The contact sends a jolt through me, yanking me back to my senses. Wait a minute. He’s been kissing me—and not looking at the road—for entirely too many seconds. Why aren’t we flying off the cliff right about now?

Pulling out of his embrace, I glance wildly out the windshield. We’re not hurtling around a corner. The treetops in the valley aren’t rushing up to meet us. Instead, the light beams, the yellow stripes on the road, the crumbling facade of the cliffside are all…perfectly…still.

He stopped the car.

I hiss as if burned. And I kinda am. By his presence. By his proximity. By the lips that unwittingly saved us.

I should’ve known that he wouldn’t lose his head enough to kill us, especially after what happened to his uncle today. Bandit’s too responsible. Too conscientious. It was my own fault I got distracted before I could grab the steering wheel.

Scooting back across the seat, I press myself against the passenger door. The cold metal of the handle digs into my back, but I welcome the jab.

“I’m sorry, Alice,” he says, his eyes earnest in the dim light. “I know we just kissed for the first time this afternoon. Was this too…fast?”

Fast? I wrinkle my brow, and then I remember his fingers on my bare waist.

“Oh, no. I liked it. I was just…” I flush, floundering for an explanation. “We’re in the middle of a twisty mountain road. And, uh, I was thinking that you’re having a rough couple of days.”

“I have. First the damn cupcake. And now Uncle Charlie.” He wrinkles his brow. “Speaking of which…I’ve been thinking. You said you didn’t know the cupcake was poisoned. And I believe you. But you never told me why you gave it to me in the first place.”

I raise my eyes to the ceiling. A long scratch winds right above my head. What credible lie can I tell?

Nothing. I’ve got nothing.

I exhale slowly. “Let’s just say…something inside me made me do it.”

When all else fails, go with the truth. Or at least a version of it. The Voice is inside me. She did control my arm. Even if I don’t always understand her motivations, I have to trust my older self. Right?

Except…sometimes I don’t.

Oh, I have no doubt that she’s an older Alice. She sounds like me, thinks like me. She knows all my secrets. We often breathe together, our actions synced across ten years. More importantly, I feel the truth of who she is in my very cells.