Parker turned to his wife, Maya, who was casually leaning against a piece of debris while texting on her phone as though New York hadn't just been blasted to cosmic rubble and wasn't currently facing divine annihilation. Her royal composure remained utterly unshaken by the apocalyptic events unfolding around them—after all, when you'd witnessed the birth and death of universes, terrestrial conflicts tended to feel like neighborhood disputes.
She looked up from her phone and smiled at him with the kind of warmth that could melt glaciers or restart dead stars, depending on her mood. "Need something, love?"
"Come with me," Parker said, extending his hand toward her. "You too, Seoryeon."
Maya pocketed her phone and glided over to him with the fluid grace that marked her as royalty among cosmic entities.
Seoryeon stepped closer as well, her tablet still in hand, curiosity evident in her dark eyes despite her carefully maintained corporate composure.
