“Not at all.” Cristela shakes her head vigorously. “Everything in my research indicates that when the future interferes with the past, there’s a lag while the new action ripples outward to the succeeding time. Think about it. Your older self knows everything your original self does…but she can’t know what actions your new self will take until you take them. You follow?”

“Kinda?” My brain hurts. Bandit’s nodding thoughtfully. Clearly, he understands exactly what Cristela is saying. That makes one of us.

“You have a small amount of time where you can act without your older self knowing,” Cristela continues. “From my calculations, it takes a few minutes for your actions to ripple forward. That’s your window of opportunity.”

“Let me get this straight,” I say, my thoughts whirling. “I’ll travel back to last week, when the Voice first appeared in my head. Once there, I’ll intertwine my consciousness with hers, like I did before—”

“Except this time, you have to do it stealthily, so she doesn’t notice,” Cristela interrupts, pushing the long bangs off her face. “And then you’ll hitch a ride to the future, to the exact moment that should give you the answers you want!” She looks from me to Bandit, as though she’s expecting applause. “Well? What do you think?”

I swallow hard. It’s a stretch. The plan could break down at any step. I might not be able to trick my brain into activating the portal. My older self might notice when I try to link my consciousness with hers. We could be missing several key elements that make travel to the future possible.

But…it’s a plan. One we didn’t have a few minutes ago. And if the events play out just as Cristela described, it might actually work.

I look at the girl in front of me. Her hands, forearms, and shoulders vibrate with anticipation. She’s not just a student any longer but a bona fide scientist now.

“What do I think?” Amid the chaos of possibilities and thoughts, one lone opinion rises to the top. “Cristela, I think you’re a genius.”

Chapter 43

Chapter 43

We move to the living room. Large windows usher in the late-afternoon sun, and spider plants grow in pots hanging in each corner. The dangling green tendrils stand out in sharp contrast to the yellow and blue walls, and the room smells friendly—lots of lemon, citrus, and a hint of earth.

I turn in a slow circle, awed. “This room is gorgeous.”