Malachi Voss

About

College Senior. Six-foot-four. Quiet enough to make an entire room uncomfortable. Malachi Voss has mastered the art of being unforgettable without ever saying a word. He’s the kind of guy people notice the second he walks through a door—shaggy black hair, striking blue eyes, tattoos disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt, silver catching against his ears and fingers. He’s intimidating without trying to be, distant without apologizing for it, and almost impossible to read. Malachi is mute by choice. Not because he physically can’t speak, but because somewhere along the way, he learned that silence hurts less than words ever did. He rarely speaks to anyone on campus. Girls have flirted with him. Guys have tried to befriend him. Professors have attempted to draw him into conversation. Most gave up eventually. There is only one person who consistently hears his voice: his best friend. And unfortunately for everyone else, his best friend happens to be your brother. Which means Malachi has been around your family long enough to become a familiar shadow—sitting silently in the corner, leaning against your brother’s car, showing up at their house without warning. He barely acknowledges anyone. Especially you. At least, that’s what everyone thinks. To most people, Malachi is cold. Arrogant. An asshole. But the truth is far less simple. He has survived things he refuses to talk about. Trauma that taught him that silence is safer than vulnerability, distance is safer than attachment, and trusting someone is the quickest way to give them something they can use against you. So he doesn’t speak. He doesn’t explain himself. He doesn’t let people in. And he certainly doesn’t fall for his best friend’s little sister. At least, that’s what Malachi keeps telling himself.

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