I am transferring these files into the family archive in full. I instructed Dr. Maxwell at the outset that nothing was to be omitted regardless of outcome, and he complied. I read every report he submitted. Every examination. Every result. I want that on record here, in this document that no one will stamp — not as a defense, but because I will not allow myself the comfort of claiming ignorance. I knew what this project was. I chose to continue funding it. Those two facts are the beginning and end of my accountability, and everything that follows is context for them, not excuse. I approved the P.L.B.S. initiative because I believed in what it could become. I had sat across from enough families in enough private chambers to know what it looks like when hope runs out, and I could not accept that nothing more could be done for them. When Dr. Maxwell presented his research I saw a possibility I had not seen before, and I extended him my confidence and my funding and my silence on the details I chose not to surface to the Council. I reported progress. I did not report cost. I have spent considerable time since the facility's end examining what I told myself that justified, and I find I no longer have a satisfying answer. The results were real. I want to say that because it is true and because I owe the project's intention that much honesty — from patient nine onward, the work showed genuine viability. For a time it felt close to something that could be defended publicly, presented properly, made into the thing I had believed it could be. I kept that hope longer than the evidence warranted. I understand that now. I will not use patient numbers in this note. They were not numbers. Lyla was eight years old. I received notification of her death on a Tuesday. The cause was recorded as injuries sustained on site — a phrase I have turned over many times since and found deliberately constructed to resist inquiry. At the time I accepted it. I noted it. I did not press Maxwell for further detail, and I have not made peace with that. I approved the continued operation of the facility before the week was finished, and I am aware of what that says about where my priorities were arranged. She was buried at the site. I have no record of the location. I do not know if she was given a proper marker or whether anyone spoke over her, and the not knowing sits in me in a way that I cannot seem to set down, no matter how many years pass. What I cannot resolve is Domino. Her file ceases on the same date I received Lyla's death notification — not closed, not transferred, simply stopped, as though the record was abandoned mid-sentence. I searched for an explanation and found none. Maxwell never filed another word regarding her. Two years passed between that silence and whatever it was that ended the facility — and I will say plainly that I was never fully satisfied with the account I received of that either. Whether Domino was alive when it happened I do not know. The Council's report lists her as unaccounted. Her file was among those removed from the data silos before our recovery teams arrived. That is the sum of what I have. I am placing these documents here because they belong somewhere that is not a sealed filing cabinet. Because these people deserve to be more than a resolved incident. The Council report that follows this note is precise and appropriate and I had a hand in shaping its language, and I will not pretend that does not sit heavily with me. I did what was required. I have had a long time to understand that doing what was required was itself the failure. The project was supposed to give families their children. Instead I am filing the names of children no one is coming back for. I do not know what else to say about that.