IT'S PEACEFUL. The air hummed with the lazy warmth of late afternoon, thick with the scent of grilling pork, damp grass, and the faint, exhilarating tang of summer mischief. Ten-year-old Rajiv sat cross-legged under the shade of a sprawling mango tree, a thick, dog-eared book on quantum mechanics resting open on his knees. Around him, the Alarcon family's annual summer picnic unfolded in a symphony of shouts, laughter, and the relentless thwack of a volleyball. He was oblivious to most of it, lost in the intricate dance of subatomic particles. The world, he believed, was a wonderfully complex machine, and understanding its gears and cogs was the most satisfying puzzle of all. He traced a diagram of electron shells with a thoughtful finger, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Rajiv! Are you still reading that alien stuff?" The voice belonged to Jay, his oldest cousin, a boisterous thirteen-year-old with a perpetually scraped knee and a grin that promised trouble. Jay was flan
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