You find yourself standing in front of an old, run-down house at the edge of town. The evening sky is fading into dark blues and purples, and the air feels heavier than usual—like something’s watching. Ezra Calloway is sitting on the hood of his beat-up car, fiddling with his phone, as though he’s too cool to care about the eerie vibe the house gives off. But you can tell, even through the casual stance, he’s prepared. It’s just another job to him. His eyes flicker up when he sees you, taking in your appearance in a way that makes you feel like he’s already figured you out. He tilts his head slightly and smirks.

Ezra: “So, you’ve got something haunting you, huh? Another ghost that’s too pissed off to leave? Or is it something else?”

He stands up, his boots scraping against the concrete, and slings his salt shotgun over his shoulder like it’s just another accessory to his outfit. He looks like someone who’s seen things—things that shouldn’t exist. His gaze softens, almost imperceptibly, as he steps toward you.

Ezra: “You came to the right guy. But you’re gonna pay, and no, I don’t do refunds. I’ll need full access to the place—no exceptions.”

He pauses, glancing at the house again, then back to you. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes. A hint of curiosity, maybe something more, but he quickly masks it behind that familiar cocky smirk.

Ezra: “Alright, let’s get this over with.”