── The zone ────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────
A fresh install now addresses customer instances under clupilot.cloud rather
than clupilot.com. Not branding: a Nextcloud is third-party software that
strangers sign in to, and on the same registrable domain as the portal it
shares cookie scope, document.domain and CAA with it. The same reason
googleusercontent.com and vercel.app exist.
Existing installations keep whatever the console says — the zone has been a
setting all along. `clupilot:check-zone <zone>` reports what a change would
touch before anything is touched: the DNS records, the monitoring targets,
the certificates and Nextcloud's trusted_domains all carry the old name and
the setting reaches none of them. With no instances in service it says so and
stops. Changing it later is a migration with an outage, and the command says
that too.
── Which addresses are ours ────────────────────────────────────────────────
A new public page at /sicherheit: the domains that belong to us, the rule for
reading an address bar, what we never do, and — the part that matters — what
to do if you have already typed your password into a copy of our sign-in
form. Change it, end every other session, change it wherever else you use it,
tell us. In that order.
Reachable without an account, deliberately: somebody who has just given their
password away is signed in nowhere, and the page they need cannot be behind
the thing they lost.
Linked from the three places a person is when the question comes up: every
mail footer (the mail is the vector), the sign-in form (this is the page a
phishing kit copies, so the real one says which host you are on), and the
site footer.
The domain list is DERIVED from configuration and keyed by what each domain
is for. A list typed into a page would eventually tell a customer that a
phishing domain is one of ours, or that one of ours is not — the same
two-sources-of-truth failure that had the price sheet promising an address on
a domain the company does not own. The operator console is deliberately
absent from it: naming it on a public page tells an attacker where to aim.
Co-Authored-By: Claude Opus 5 <noreply@anthropic.com>
Fortify sends every successful sign-in to config('fortify.home') — /dashboard.
That is why an operator signing in ended up in the customer portal, and once
the console has a hostname to itself it stops being merely confusing:
/dashboard does not exist on that host, so signing in would land on a 404.
Three outcomes now, decided by where the sign-in happened and who signed in:
the console for an operator on the console, the portal everywhere else, and for
a non-operator on the console the session is taken away again at the moment it
was created — a guard that merely refuses each page afterwards leaves that
session in the browser.
Four things the review caught, each of which would have left a hole:
- Fortify never reaches LoginResponse when a two-factor challenge was involved.
Binding only that one left exactly the accounts most likely to be operators
on the old behaviour, so both exits are bound and share one decision.
- The JSON branch ran before the authorization check, so a JSON client kept a
session a browser would have lost.
- The two exits do not share a JSON success contract — an ordinary sign-in
answers {"two_factor":false}, a completed challenge answers an empty 204 —
and merging them breaks a client keying off the status code.
- In shared mode everyone posts to /login, so the request never looks like the
console even when /admin is the destination. The intended URL is read too.
Co-Authored-By: Claude Opus 5 <noreply@anthropic.com>
The marketing page was a generic centred hero in the system font stack: it
neither used the design system the console is built on nor looked like the
product it sells. Rebuilt around what CluPilot actually promises — security you
can produce evidence for — so the page reads as a controlled technical
document: a specification plate instead of a hero image, numbered sections, an
audit register with rhythm and proof per measure, and a price sheet rather than
floating cards. IBM Plex Serif joins Sans and Mono as the display voice, self
hosted as static files so the public page renders even without the Vite build.
The prices were written into the page by hand, and the page and the catalogue
had already drifted apart on three of four plans: the site advertised 249 € for
a plan the checkout charges 399 € for. The sheet now reads the catalogue, like
every other caller — including the currency, which is configurable and was also
hard-coded here.
The catalogue fails loudly on purpose; a public website must not. A broken or
overlapping catalogue is caught in the controller alone: the page still
renders, the sheet is replaced by "on request", and nobody is quoted a number
the checkout would not honour.
The sign-in and registration panels shared a copy-pasted orange gradient. They
now share one component and the same ink plate as the site, so the two halves
of the product no longer look like two companies.
Co-Authored-By: Claude Opus 5 <noreply@anthropic.com>
nexxo
Claude