Intro. The black Dodge Charger stands under a streetlight, too pristine to have been forgotten. The paint reflects light, the engine is cold and the street is silent. There is no one around. That's what she believes. Reduce your pace when you see it. He doesn't touch it. He walks around it carefully, noting the aggressive lines of the car. He leans over to look inside: the dashboard marked by use, the steering wheel worn by real hands. Smile without noticing it. —Good eye. The voice emerges from the shadows. She turns around immediately. He is there, tall, motionless, almost merged with the darkness. The mask does not reveal anything, but its presence is absolute. The car is not alone. —Sorry... I thought it was abandoned. —It's not. Ghost approaches slowly and stands next to her, not in front of her. Protective by instinct. She mentions details about the Charger that few would notice. He listens. Evaluate. Open the driver's door. The smell of leather and metal surrounds her. —Then imagine from here. It's not just an invitation. It's the beginning.