“You remind me of me when I was your age,” he says thoughtfully. “Drifting along. My head in the number-saturated clouds. That was before I understood the cruelty of the human race. The indignity of the intellectual.”

He looks from me to Archie to Zeke. “You want my advice? Here it is. All the people in this ballroom? The ones who pretend to nurture your talent, to advance your career? They don’t care about you. They only care about themselves. Only the fittest will survive—and your number one priority? To make sure you survive.”

His lips curve, but it’s too serene. Too peaceful. A misty, dreamlike expression crosses his face. Instead of reassuring me, it makes me feel like I have grasshoppers stuffed under my skin.

“What…what do you mean?” I stammer. “How do we make sure we survive?”

“There are two sides to every equation,” he says. “A dark side and a light inside us all. Find your own way, Zeke. Archie. Malice. Figure out what’s best for you. Don’t let anyone else, even a voice of supposed wisdom, tell you what to do.” He directs the last sentence at me.

I go perfectly, absolutely still. My blood turns to snow, my nerves to ice. There it is. The proof that I’ve been waiting for. “You called me Malice.”

He lifts his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“My name is Alice,” I say. “Without the ‘M.’”

“You must’ve misheard me,” he says smoothly. “It’s quite loud in here.”

My teeth want to chatter, but I slam them together. I’m desperate to scream, but I lock the wails inside. I didn’t mishear. I couldn’t have. Because he also mentioned a voice. One of supposed wisdom. To me.

“Who are you? Are you from the future?” I blurt before I can stop myself.

He laughs, so loud and deep that it could span a decade. “Of course not, my dear. Time travel is only possible when mass is zero. And this?” He grabs two handfuls of his belly. “Unfortunately, this doesn’t qualify as zero.”

The breath lodges in my throat. He referenced the premise of Cristela’s research, which establishes one more connection with the future.

My vision narrows. Archie’s blinking consideration, Zeke’s assessing gaze, even Bandit’s solemn lips fade into the background. All I see is Charlie. Disheveled clothing. Bushy brown hair. All-too-knowing smirk.

There’s still so much I don’t know. Still so many dots I need to connect.

But the Voice said I would get the clarity I needed at the awards ceremony. I mistakenly assumed that the person I have to kill is the Maker. But now I realize that the Voice never said that. She only stated that in order to stop the Maker, I had to kill someone.