A second pair
of hands.

01 · Point and talk

Stop describing. Start pointing.

The prompt box asks you to translate what you want into a paragraph of instructions. A second pair of hands skips the translation: you put the cursor on the thing — a line of code, a cell, a sentence — and just say what’s wrong.

“This one throws on null — guard it.” No context to paste, no prompt to engineer. It already sees what you’re pointing at.¹

02 · Propose, don’t impose

It offers a move. You keep the pen.

It doesn’t rewrite your file behind your back. It lays a confident diff beside your code and waits — three lines, optional-chained, the crash gone.

Accepting is one keystroke. So is rejecting. The default is always you decide — the agent’s job is to make deciding fast, not to make the decision for you.

03 · Show the work at the tip

Every claim carries its receipt.

Confidence isn’t a vibe; it’s a label. A cell anchored to your actuals reads [A] anchored. A forecast that needs a second look reads [B] verify.

You never have to guess which number is real. The provenance travels with the value, right where your eyes already are — and it’s one of four postures the agent ever takes.²

04 · The honest move

Sometimes the best answer is “I don’t know.”

Here’s the state most tools hide. When a planless user shows up, should the code default to free, or throw? That’s a product decision, not a code one.

05 · Know where not to go

It stays out of the room it shouldn’t enter.

Land on a compensation-sensitive workspace and the second pair of hands goes quiet: native cursor, dimmed palette, nothing read, nothing proposed.³

06 · One grammar, end to end

Decide once. It closes the loop.

You answer the one question it held — “default to free, log a warning” — and it finishes: guard applied, test written to that contract, the file green.

The same four-state grammar holds whether the surface is an editor, a spreadsheet, a portal, or an inbox — which is what makes it a language, not a feature.