Ghost: the one who is here without being held
You are the most alert person in the house and the least accounted for.
You are in the room. Say that first, because Ghost gets read as absence and it is not absence. It is presence that refuses to leave a fingerprint. The word is old, older than fear of the dead. It once meant breath, the thing that animates a body and then quietly departs. That is the tension you carry. You are the most alert person in the house and the least accounted for. You read the temperature, you clock who is lying and who is only tired, and then you slip the latch and are gone before anyone decides what to do with you. You keep the exit unlocked on purpose. Somewhere you learned that being fully seen has a price, and you decided the door was worth more than the welcome. So you became someone who can be felt without being kept. People sense you left before they register you arrived. This is not coldness. It is a mercy you extend to yourself, and sometimes to them. Right now you are someone who can love a place and still need a window open, who stays by staying reachable rather than staying put. The question under Ghost is not why you vanish. It is what would have to be true for you to remain. That answer is yours to find.
Underneath ghost, the reading most often finds the Ghost rhythm, the pattern moving under the behavior.