“I would. Our childhoods, while parallel, were nothing alike.” “They were exactly the same,” Skye said, temper flaring. “I have to go. I have work to do.” That afternoon, as she flew through a sky the color of the Cornish sea—a deep, fathomless blue—one thought whirled through Skye’s head like a blizzard: she and Liberty told two such different versions of the same story. Whose was right? Perhaps Liberty was just trying to take away the one thing they shared beyond their surname—their history. But if they didn’t even have a past, then what would tether them together now and in the future? Don’t think about it, she told herself. Liberty’s childish kicking had simply been replaced by exasperating behavior designed to goad the other party into lashing out. And as usual, Skye had managed to do something she regretted: storm off. There was no point dwelling on it. The next time she saw her sister, Liberty was sure to have moved on to some other provocation.”