That evening, he sat on his sofa, the air smelling like nothing at all—which was exactly the point. He looked at the sleek Beam unit in the garage one last time before turning off the lights. It was a silent sentry, ready to keep the world outside from ever settling in.

By Saturday morning, the kitchen floor was a graveyard of PVC pipes and purple primer. Arthur’s neighbor, Carl, peeked over the fence. "Installing a lifestyle, I see?"

The boxes arrived on a Tuesday, and for Arthur, it felt like the first day of the rest of his life—or at least the first day he’d stop tripping over a tangled plastic hose in the hallway.