Release notes for the people who run the rooms, and design notes for anyone deciding whether we think carefully enough to trust.
Replay gains 2× and 4× playback so a two-hour session can be skimmed. The dock's rest state drops to one grey across every tray, unshipped tools stop appearing as ghosts, and the medium dock finally gets its grip. Sticky notes now align to the top-left of the paper.
A board is a document with an audience. We tried letting answers land directly on the canvas, watched teachers stop trusting it within a session, and rebuilt the whole thing around a proposal you have to accept.
Remote participants get a rail beside the canvas, screen sharing swaps the majority view, and guests join a board with a four-character code instead of an account.
A spinner tells a room that the software is thinking and they should wait. Our mark draws itself instead — same information, but it reads as a board writing rather than a computer stalling.
Sessions can be played back stroke by stroke, silently. Recording shows an amber live dot and elapsed time for as long as it runs; narration is a separate, opt-in decision with its own consent wording.
It was designed, it worked, and it was the wrong product. A camera on a classroom wall costs a policy, a consent conversation and a safeguarding review — to save typing four characters.
One email per release, written by the person who shipped it. No cadence, no newsletter — if nothing shipped, nothing arrives.