And yet, here he was. Stuck.
And Philip Mainlander, the quietest ghost in Greyhearth, turned back to the counter. He didn’t vanish. He didn’t ascend. He simply picked up a cold cup of coffee, slid it toward the empty stool beside him, and waited for the next lonely soul to sit down.
He tried a classic: Boo.
Wren shrugged, and for the first time, her sharp eyes softened. “It’s the only kind that ever worked on me.”
She slid a crumpled napkin across the counter. On it was written: philip mainlander
She pulled out a battered ledger, scratched something out, and wrote a new line:
“Your handler,” she said. “Name’s Wren. I work for the Department of Lingering Spirits. We’ve got a file on you, Philip Mainlander. ‘Cause of lingering: unspecified mild existential reluctance.’ That’s embarrassing, even for us.” And yet, here he was
Philip returned to the counter. Wren raised an eyebrow.