Her hands wrapped around the pen the way they wrapped around me-knuckles white, fingertips pressing tightly. The spaces between her fingers, dip and pull in contrast to the tendons stretching beneath her skin. I watched the way her nimble wrist moved with the ink-the same wrist that connected us in the shadows. Her signature, a messy scribble with undefined loops-was the same as when we were twelve and had too much sugar. I smiled slightly as my eyes continued to scan the way her hands worked. She was and always had been my sister, my twin, my soulmate.