She pauses, as though she has to gather the strength to continue. “I wanted you to figure it out on your own, but we only have a limited number of trips to the past, and we’ve run out.” The words are regretful, resigned, and chock-full of sorrow. “Your target’s not Charlie. It’s Bandit. It’s always been Bandit.”

I freeze. My heart stops beating; my lungs cease to pump. Even the rush of blood through my veins comes to a standstill.

My eyes, however, continue to track the guy in front of me. Bandit, screwing in the cap of the gas tank. Bandit, who prepared me a bowl of fragrant boiled rice. Bandit, who kissed me as though time didn’t matter.

I suspected him from the beginning. Hell, even Charlie’s letter was addressed to “Chubbs.” But now I’ve received actual confirmation. Even though the Voice refused to tell me his identity earlier. Even though she said I had to come to the conclusion for myself so that I could feel the unshakable knowledge in my soul.

Well, the unshakable knowledge is inside me, all right. But not in my heart. Never in my soul.

“You mean to say…” I can’t speak the words out loud. They’re too terrible to think, let alone utter.

“Yes. You have to kill Bandit.” My older self has no such problem. How can she be so blunt? Is it because she’s wiser than me? Or just harder?

“Killing him will take everything out of you,” she continues. “It will test your very limits—of strength, courage, willpower. You’ll have to draw on reserves you didn’t know you had.” I can almost hear her ragged breathing against my ear. Feel her racing heart superimposed over my own. “But you have to save us, Malice. You have to protect our world.”

My kneecaps evaporate and I collapse, sinking onto the damp, muddy grass. My mind revolts as though it’s a toddler throwing a tantrum, refusing reason, abhorring logic.

I don’t want to. I don’t want to. I don’t want to. It’s one thing for me to plot Charlie’s death. If given the choice between two evils, would I take out unpleasant, skin-crawling Charlie, so that millions of people can live?

In a heartbeat.

But Bandit?

Maybe. I think so. I don’t know!

My older self warned me. She told me not to fall for him. She said it would only make what I had to do later harder.

Did I listen? I tried. Flaming monkeys, I did try.

“Maybe I can talk to him,” I suggest, clutching at water. “Warn him about what he’ll do so that he can take steps to prevent it now. He’s a good guy. He can’t possibly mean to destroy the world.”