I shake my head, trying to knock the voice out of my thoughts. Instead, electricity zaps across my skull.

Trust my older self to choose this moment to come back.

Chapter 28

Chapter 28

“I’m mad at you,” I blurt. “So mad. But there’s no time to yell right now.” I glance over my shoulder. Bandit will be back any second. “What do you want?”

“Burn Charlie’s research,” the Voice says, jittery energy coursing through her words. “The paper in your hand. The stacks on his desk. Destroy them all.”

My jaw drops. “You think they won’t be able to invent the virus if we get rid of these papers?”

“That’s the plan. Charlie’s old-fashioned. He hasn’t backed up his research anywhere. Now move, Alice, move!”

She doesn’t have to tell me twice. Half a second later, I’m sweeping up the sheets and shoving them into the furnace, one by one. The embers catch the edge of the papers and light up, spreading instantaneously. Turning Charlie’s equations into ash. I have no idea if these documents contain his research about the virus or a precursor to it. All I know is that watching his genius go up in smoke—literally—makes me feel like I’m finally getting somewhere.

Plus, now that I’m killing Charlie’s research, maybe I won’t have to kill him.

One stack down. Two more to go. From the next room, I hear the mumbled garble of Bandit’s words. He’s still talking to his dad.

Come on, come on. I feed more paper into the furnace. Hurry up and burn.

Bandit’s voice gets stronger. Either he’s raising it in excitement or he’s walking closer to the door. I move faster, shoving the sheets four or five at a time into the fire.

One stack left.

His voice gets louder still. He’s got to be right outside the office. I stuff the rest of the papers inside.

OWWWW. The flame singes the side of my hand and several fingers. At least all the documents are burning now.

I slam shut the furnace door just as Bandit comes into the room. “Hey,” he says, taking in my flushed cheeks and my position by the furnace.

My stomach tightens. Here we go.

But instead of hurling accusations at me, he looks at the now-empty desk. “Where are the papers?” he asks, confusion ringing in his voice.

I lick my lips. He hasn’t so much as glanced at the furnace. Maybe I’ll actually get away with this duplicity. “I don’t know. Didn’t you take them with you when you left the room?”