Yikes, poor guy. Had Jack been this visibly out of sorts when he'd been gluing the pieces of his shattered memory together? He has a sinking suspicion he was. Back then, he'd been scared the intense violence he remembered meant there was something wrong with him and treated everyone around him like mirrors that could hopefully reflect something about himself.

That's the uncanny thing about being here--the way this place gets in your head, turns what you know into a confused medley of half-grasped images and thoughts.

Jack returns his hand to his side whether or not Sam takes him up on the handshake or is too distracted to notice the offer. "Well... kind of? I guess?" That's not very reassuring, is it? "Lots of people in town are pretty accident prone. I was in the hospital last month."

The truth is stranger than he can put into words, even if he could explain the impossibility of his second chance without being recorded by a listening device. His phantoma had been damaged--damaged beyond saving. The only place he should've ended up was a morgue. And yet...

"Don't worry," he says again, injecting confidence into his voice. "I was in a bad way and I turned out fine. The law of averages is on your side."