I turned, and my blood ran cold. Qiao Jinmo was bleeding from his nose. The crimson was a stark, brutal slash of color against his pale skin. He swiped at it with the back of his hand, but the gesture was futile, only smearing more blood across his face. I surged toward him, but a screech of tires cut me short as a convoy of luxury cars boxed us in. Bodyguards in black suits flooded out, and from