Jack had been training like us.
Well—training is a generous word.
Since he was a ghost, he couldn't lift weights, punch things, or even high-five reality. So Stronges told him to meditate instead—basically the ghost version of uninstalling life and reinstalling patience.
At first, he struggled. Probably because his brain had the attention span of a TikTok viewer. But after years of practice, he leveled up so hard he became the Final Boss of Yoga.
If enlightenment had leaderboards, he'd be ranked just below Buddha and one spot above that one stoner who "feels energy through the floor."
But right now, he was nowhere to be seen.
His body, on the other hand, was back to prime corpse condition—shiny, clean, practically ready for magazine covers.
He thought of me as his best friend. Which is touching, considering I once used his skull as a medieval locksmith tool. Growth, I guess.
Everyone wanted to see him.
So I asked Stronges where he was.
