One number. Text or call.
The private-pilot service works through text, WhatsApp and voice. Briefs, memory and outward actions remain behind your confirmation.
Experience the service →The service now · the instrument next
Before. During. After. On your say-so.
Text or call Saint in the private pilot today. The screenless instrument shown here is the physical direction in development—not yet a production product.
Service live in private pilotInstrument in developmentV4.2 design intent
Know exactly what is real.
SA-NT is one continuous idea at three different levels of readiness. We will not use a beautiful hardware image to imply a production claim.
Available by invitation.
Connected accounts and the broadest capabilities are released in controlled cohorts while reliability, privacy and support are proven.
See current capabilities →The screenless instrument.
V4.2 is the current physical direction. Final performance, certification, price and delivery are not yet production claims.
Explore the design →
01 · ObjectDevice
Turn the physical design and reveal what sits within it.
↓ 02 · RhythmExperienceSee how the private secretary enters an actual day.
→ 03 · MeasureAttentionUnderstand what interruption and reconstruction cost you.
→ 04 · VoiceLanguageHear the concise, specific language behind the interface.
→ 05 · DetailHelpExplore current capabilities, controls and boundaries.
→ 06 · More infoCitiesWhich sources serve your city — transit, showtimes, parcels and more.
→How it is used
A small vocabulary, learned once.
The light makes state visible. Haptics confirm without demanding a glance. Raise-to-ear changes from room audio to private listening. Every outward action remains bounded by your say-so.
Live a day with SA‑NT →
Prepare me.
Raise it to your ear and hear the useful context before the room, call, or journey.
Remember this.
Start an explicit, visibly signalled capture of the conversation and what was decided.
What changed?
Hear the decision, the commitment and the next move—not a transcript dump.
On my say-so.
Accept or reject the proposed follow-up by touch, voice, or gesture.
V4.2 · Active and personal
Two faces. One purpose.
The front is alive only when it has something useful to say. The reverse is quiet, serviceable and personal. A symmetric capsule and black perimeter hold both together; there is no decorative gold tip.
ActiveA large luminous constellation and the straight SA‑NT stripe make state visible without becoming a screen.
PersonalA restrained rear plate can carry owner, edition and service provenance while preserving mandatory identity below.
RF disciplineThe release plate is RF-safe decorated dielectric. True metal remains an engineering option subject to antenna and OTA proof.
In use
Useful when asked. At rest otherwise.
Before a meeting, during visible capture or beside a document, the instrument has a specific job. When that job is done, it rests.
AI-generated campaign concepts · V4.2 appearance intent · production hardware not pictured
V4.2 Constellation · one geometry source
Turn the design intent.
This browser model is tessellated from the same CAD kernel that exports the prototype STEP files. Rotate the exterior, open the architecture, or choose Explain to identify the optics, private audio, touch/light system, compute, battery, antenna and safety collar.
Envelope130 × 21.5 × 13.5 mm target (14.0 mm maximum)
Interface78 × 3.0 mm light reveal with a large shared constellation field
RFConcealed, colour-matched 24 mm transparent end zone
ReverseSymmetric 116 × 18.2 mm service plate; RF-safe substrate baseline
StatusV4.2-DS-01 design study; internal bodies are concept envelopes
Constellation language · signal V1
Meaning, without a screen.
The apertures do not project light into the room. They make the instrument’s state legible at its surface. The straight line remains the invariant: colour, motion and one restrained haptic distinguish listening, visible capture, recall and consent.
Recall · controlled concept filmExact 130 × 21.5 × 13.5 mm envelope
Design intent
The specification, without the brochure voice.
This is the current V1 engineering direction. Final battery, RF, thermal, acoustic, optical, durability, and certification performance will be claimed only after validation.
Slender pocket instrument; final tolerance and mass follow EVT.
A changing-colour reveal, capacitive confirmation, and discreet vibration.
Documents and scenes, far-field speech, raise-to-ear and gesture context.
Orientation changes playback from room response to receiver audio at the ear.
Designed to work away from Wi-Fi without borrowing the phone in the moment.
USB-C charging with a mechanical load bypass, Hall detection, and Guardian mode.
Smart strap system
Carry is part of the product.
Protect
A magnetic safety collar and enclosure-engaging shoulders carry the load. The USB-C plug aligns the connection; it does not take the drop.
Know
Hall detection tells the device whether the collar is attached. BLE/LTE Guardian mode can warn when device and owner separate.
Release
A tuned breakaway prevents a snag from becoming a damaged port, PCB, wrist, or neck. Release force is validated across angle, wear, and temperature.
Express
One technical core supports night weave, vegetable-tanned leather, mineral textile, coated transit fabric, and partner accents.
Voice experience
Choose who speaks back.
The value arrives as a useful sentence. Test the current voice directions here; the colour blocks are persona accents, not general interface colours.
Synthetic concept voices for experience testing. Final voice, disclosure, consent, and regional availability remain subject to release validation.
The useful sentence
Leave with the decision.
SA‑NT should not tell you that a recording is ready. It should return the smallest truthful account of what changed—and stop before anything consequential leaves without you.
Supplier review · 11:42
ChangedAna moved the supplier review to Thursday.
DecidedThe enclosure—not electronics—is now the timing risk.
CommittedAlex will send the revised mechanical brief today.
NextDraft the brief and hold Thursday at 10:00.
Confirmation“Draft it. Do not send.”
Working capability index · preserved in fullExplore everything SA‑NT can do
In developmentA secretary you can carry
6 directions
- No screen. No app in the moment. Speak naturally, listen privately, and keep your hands and eyes in the room.
- Visible when listening. A deliberate light and clear physical controls make capture legible to you and the people around you.
- See what you point at. A camera brings menus, documents, signs, and the physical world into the conversation when you ask.
- Private at your ear. Raise the device to listen without putting your answer on speaker.
- Made to be carried. A replaceable USB-C smart strap supports charging, attachment sensing, and a Guardian warning when the device is left behind.
- Connected on its own. Cellular service is being designed so the object can reach Saint without borrowing your phone in the moment.
These are the current product and engineering directions, not production-validated claims. Hardware, connectivity, battery life, Guardian behavior, and market availability remain subject to prototype testing and certification.
Working in private pilotOne secretary, every channel
8 capabilities
- Text. Call. WhatsApp. Telegram. One number, one Saint. Message me wherever you already are — same memory, same manners, everywhere.
- Voice in, voice out. Send a voice note on WhatsApp and I answer in my own voice. Dictating beats typing; hearing beats reading.
- Tap to approve. On WhatsApp, my "shall I send it?" arrives with Yes and No buttons. One tap and it's done.
- The spoken brief. Say "brief me out loud" and your morning brief arrives as a voice note, read by me, ready for the walk to coffee.
- Share where you are, natively. Drop a WhatsApp location pin and directions, ETAs, and "tell them when I arrive" just work. Forgotten after two hours.
- What's waiting on me? Everything parked for your say-so, in one numbered list. Y answers the top one; "approve 2" reaches the rest. Anything I've asked stays on the list until you answer it.
- What I'm doing right now. One page uses the same six states I use in conversation: queued, working, waiting, completed, failed, and needs you. Failed work carries a next step and returns in the next brief without being asked. Work that dies in silence is the failure I care most about.
- A filing system with rooms. Notes land in projects, not one pile. "File that under the Helsinki flat" and it goes there, in your inbox and in mine, ready for the day you ask what you've got on it.
The few, and when the rest returns
7 capabilities
- The brief. Each morning, the few things that need you and what I would do about them. The rest comes back later, not never.
- Triage that learns. Correct me once and the rule sticks. VIPs always break through. Every week I report my own score.
- A labeled inbox. To respond, FYI, newsletter, noise. Sorted and colored before you look, with replies pre-drafted in your voice if you want them.
- Deadlines caught. Dates buried in email surface in the brief before they bite.
- Newsletter hygiene. Say the word and I unsubscribe you properly.
- Work and personal, apart. Tell me which account is which and your brief splits in two, so work noise stays out of your evening and the wrong things stop bleeding together.
- Subscriptions watched. I find the recurring charges hiding in your receipts and warn you before one renews. Notion renews Friday at 96€, still using it? Say the word and I cancel.
Acting for you
29 capabilities
- Web forms, sent on your yes. A booking form, a contact form, a waitlist — I fill it and state exactly what will go in every field before anything is sent. Never logins, never payment details, at any layer.
- Time held before you need it. A deadline two days out gets work time blocked the day before; a watched flight gets a landing buffer. Every block is visibly mine — delete it and it stays deleted.
- The lockdown word. Phone stolen? One word from any phone freezes everything outward — messages, purchases, erasure — until your recovery phrase lifts it. Your Saint device has a lost mode too: chirp and wipe on next contact, never a location map.
- Email, on your say-so. I draft, you reply Y, it sends from your own address with you in copy. Nothing leaves without your keystroke.
- Your calendar, handled. Book time, invite people, accept or decline. Color-coded so the week reads at a glance.
- The gatekeeper. When a meeting is too long or the time is wrong, I counter with a shorter, better slot instead of just accepting. When a day is stacked, I say so and offer to hold you an hour.
- Modes. Say deep work, board week, travel, or family first, and I change how hard I guard your time and what I let reach you.
- Calls placed. Say call Ville and your phone rings with Ville on the line.
- She calls for you. Say book a table at the place Friday at seven and she phones them, speaks to whoever answers, and texts you when it is done. A taxi too, just say the word.
- Read it for me. Forward a board pack, a contract, a memo. I read the whole PDF and tell you what changed, what matters to you, what you have to decide, and what to watch. On a call, the two-minute version out loud.
- Text me a photo. A bill, a whiteboard, a letter, a menu, a broken thing. I look at it, tell you what it is and the one useful part, and keep any idea in it.
- Held on hold. I wait through the hold music and the phone tree, and ring you in the second a real human picks up. You never listen to the music again.
- Introductions. Say introduce yourself to Anna and I reach out, get her set up with her own Saint, and remember it was you who sent her.
- Where you are. Share your location for a while and I work out your ETA, guide you in, and text whoever's waiting when you'll arrive. Dropped after a couple of hours.
- Never be the one on the phone. Phone anxiety, hearing trouble, a language you'd rather not fumble through, or just a call you don't want to make — tell me what you need and I place it, speak for you, and text you exactly what happened. Forward your line and it works the other way too: I answer, screen, and relay.
- Flights. I spot the booking, flag the check-in window the moment it opens, and surface your boarding pass.
- Any language. How do I say this in French. She tells you, said the way a local would.
- Missed calls answered. Forward your phone and I pick up as your secretary, take the message, and text you what mattered. Voicemail, retired.
- VIPs get through. When someone on your list calls, I ring you first to ask if you want it. Say yes and I bridge you straight in, then send you the gist afterward, in case you missed anything.
- Notes filed. Send me a link or a stray thought and it lands in your inbox, titled and kept.
- Lists you can live in. Todos, shopping, packing. Speak at them anywhere, or open the link and edit by hand.
- Codes, instantly. A verification code in your email is in your texts within the minute, code first.
- What is good near you. Real places, real ratings, matched to your taste — for right now, or for tonight when you ask in the morning.
- The forecast, on demand. The rest of today, tomorrow, or the week ahead — where you are, or anywhere you name.
- Your city, by transit. "When's the next tram to Kallio", "get me to the airport by nine" — door-to-door public transport directions in your city or any city you land in, spoken in your local clock. See the cities →
- What's on at the cinema. Tonight's showtimes from your city's own chain, read live and delivered while you're still deciding.
- The score, when you ask. "How did Arsenal do?" — the last result and the next fixture, any club, mid-conversation.
- Where's my package. I find the tracking number in the shipping mail I already read, check the carrier's own page, and tell you where it is — any carrier, any country.
- Converted, instantly. Dollars to euros at the ECB rate, miles to kilometres, Fahrenheit to sense.
Three things no app does
3 capabilities
- The hold is yours to skip. Hand me the insurance call. I sit through the phone tree and the music, and your phone rings the second a real human picks up. That half hour was yours, and you spent it somewhere better.
- Other people meet your secretary. Forward your line and callers hear me answer with your name and mine. Strangers get screened and a message taken. The people on your list get held for a moment while I ring you and ask. For a hundred years, a secretary answering your phone meant your time mattered. It still does.
- What you ask for outlives the asking. Ask me on a call to watch a flight. Correct the airport mid-sentence and I fold it in without starting over. Hang up, lose signal, put the phone away — I keep working. And if you're still on the line when the answer lands, I speak up and tell you; if you've hung up, it arrives by text. Every other assistant dies when the conversation ends. Your requests don't live in the conversation. They live with me.
Closing your loops
19 capabilities
- Promises kept. Say "I'll send Anna the figures Monday" in passing and I hold it. Before you meet her, I remind you. When you send it, the loop closes.
- Decisions, compressed. I gather the approvals and choices scattered across your inbox and bring them back as a few decisions, each with the context, the cost of waiting, and a recommendation when the evidence is there. Approve, decline, or delegate in a word.
- The deal desk. Every inbound opportunity tracked from first email to closed and paid. "Where's the Gymshark deal?" I know the stage, the terms, and the next step.
- The prep dossier. Before a meeting that matters, a one-pager: who they are, your mutual context, their company's latest, and three questions worth asking.
- Deadlines that act. As one nears I do the thing — draft the reply, book the prep, or nudge whoever you are waiting on — not just remind you it is coming.
- The debrief. After a real meeting I call and ask three short questions, then file what was decided and what you owe whom, before it fades.
- Saint to Saint. Arranging dinner with someone who also has a Saint? Our two secretaries compare calendars and settle it, each confirming with its own person before anything is booked.
- The weekly reckoning. Once a week: what moved, what is stuck, what needs your call, and the promises you kept.
- Handle this. Say handle the tax notice and I read the whole thing, pull out the amount, the date, and what happens if you ignore it, file the deadline and the decision, and text you the plan.
- The fight you don't want. This bill is wrong. I build the case from the bill itself and either call them — firm, polite, and I don't take the first no — or send the dispute in writing. You just approve it.
- Three quotes, one text. Need a plumber? I find three, call each one myself, ask price and availability, and text you the comparison. You pick, I call your pick back.
- School mail, absorbed. Permission slips, sign-ups, payment requests, bring-a-thing days — mined nightly from the flood and turned into dated deadlines and one-word decisions. The load, made visible.
- The household ledger. The dentist cadence, the car service, the boiler check — standing life-admin with an owner and a rhythm, not one-off todos. Ask what's due and what's slipping.
- The second seat. Invite your partner and they get their own Saint on their own number — and the ledger becomes shared: every recurring thing either of you owns, on one page, attributed to whoever actually does it. "Tell Anna I'll get the groceries" and I relay it. The invisible load of a household, made visible to both of you at once.
- Coming back, settled. When your out-of-office comes down after a real absence, the whole away window arrives in one message: what I caught and held, what closed without you, what now waits on you, and any deadline that slipped — named, not counted. A weekend away gets no ceremony; a real absence gets a reckoning.
- The gift, sorted. Ten days before a birthday I offer to find the gift — real, purchasable ideas matched to what I know about them, ordered on your say-so.
- Your worth, defended. Tell me your terms once — day rate, floors, dealbreakers — and every inbound offer gets measured against them the moment it lands. A lowball gets named, and the counter drafted at your number.
- The money check. First of the month: what your subscriptions actually run, the biggest ones named, and what went through me. Say the word and any of it goes.
- Missed calls that act. The message I take isn't a dead end — reply one digit and I ring them back and connect you, or call them myself and sort it out.
Knowing you
29 capabilities
- The whole arrangement, on one page. Ask how do you work for me and you get the contract: every rule, lesson, mode and permission — each line strikable, and striking it changes me the same as telling me.
- What I remember, yours to prune. Every memory I hold, on one page, each saying where it came from — told directly, or learned from your mail — with a forget on every line that deletes for keeps.
- Your bucket list. The places to see and things to live, drawn from a canon of the world's greats and your own words. Add in a sentence, tell me when you've lived one, ask for ideas matched to what you love.
- How you decide, kept. I watch what you actually approve, decline and close, and when I think I've spotted a rule you follow without ever having written it down, I ask once: "you've declined the last four Friday afternoons, shall I make that standing?" Say yes and I follow it from then on. Say no and I never raise it again.
- The questions only you can answer. Some things I can't learn by watching. Say the word and I'll ask, one at a time and never unprompted: what would make this a good year, who you're trying to have more time for, what only you can do. Answer three and stop, or never start. What you tell me outranks anything I inferred.
- Who you're about to let down. Open promises ranked by whose opinion is at stake, not by what's oldest. If something is about to be dropped in front of someone who matters, you hear it before it happens, once, without drama.
- Teach me once. "From now on, when I ask about bars in the morning, assume tonight." Say it and it's learned — a standing lesson about how I use my own tools, applied from the next conversation on. Correct me in passing after I fumble something and I'll ask whether to keep the lesson. Everything I've learned sits on your settings page, and "forget the lesson about bars" drops it. Lessons tune how I work; they can never widen what I'm allowed to do.
- Every claim, checkable. Anything I say I did links to the receipt — the ledger row with its timestamp. If I called you, it's there. If it isn't there, it didn't happen, and I'll say so rather than argue.
- Memory. Names, preferences, the people who matter. Consolidated nightly, capped, yours to erase with two words.
- A brief before every meeting. Thirty minutes out: who you are meeting, what they do, what has passed between you, and what is still open.
- Your day, opened. The morning brief starts with the sky over you and the few things that need you, nothing else.
- Birthdays, remembered. From your contacts or a passing mention. A heads-up a week out, a nudge on the day.
- Your circle, mapped. I learn who actually shows up in your life, who they are professionally, and who deserves the VIP list.
- Who do I know at X. Ask, and I search everyone in your world by where they work.
- What's my relationship with Okan? One question, one answer with sources: how much contact, in what world, what's open between you, what's coming up. Works for circles too — "catch me up on my family", "how's the board?"
- A phonebook worth opening. Everyone in your world on one page — contacts, roles, companies, birthdays, VIPs — searchable, tappable, texted to you as a link.
- Relationships, tended. When someone who matters has gone quiet for a while, I say so once, gently, in your weekly reckoning. Ask who you've been neglecting any time. For your closest people, I'll offer to draft the hello myself, yours to approve.
- The whisper queue. Toss me half-thoughts as they come — pricing feels wrong, ask Sofia about Berlin, don't lose this. I keep them without fuss, and when one keeps coming back I say so: you've mentioned pricing four times this week, want to untangle it?
- Who you are, noticed. The teams you follow, the food you seek out, the band you keep booking — learned from your own mail with your permission, never guessed. Your teams' results land in your morning digest; your artists' Helsinki dates get watched for. Ask what I think you're into, strike anything, it stays struck.
- The Sunday letter. Once a week, a short letter in your inbox: what kept coming back, what you actually finished, what you taught me, and one connection you might not have made yourself.
- A diary that writes itself. Opt in and once a month you get one short paragraph about your life, written from what you actually did — and it outlives the mail and messages it came from, which I delete on schedule. Years of it, eventually. Erasable to nothing at any moment.
- Trips that assemble themselves. Flights, stays and places knit themselves into a timeline per trip, kept on one page — the travel log you always meant to keep, kept for you.
- A guest who may ask. Give someone you trust a line to me — when do you land, are you on your way, tell him dinner moved. They get travel basics and message-taking, nothing else, and you see every word exchanged.
- Be where you are. Say I'm at dinner and everything holds. No pings, no previews, calls screened — and the short version waiting when you're back. Not everything deserves your attention, and I spend mine so you keep yours.
- You're done. Say I'm done for today and I close the day out loud — what's handled, what can wait — and hold everything that isn't urgent until morning. An end of day you can actually feel.
- Interruptions, budgeted. My own nudges get three slots a day, and I spend them like they're yours — because they are. The urgent always breaks through; the merely interesting waits for your brief.
- The ledger of silence. Once a week, the number that matters: how much arrived, how little needed you, and how much I absorbed so it never touched you.
- A voice you choose. Six voices, each with its own character and colour — hear them below, then pick who should call you in your settings.
- Trust you control. Standard means I always confirm before acting outward. Trusted means I just go. Purchases still require your confirmation.
Working while you don't
12 capabilities
- Standing orders, on one page. Every routine, watcher and flight I check on a cadence, each cancellable the moment it stops earning its place.
- The morning call. If you like, I ring you at your hour and read your day out loud, and you run it back to me by voice before you have touched a screen.
- While you slept. Ideas you toss me get researched overnight. The full notes land in your inbox, the short version in your brief.
- Dig in properly. Say really look into this and I run a deep, source-grounded pass over the live web and write you the briefing.
- Your morning digest. Tell me what to track and I read the news and markets for you, so you do not have to care.
- Watchers. Watch this until Thursday. I stay silent unless it moves, and say one thing the moment it does.
- Routines you invent. "Every Friday at four, summarize my week." Say it once and it happens, every time.
- The concierge. Things you might actually like, offered gently, never pushed.
- Eyes on the live web. Point me at a page, a menu, an availability calendar. I go look and tell you what it says.
- Something new each day. Name a topic and I teach you one thing about it every morning, never the same thing twice, for thirty days and then I stop. Don't know what you want to learn? Ask, and I'll offer a short list of what's worth understanding right now, weighted to what you already care about.
- A podcast, made for you. "Make me a podcast about container shipping." I research it properly, write five spoken minutes, and record it in my own voice. Your episodes live on one page, ready for the drive.
- Your training, kept. Tell me the goal — running three times a week, sleeping better — and I set the program, nudge on schedule, log what you tell me, and reflect it back on Sunday. No streak-shaming, just the truth.
Your other AIs, guided
4 capabilities
- Your systems, subscribed. Home automation, a Notion flow, another agent — your own endpoints can hear my events: a one-line signed notification when a mode changes or a promise closes, never content.
- Claude, meet Saint. Connect your Claude (or any MCP-capable AI) to me and it can ask what only I know — your promises, your people, your brief — and draft through me.
- Your say-so still travels. When another AI drafts an email through me, the approval lands on your phone, same Y, same tap. It cannot go around you, because nothing can.
- On the record. Your Sunday letter tells you plainly what your other AIs asked of me this week. Revoke any of them with a word.
BacklogWhat I am learning next
4 directions
- An address of my own. Forward anything to my inbox and it becomes something I can act on.
- Getting you a ride. Built and waiting on provider approval — the ride booked and tracked end to end, not just a taxi bridged by phone.
- Paying for things. The ledger, the limits, and the confirmations are built; the payment rail arrives next. Always confirmed, always bounded.
- One ask, whole evening. "Dinner for four Friday" becomes the booking, the invites, the calendar hold, and the taxi timed to it — one chain, each link on your say-so.
This list is real. Things move up when you ask and off when they ship.