After exploring Frankie’s body for a while, Jake felt a growing sense of unease. The novelty of being his younger brother had worn off, and now it just felt wrong. “This is enough,” Jake muttered. He glanced over at his own body, which was slumped on the couch, soulless and still.
He gripped the blowpipe tightly, then brought it to his lips, aiming directly at his old body. With a sharp breath, he blew into the pipe. Instantly, he felt a strange pull, as if his consciousness was being sucked out of Frankie’s mind and hurled back across the room.
Jake’s vision blurred for a moment, and then he was back. The familiar weight of his body, the steady rhythm of his own heart—it was grounding. He blinked, shaking off the lingering disorientation, and flexed his hands, feeling the texture of his skin again. His old body had felt like home, but now it felt a little different, like slipping into an old suit that didn’t quite fit the same anymore.
Frankie, meanwhile, jolted back to life, his eyes fluttering open. He had no idea what had just happened. Jake looked at his brother, a sense of relief mixed with guilt.
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