PREVIEW

... s small hands. Its worn plastic edges caught the dying sunlight as it zipped and spun above the living room carpet, a makeshift galaxy underfoot.

He made the usual sounds — whooshes, soft pew-pew noises — the soundtrack of quiet wars only he could see. His mother laughed from the kitchen, the warm, bubbling kind of laugh she always had when she didn't think he was listening. His father lounged across the battered couch, half-watching, half-lost in thought, the evening news murmuring low ...

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