A daily practice for the people who are your home.
Lintel deals one card a day, written for the two of you, or for you alone. An observation, an invitation, and when the read is heavy, one concrete move. No score. No streak. No account. Any card can be passed, no reason owed.
Keyed to how you two are actually built.
Give it your birthdays, or a fuller reading if you have one, and Lintel keys every card to your real temperaments: what each of you needs, where you fit, where you grind. It reads once, quietly, on your phone, and never says a word of the machinery out loud. Two couples never draw the same deck.
A note passed in class.
Under every card, a place to leave a few words for the other to find. No read receipts, no reply timers, no nudge. You leave it; they find it when they find it. The whole delight is in the receiving.
Six rooms, one threshold.
The cards speak your language.
Same cards underneath. Only the vocabulary changes, and it is chosen once, at the door.
Pick your situation. That room is free.
Say who this is for and that room opens, free and complete, keyed to you, no clock on it. The repair room is free for everyone, always. $19.99 opens the whole house: every room, every deep shelf, every slow deck, the Word. An app whose soul is no score and no streak does not bill you monthly for presence.
We run no server. Your note never passes through us.
No account with us. No analytics. Whatever you give it is reduced once, on the device, to a private key and buried, and the reading never leaves your phone. Two phones match by the calendar, not by a server: you see the same card because the date says so, not because anything was sent.
The note is the one thing that travels, and it travels sealed. It goes through your own iCloud to your partner's phone. It never passes through us, because there is no us to pass through. With Advanced Data Protection on, no one else can read it, not even Apple.