The pigeons fly up and away, taking the world with them, and then she’s half crawling, half lying on the front step of the house. She grasps for the emergency button on her glasses, the one they call the Ave Maria, but her fingers are clumsy and numb. She pulls up a weather forecast for tomorrow, crime statistics for the street—laudably low, well done—and finally fumbles her way to the alarm. She looks for the confirmation signal, and finds a string of messages telling her help is on the way, there’s no need to press the button. The Witness flagged her for immediate assistance the moment she emerged from the Faraday cage. She knew that. Of course she did. That’s the whole point. The Witness is always there. The best friend you can imagine. The only friend you need. Although if the dog-walker is around, perhaps he might like to render some assistance. Good citizen. Strong arms.