I had all those tools once: the car that drove itself, the office chair that warned me when I was sitting badly. And then bit by bit I got rid of them. It was not a grand decision, just a slow shift I didn’t understand until it was done. I got tired of voices in my head and eyes peering over my shoulder. Now nothing I own talks to anything else, and I have hooks in the hallway where people can hang up their wearable devices when they arrive. The whole house works as a Faraday cage. I put the wire in myself, so I know it’s properly done. The Witness is the sun, and my home is made of shadows—or perhaps of shade.