Steven hesitates. Then he looks me up and down—tailored suit, polished shoes, armor I've worn my entire adult life.
"You can't go like that," he says.
I frown. "Like what?"
"In a dress suit. Like you're here to negotiate," Steven replies.
He opens the trunk instead of answering. Inside is a garment bag. And next to it—disturbingly—fabric that is bright, impractical, and unmistakably costume-adjacent.
"You're joking," I say.
Steven smiles for the first time since I landed. "I never joke about logistics."
I stare at the contents. This is ridiculous. This is humiliating. This is completely out of my control.
"If this is what it takes," I say slowly, "then let's do it."
Steven hands me the bag.
And for the first time in my life, I choose chaos.
