They did not step forward together.
Not at first.
There was a fraction of a second—small enough to be invisible, large enough to matter—where each of them stood at the edge of that opening and felt the weight of what "forward" meant now.
It was no longer movement through space.
It was participation.
Neo crossed first.
Not out of leadership.
Out of recognition.
The point of entry did not widen for him. It did not need to. As he approached, it adjusted—not in size, but in relevance—until the distinction between him and it dissolved just enough to allow passage.
And then—
He was through.
There was no sensation of crossing.
No shift in gravity, no change in air, no disorientation.
Only—
continuity.
Behind him, the others felt it.
Not as a visual confirmation.
As an absence.
Neo was no longer "ahead" of them.
He was no longer "there."
He was—
integrated somewhere beyond the threshold.
Cassandra exhaled sharply.
"Well, that's unsettling."
