“Maybe. I can’t remember. I have no idea what’s going on anymore.” He shoves his hands into his hair, eyes wild. “Charlie’s in the hospital. The car came out of nowhere, ran straight into him.” The sentences come out haltingly, as though he’s speaking words from an unfamiliar language. “I don’t understand why he left the house in the first place.”

A series of emotions rolls through me—shock, excitement, relief—none of which I can reveal. I move forward and touch his arm. “I’m sorry, Bandit. I know he means a lot to you.”

His eyes find mine, loss and confusion swirling in their depths. “My dad says he’s in critical condition. He might not make it through the night. Alice, he might…“ His voice cracks. He takes a deep breath and tries again. “Uncle Charlie might…die.”

I tighten my grip. My mind spins with a million thoughts, a million conclusions. This car “accident” is highly suspicious. No doubt, a person with a mission similar to mine lured Charlie out of his home when he had an appointment with his nephew. That same person probably plowed their car into Charlie’s.

Bandit looks dully at my hand. “I’d better go look for those papers,” he mumbles and trudges out of the room.

I watch him leave, my triumph growing with each departing step.

“We did it,” I whisper as soon as he’s out of earshot. “We stopped the virus from being invented. And I didn’t have to kill anyone!”

Charlie’s in the hospital. He’s in critical condition. He’ll probably even die.

Whee! I whirl around, my hair flying out in an arc, my lips taking over my cheeks.

Okay, so maybe I shouldn’t be feeling so victorious at the thought of someone in the hospital. But Charlie’s out of commission. I contributed to the future by destroying the research. I probably just helped save millions of lives. How else am I supposed to feel?

“Not so fast, little girl,” the Voice says. “You haven’t earned the right to celebrate yet.”

“Why not?” I demand. “I stopped the virus, and I didn’t have to hurt anyone. Instead, I chose to get to know Bandit, to earn his trust. And that led to him bringing me here, where I could burn the papers. So, you see? Killing is not always the only way to make a difference. It’s not even the best way.”

“Oh, please.” I can almost hear the Voice rolling her eyes. “You’re so young. So idealistic.” She says the word like she’s eating an umeboshi sour plum. “Changing the future is not that simple.”

“It is this simple,” I protest. “You just don’t want to admit that love is more powerful than hate—”