Floor Twelve did not welcome them.
It did not resist them either.
The corridor beyond the threshold was wide, unnaturally so, its walls smooth and pale like unfinished stone. No traps activated. No enemies emerged. The silence here was different from Floor Eleven's pressure—it was observational, patient.
As if NULL were waiting to see what they would do without being forced.
The priestess walked two steps before stopping. Her breathing was uneven, each inhale shallow, as though her body had forgotten how to draw air without permission.
"We should rest," she said.
It was not a plea. It was a statement shaped by exhaustion.
The third survivor did not respond immediately. His eyes were fixed ahead, scanning empty space, searching for the hidden cost. When he finally spoke, his voice was tight. "Stabilization doesn't mean safe."
"No," Eiran said. "It doesn't."
They stood there, three figures in a corridor that refused to define itself. No system prompt appeared. No countdown. NULL was not issuing instructions.
Which meant the decision was theirs.
Eiran felt it again—that subtle pull, the way their attention bent toward him even when he did not speak. He had not raised his voice. He had not issued an order.
Yet both of them waited.
Residual authority.
It lingered after commands were no longer given, like heat in stone after a fire had gone out.
"We stop here," Eiran said finally. "Short rest. No more than ten minutes."
The priestess nodded immediately, relief flashing across her face before she could hide it. She lowered herself against the wall, sliding down until she was seated, hands shaking as she began a weak healing chant—more habit than effect.
The third survivor hesitated.
"Why ten?" he asked.
"Because NULL is counting," Eiran replied. "If we look comfortable, it will intervene."
That earned a quiet, humorless laugh. "So we pretend we're not."
"Yes."
Silence settled again, but it was no longer empty. It was filled with small sounds—fabric shifting, breath being controlled consciously, the faint hum of the Tower's systems recalibrating beneath their feet.
Eiran closed his eyes briefly.
He thought of Karsen—not the moment of death, but the half-second before it. The pause. The expectation. The unspoken belief that a command would arrive in time.
That belief had killed him.
SYSTEM NOTICE: LEADERSHIP INFLUENCE — DETECTED
STATUS: PASSIVE
EFFECT: UNDISCLOSED
Eiran opened his eyes.
The notice faded before either of the others could read it.
Good.
Floor Twelve was not attacking them yet.
It was measuring how much of his authority remained when he stopped using it.
And whether the others would still surrender their judgment to him—even when doing so no longer felt safe.