On the morning of the fourteenth day, only the final item on the Stellaris whiteboard remained unchecked.
*Submit Review Package.*
Those words were written at the very top, with sticky notes densely packed beneath them.
*High-risk material isolation zone.*
*Data deletion proof.*
*Family exit pathway.*
*Patient consultant opinion.*
*Hospital clinical independent opinion.*
*The Child Protection Protocol.*
Every single sticky note was marked with revisions. Some had curling edges; others bore the faint stains of spilled coffee. Over these fourteen days, Stellaris had practically been dismantled and rebuilt from the ground up.
Maya sat at the conference table, her laptop connected to the projector.
"Let's run through the deletion proof one last time."
She clicked open the testing interface.
The screen displayed a simulated family exit process. Once a family selected "Exit Project," the system no longer triggered retention pop-ups. Instead, it presented three data processing options.
*Export and seal.*
*Immediately delete non-essential data.*
*Pause for seven days before deciding.*
Joey Jenkins sat next to her, dark circles under his eyes, yet he looked much more energized than he had a few days ago.
"The deletion proof will generate two copies. One goes to the family, the other is kept for audits. The logs, operator, reviewer, and timestamps are all there, but the child's name is completely redacted."
Phoebe leaned back in her chair, flipping through the printed manual.
"The simplified version has been updated too. The family version now reads: Stellaris will provide a verifiable proof of deletion."
Maya shot her a look.
"You finally agreed to cut out the corporate fluff."
Phoebe smiled thinly. "Thank you for the compliment, Maya."
Joey kept his head down, stifling a laugh.
Wren stood in front of the whiteboard, staring at the final item.
Not a single day of these past fourteen had been easy.
Among their partnered families, three had ultimately chosen to withdraw, while five opted to pause before deciding. Thirty percent of the Xander fund was still on hold, and the Ethics Board hadn't made any advance promises.
But Stellaris hadn't fallen apart.
They had coded every family's anxiety into the workflow, patched every vulnerability exposed during the smear campaign into the system, and turned the invisible trauma Leo and Logan Lester had suffered into The Child Protection Protocol.
This review package was no longer just proving that Stellaris hadn't leaked anything.
It was answering a much harder question.
If the next wave of malicious attacks came crashing down, could Stellaris shield the children first?
At 9:30 AM, Julian York arrived.
He wasn't wearing his lab coat. Instead, he carried a sealed document folder from the hospital. When the receptionist led him in, a brief hush fell over the office.
Phoebe saw him and raised an eyebrow. "Right on time, Dr. York."
Julian handed the folder to Wren.
"The final version of the hospital's clinical independent opinion. Cardiology, Rehab, and Ethics have all signed off. Daisy's patient consultant opinion is also attached with its usage restrictions."
Wren took it.
The hospital's official seal was stamped across the flap, the edges pressed perfectly flat.
"Thank you for the hard work."
"It's what I should do."
He said it effortlessly.
He didn't say he did it for her, nor did he claim it was a favor.
Wren looked down at the seal, her fingers pausing slightly.
Noticing the exhaustion under her eyes, Julian's voice softened.




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