Lightning gets close. The box notices.
Somewhere on a damp concrete wall in the lower Himalayas, a small black box runs through a single calculation thousands of times a second.
When a discharge happens within ten kilometres, it drops a relay, and the house — briefly — becomes its own island. By the time the thunder catches up, the decision is already made.
It is the only thing the box is built to do. It does it quietly, alone, in a forgotten utility cupboard, against a sky that does not care.