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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.