"Wait until you see the wardrobe."
Mia scoffed. "I have seen wardrobes."
Chris didn't answer. He just pushed the doors open.
The sound Mia made was not articulate.
It was somewhere between a gasp, a laugh, and a noise usually reserved for people discovering treasure rooms or illicit secrets.
"Oh no," she said, stepping inside. "No, this is illegal. This is… Chris, this is a hallway."
It was.
Long rows of clothing stretched ahead of them, arranged with severe accuracy. Formal wear on one side, ceremonial garments on the other, and everyday pieces tucked neatly between. Fabrics shifted subtly under the lighting: ivory, obsidian, deep emerald, wine-dark blues, and gold-threaded blacks. Jewelry lay displayed behind glass panels, each piece catalogued, secured, and unmistakably important.
Mia walked forward slowly, reverently, like she was entering a cathedral.
"These," she said, touching nothing but vibrating with intent, "are not clothes."
