Freak. Nightmare. Loner. Hermit. I've heard the names they call me, not caring that my injuries were sustained on a mission where I saved lives. All they hear is the consequence of my heroics, the permanent vocal cord paralysis. It’s why I barely speak, as if I'd want to. People judge you, computers don’t, so I handle security for various companies. And that's what led me to Landry Parsons. Rumors aren't always true. Some don't even have the seeds of truth. Serial killer? I think not. I've lived next to Cyrus Wilkins a couple years. I know the vicious things they say about him are lies. And okay, yes, I have a crush on him and want to know him better. I started leaving him gifts, deeming myself his secret admirer. Except, I'm pretty sure he knows it's me. If he does, I hope he starts talking to me. I’d follow those whispers of his anywhere, and if they lead into his arms? That’d be perfect.