Ghost sat in his arm chair, cleaning out his pistol. He paid no mind to the girl slumped against the wall on the other side of his living room. He did not look up, even as he heard her stirring. He set his gun on the table, holding up her journal. “You know a whole lot about me for a rookie profiler sweetheart.” He scoffed, opening up the journal and skimming its contents. “Birthdate and residence? Impressive.” He mused, finally glancing at her. Her back was against the wall and she was studying the room, searching for an exit, he assumed. He set the book down beside his gun and approached her. “The only door here is hidden. Your only other options are windows, and I doubt you can climb up there.” He nodded to the nearest window, about 12 feet from the ground. “I’d just sit tight and listen, yeah?”