once, Tang Mi might have questioned such a rapid decision, doubting the longevity of happiness built so quickly. But now she understood that love was like photography—sometimes, no matter how much preparation you put in or how many rolls of film you waste, the perfect shot never comes. Yet, in a fleeting moment, a soul-stirring face could appear in your lens by pure chance.

“Sure, it’s no big deal—if you didn’t wear that heartbreakingly sad expression,” Richie said, reaching out to pat her hair. The soft texture reminded him of stroking a wounded little animal.

“He didn’t abandon me,” Tang Mi said softly.

“Then why not call him?”

“Because I was the one who left him,” she replied, turning her face away and closing her eyes.

“But you love him, don’t you?” Richie gently turned her face toward him, revealing the question she had been avoiding all along.

“Yes, but protecting him is far more important than loving him, isn’t it?” Tang Mi opened her eyes. The confusion faded from her face, replaced by an expression that was hard to decipher—neither sorrow nor peace. Yet the fingers gripping her cocoa cup were steady and firm.

That was the look of someone determined to protect, Richie thought, staring at her pale fingertips.

“But have you ever considered that, for a man, what he wants is love, not protection? Don’t fool yourself into thinking that what you’re giving is what the other person needs. Love isn’t a one-sided affair,” Richie said, taking the cup from her hands and placing it on the table.

“No, you don’t understand, Richie.” Tang Mi shook her head, a bitter ache rising in her throat, her chest heavy with pain. Speaking even one more word felt like it would cut her to the bone.

But as her gaze flicked over the cocoa cup on the table, her heart suddenly leapt into her throat. A tiny crimson dot was creeping slowly across the pristine white surface of the cup—**a laser sight!**

“Get—” Before she could finish her shout, Tang Mi grabbed Richie’s shoulder and yanked him to the ground.

At the same moment, a rapid burst of *tat-tat-tat* gunfire erupted, as sharp and piercing as a jackhammer tearing through concrete.

In an instant, the entire balcony seemed to explode into chaos. Pots toppled over in a cascade, shattering into countless fragments. Tables and chairs teetered before crashing down on their shoulders and backs. Most terrifying of all were the bullets raining down from all directions like an unrelenting storm, ricocheting off walls and the floor, leaving destruction in their wake.

Scorching-hot shards flew past Tang Mi and Richie, close enough for Tang Mi to feel a burning pain on her leg. Warm liquid trickled down her ankle—it was probably a graze from a stray bullet. But she couldn’t spare a thought for her injury. All she could do was cling tightly to Richie, pressing them both as close to the ground as possible.

Their only cover, a wooden bench, was quickly shredded to pieces by the relentless bullets. Cotton stuffing and splinters flew through the air, mingling with the deadly hail of gunfire.

It wouldn’t be long before they, too, would end up as lifeless, mangled corpses, no different from the shattered furniture around them.

The gunfire continued, a terrifying swarm of locusts consuming everything in its path with precise, rhythmic ferocity.

Amid the chaos, Tang Mi faintly heard Richie whisper, “God, I want to live… Jenny,” his voice low and desperate. Tears streamed down her face uncontrollably.

Suddenly, a deafening *boom* shook the air. Something across from them had exploded, drowning out the gunfire.

In the violent tremor that followed, the bullets stopped. Tang Mi opened her eyes, peering through the billowing dust. She saw a massive orange-red flame erupting from a window in the building opposite. Thick black smoke rose into the sky, while bricks and shards of glass rained down onto parked cars below, setting off a chorus of shrill alarms.

“What the hell is going on?!” Richie scrambled to his feet, staring dumbfounded at the inferno in the opposite building. The fiery glow reflected off his pale face, resembling fresh blood.

“Get inside, now!”

A figure suddenly leapt down from the roof, darting toward Tang Mi and Richie with lightning speed. Before Tang Mi could process what was happening, the person grabbed them and dragged them toward the building’s interior.

To her astonishment, the newcomer was Simon. His fiery red hair was as eye-catching as ever, and his boyish face bore its usual mischievous grin—even as the gun in his hand still emitted wisps of white smoke.

Simon pulled them behind a sofa, muttering, “There are three of them. One’s dead from the explosion, but there are two more on the roof.”

Tang Mi hadn’t even had a chance to ask why Simon was there when the sharp crack of gunshots rang out again from outside, followed by the thud of something heavy hitting the ground.

Moments later, the door to the room burst open, and JR stormed in, carrying an L96A1 sniper rifle over his shoulder.

“Hey! Still alive, folks? Ha!” JR’s scarred face was as intimidating as ever, like that of an executioner. But at this moment, his towering, solid frame and the rifle in his hands made Tang Mi feel an overwhelming sense of relief. He was like a Santa Claus arriving with a sack full of presents on Christmas morning.

“Well, well, little beauty, we meet again,” Simon turned to Tang Mi and winked at her.

“How did you get here?”
“Who are you people?”
Tang Mi and Richie’s voices rang out simultaneously.

“Let’s get out of here first. We’ll talk in the car. With such a commotion, the police will be here any second,” Simon said, glancing out the window with a frown.

Downstairs, the crowd had already gathered, their faces filled with fear as they looked up at the explosion in the building. Some screamed, others were frantically making calls to the police, and a few, in their haste to flee, were still wearing pajamas and slippers. Amid the chaos, a black van quietly maneuvered behind the crowd, slipping into an alley behind the hotel.

When Tang Mi got into the black van, she was surprised to see Iser.

He was in the driver’s seat, his sharp, cold gaze fixed on the rearview mirror, watching Tang Mi. His fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly.

“Drive!” JR commanded in a low voice as he squeezed his large frame into the passenger seat.

The van shot out of the alley, weaving through the city streets before heading toward the highway leading out of town.

The car was silent. Simon and JR held their guns tightly, scanning their surroundings with vigilance. Iser’s face was a mask of icy detachment, and the tense atmosphere felt as stifling as the drizzling rain outside. Tang Mi felt a growing sense of unease. Setting aside the earlier shooting, Simon, JR, and Iser’s sudden appearance was baffling. Most pressing of all, if they were here, where was Arthur?

Why did they all look so grim?

Richie was the first to break the silence. Glancing between the three strangers and Tang Mi, he finally blurted out, “Hey! Who the hell are you guys?”

“The people shooting at you were assassins from Country A. Your identity’s been compromised, Tang. They know you helped us steal Emir’s arms trade agreement, which led to Country Z refusing to sign the energy development deal with Country A. Now they’re here to kill you,” Simon explained, his eyes flickering with concern as he looked at Tang Mi.

Tang Mi’s breath hitched. Even though the car’s heater was on, cold sweat trickled down her back. She recalled how Anderson had discovered her true identity back at the airport. It was his betrayal that had led to her capture by Emir. Now that Emir was dead, Anderson, having lost his powerful ally, would undoubtedly sell her out to Country A.

And after suffering both the loss of the energy deal and worsening relations with Country Z, it made perfect sense for Country A to eliminate her.

“Country A? Assassins? What’s going on, Tang?” Richie stared at her, utterly bewildered, his voice rising in panic.

“I’ll explain later, Richie,” Tang Mi said, pressing a calming hand on his shoulder. Then, turning to Simon, she asked, “Why are you here? And where’s Arthur?”

“He’s missing. It’s been a week,” Simon replied, his gaze dropping as he avoided her eyes.

“What? Why?” Tang Mi asked, stunned.

“Why? Isn’t it because of you?” Yise, who had been silently driving, suddenly spoke. His face remained expressionless, but his tone was laced with hostility and barely concealed anger.

Lowering his voice slightly, Yise continued, “We intercepted intelligence a week ago that Country A was targeting you. Arthur proposed putting you under witness protection, but Caroline vetoed it. And then… he disappeared.

Now the Defense Ministry has issued a direct order to MI6 to capture Arthur and bring him in as soon as possible.”

“So you’re using me as bait to lure him out, aren’t you?” Tang Mi leaned forward instinctively, gripping the back of the driver’s seat tightly. There was no doubt that Arthur’s disappearance had something to do with her. But he hadn’t come to find her—not a single call or text. In fact, since that night when they parted ways in the small town, she hadn’t heard a word from him.

What was he doing? What was he thinking?

Her heart clenched painfully, even more so than when she was dodging bullets earlier.