The system didn't schedule another shared drill.
That would have been too obvious.
Instead, it narrowed the margins.
The environment loaded cleaner this time. Less debris. Fewer random failures. The kind of space A-Class preferred—one where mistakes showed clearly and success looked intentional.
I arrived early.
Not by habit.
By alignment.
Evan was already there.
He stood near the center platform, reviewing something on his interface. When he noticed me, he didn't stop what he was doing.
That, I realized, was the difference.
People below A-Class paused when someone higher entered.
People at the top didn't.
"You grounded the surge yesterday," he said without looking up.
"Yes."
"That wasn't in the drill parameters."
"No."
He finally looked at me.
Not challenging.
Confirming.
"You knew it would work."
"I knew it wouldn't fail fast," I corrected.
A small pause.
"That's not the same thing," he said.
"No."
He nodded slightly, accepting the distinction.
That was the first real exchange we'd had.
The others arrived in sequence.
Bran first, heavy steps echoing faintly. He scanned the environment automatically, shoulders loosening once he confirmed nothing immediate threatened the group.
Frontline instinct.
Always on.
Sylpha followed, slower, eyes unfocused. She didn't look at the structure directly—she watched the system overlays bleed faintly into the environment.
She noticed me and tilted her head.
"You changed how it compensated," she said.
"Yes."
"You didn't fix it."
"No."
She smiled.
Lena arrived last.
She stopped when she saw me.
Just for a moment.
Barely noticeable.
Then she walked over.
"You should've warned us," she said quietly.
"I wasn't sure yet," I replied.
"That's not good enough," she said—not angry, not raised voice. Just firm.
Evan glanced between us but didn't interrupt.
Lena continued, "If you act alone again, I'll assume you're unstable and compensate accordingly."
That wasn't a threat.
It was procedure.
I nodded.
"That's fair."
She watched my face for a second longer than necessary, then stepped back.
The tension remained.
Unspoken.
The drill began.
No announcement.
No countdown.
The system simply activated.
This time, the failures came layered.
A support instability.
Then a delayed control response.
Then a power fluctuation—all within the same window.
Too much for a single solution.
That was deliberate.
Bran moved first, bracing the structure instinctively.
That was his tier.
He absorbed problems.
And paid for it with strain.
Lena followed immediately, her field expanding to cover Bran's load. Not healing—buffering. She didn't fix damage.
She prevented accumulation.
Her tier wasn't power.
It was sustainability.
Sylpha didn't move at all.
She watched the failures interact.
"Third layer will snap late," she said calmly.
Evan adjusted instantly, shifting the group's center of gravity before the snap occurred.
That was his tier.
Decision authority.
When he moved, the system listened.
Noah shifted behind him, filling gaps as they appeared, redirecting movement before hesitation could form.
He didn't command.
He anticipated.
I waited.
Not because I was slower.
Because I didn't belong to any of those responses.
When the third failure propagated, I intervened—not by fixing it, but by misaligning its resolution.
I delayed a correction just long enough to force the system to reroute load through an unused channel.
Messy.
Effective.
Temporary.
The structure held.
Lena noticed immediately.
Her eyes flicked to the conduit I'd used.
"You're creating debt," she said.
"Yes."
"Debt gets collected."
"Not always by the same system," I replied.
She frowned.
Not because I was wrong.
Because I was unfamiliar.
The drill ended without a clean success or failure.
Again.
Afterward, Evan walked beside me as we exited the platform.
"You don't scale," he said.
"No."
"You don't lead."
"No."
"You don't reinforce."
"No."
He stopped walking.
"So why does the system hesitate around you?"
I met his gaze.
"Because I don't solve problems," I said. "I move them."
That answer landed.
Not comfortably.
But cleanly.
Lena joined us.
"You're dangerous," she said to me.
"Yes."
"Not because you're strong," she continued. "Because you don't take responsibility for outcomes."
I shook my head.
"I take responsibility," I said. "I just don't pretend I control all consequences."
That made her quiet.
Evan watched her reaction closely.
File saved.
Bran clapped his hands once.
"So," he said, grinning faintly, "if things go bad—who do we follow?"
No one answered immediately.
Then Evan said, "Depends on the problem."
That was the clearest power hierarchy I'd seen yet.
As we separated, Evan spoke again.
"Next time," he said, "don't assume I'll adapt."
"I won't," I replied.
"I'll assume you notice."
He smiled slightly.
"Good."
They left upward.
I returned to the lower levels.
Same as before.
But now—
They knew where I stood.
Not above.
Not below.
Adjacent.
And that adjacency carried tension the system couldn't smooth away easily.
Not yet.