"You're what now, Maya?" Tessa asked, her voice cracking with disbelief that cut through the ballroom like a blade through silk.
Fuck.
Parker let go of Tessa and sighed, the weight of cosmic politics crashing down on him like a freight train made of pure dread. This wasn't any of his exes like he'd expected. That meant he didn't know jack shit about her weaknesses, her motivations, her endgame—nothing.
Unknown enemies were infinitely more dangerous than known psychopaths. At least with his exes, he knew what brand of crazy he was dealing with.
And she knew who Maya was. That was worse than if she'd just threatened to destroy all of reality and call it a Tuesday.
Maya's identity was the kind of secret that could start wars between forces that made gods look like angry toddlers.
