(Joseph's POV)
The confirmation arrives without ceremony.
No raised voices. No urgent summons. Just a secure message waiting in my inbox when I open it at dawn, the subject line precise and unmistakable:
Formal Medical Verification Initiated
I read it once, then again, letting the words settle. They don't spark relief or dread—only a quiet sense of inevitability. This was always where things would end up. Procedure is patient. It does not argue. It does not negotiate. It moves forward because that is what it was built to do.
I close my laptop and stare out the window as the city wakes below. Morning light stretches across rooftops, indifferent to the small wars fought behind closed doors. Somewhere between night and day, a line has been crossed.
From this point forward, truth will surface whether anyone wants it to or not.
