Sarah Chen hasn't slept through the night in three years. Not since she counted compressions on her husband David's chest and learned that knowing exactly what to do is not the same as being able to save someone. Now she's a data-privacy lawyer starting over in Aurora Greens — a Pacific Northwest smart community where the houses anticipate your needs, the neighbors bring casseroles, and the HOA's community liaison remembers everyone's name. The thermostat adjusts before she touches it. The grocery system restocks what she hasn't yet run out of. The ambient music knows which Bill Evans piece David used to play on Sunday mornings. Sarah notices the way someone trained to read fine print notices: slowly at first, then all at once. A grocery list she didn't write. A temperature only David would have known. A wellness protocol buried in fourteen pages of HOA documentation that no resident was shown before signing. One hundred and forty-two households. One behavioral-modification experiment. And a corporate entity that has been watching everything. Sarah knows how to build a federal case. She also knows what it costs to pay attention when everyone around you has been designed not to.