She stays completely silent the whole time. At some points, he could've sworn maybe she was even asleep, but she isn't.

He dragged her up to the room. He made sure that it had two beds. First of all, he wasn't about to sleep on the floor, and he wasn't about to let her sleep on the floor, either.

She doesn't say anything. She just stays silent. If not for the fact she'd spoken before, he might've thought she was mute.

Well, he's fine with that. He started trying the emergency number that he'd been given when the CIA took over. He'd been told--on the phone, by an unknown voice--to memorize it and then destroy it. It wasn't to be used except in cases of untold emergency.

For a long time, no one answered. He watched ESPN as he hit redial over and over, frowning at the TV screen without taking anything in. "Come on, pick up the damn phone," he muttered.

The girl is just sitting there. Sometimes she glances at him, but for the most part she just watches the window.

He hardly noticed.

Finally, hours later, there was a click and a womans voice came on the line. "Hello?"

Alex had been lying on the bed with his cell cradled between shoulder and ear, dully channel surfing. He dropped the remote and snatched at his phone, sitting straight up. "This is Alex," he said.

There was a long pause. "Yes?"

"I need to talk with someone."

"This number is only to be used--"

"This is an emergency," he said, his voice tight. "Trust me."

Another pause, this one lasting for almost a minute. "Someone will call you back," said the woman finally. Another click, and the line went dead. Alex swore, sorely tempted to throw the phone against the wall.

The girl has gotten up and is at the window now. She's slowly, silently opening it.

He sits up, stretching, his back popping loudly.

Soon the window is open. She quickly goes through it and out onto the roof.

It's not long until he realizes she's gone.