"Do you wish to know the truth? It is simple, you simply ignore her."

James spun around so fast his worn shoes scraped against the concrete, leaving faint marks. The early morning air hung heavy with fog, turning the city into a maze of shadowy shapes and muted sounds. His heart hammered against his chest, each beat echoing in his ears.

"Hello?" His voice cracked, hoarse from weeks of minimal conversation. The alley remained empty save for the usual urban detritus - overflowing dumpsters, scattered newspapers, and the occasional scurrying rat.

A hysterical laugh bubbled up from his throat, sharp and brittle like breaking glass. His hands ran through his unkempt hair, fingers trembling. The weight of his backpack suddenly felt too heavy, the straps digging into his shoulders like accusatory fingers.

"Great, now I'm hearing things," he muttered, pacing back and forth. His footsteps splashed through shallow puddles, each ripple distorting his haggard reflection. "Perfect. Homeless AND crazy. That's just... that's just PERFECT!"

He slumped against the brick wall, its rough surface catching on the thin fabric of his jacket. The morning sun was starting to peek through the urban canyon of buildings, casting long shadows that seemed to reach for him like grasping hands.

"Ignore her?" he whispered to himself, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. "Ignore her? IGNORE HER?" His voice rose to a shout, sending a nearby pigeon fluttering away in alarm. "I've spent weeks trying to figure out what I DID, and now some... some VOICE tells me to IGNORE her?"

His fist connected with the wall before he realized he'd moved. Pain shot through his knuckles, fresh scrapes adding to the collection of small wounds that marked his new life. The physical pain felt almost good - real, tangible, something he could understand.

"This isn't..." he choked on the words, sliding down the wall until he sat on the damp ground. "This isn't happening. I'm still asleep. Still behind that dumpster, dreaming about voices and..."

A passing delivery truck backfired, making him jump. The sound echoed off the buildings, a harsh reminder that he was very much awake, very much sitting in an alley, very much having a conversation with thin air.

James pressed his palms against his eyes until he saw spots, trying to **** his thoughts into some kind of order. The voice had been clear - clearer than any dream or hallucination should be. It hadn't echoed in the alley, hadn't seemed to come from any direction. It had simply... been.

"Ignore her," he repeated softly, testing the words. "The Senator's daughter. Just... ignore her? After everything that's happened? After losing my job, my home, my..."

He trailed off, suddenly aware of how quiet the alley had become. Even the usual city sounds seemed muted, distant. The air felt charged, like the moment before a lightning strike.

James held his breath, waiting. The voice had been so certain, so matter-of-fact. But why now? Why tell him this after weeks of suffering? And more importantly...

"Who are you?" he asked the empty air, his voice barely above a whisper. "What do you know about all this?"