And somewhere, in a different galaxy, the real Gamora watched a sunset with the Ravagers and smiled—not with longing, but with peace.
Drax arrived inside a child’s backpack, having shrunk himself to fit through a dimensional rift. “I taught thirty-seven orphans to fold socks. This is less relaxing.”
“You built a family once, 89P13,” the voice hissed. “Let me show you how easily it unravels.”