The room was quiet. Not empty, but precise in its calm.
Light arrived evenly. Nothing highlighted, nothing shadowed. Surfaces were functional, not decorative. Desks formed a shallow arc. Behind them, figures sat with hands open, still. They did not command. They waited.
I was guided to the center. Left to stand.
"You've arrived sooner than most," one said.
I did not respond.
"Clarity is often resisted," another added. "When it arrives early, it unsettles."
Statements were printed on walls. Simple, declarative. Words that did not explain themselves, only existed.
Harm does not exist outside context.
I let it sit.
"Experience feels chaotic inside," one said. "Pattern restores calm."
I nodded to myself.
The figures spoke again, not to me, but near me. Observation, not lecture.
"When harm occurred," one asked, "was anyone acting to preserve something?"
"Yes," I said.
"Continuity?"
"Yes."
"Pressure, not malice," another said.
I recognized it. That way of survival, learned long ago.
"Good," one said. "You understand."
The words settled. Quiet followed.
"If everything fits," I asked, "where does responsibility go?"
They paused. "Inward," one said. "Where it can be managed."
I let it settle.
Endurance reframed. Observation replacing reaction. Pain replaced by function.
"You adapted," one said. "That has value."
"And the cost?" I asked.
"Complexity," another said. "Which can be reduced."
The walls, once cluttered with statements, now felt lighter. Simplified. The system worked.
"If I stay," I asked, "what happens to what I feel?"
"It becomes unnecessary," came the reply. "Eventually, inaccessible."
I remembered the mirror. Shape followed interpretation, not impact.
"I need access," I said.
No one answered.
"You may leave," they said. "Some do."
I turned. My steps were steady. The room did not resist. No one followed.
Behind me, The Correct returned to work. Quiet. Consistent. Certain.