Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK9BNCEWGVMH3YV1FYB509A

“You brought the clown noses, right?” Molly whispered, pressing herself against the cinderblock wall behind the community center. Neon balloons bobbed in the windows, silhouettes of small, sugar-crazed humans pinging past like tiny, weaponized meteors. Bill squinted at her over the rim of the dumpster. “I thought you had them.” The smell of old cake and mystery juice rose between them. Somewhere inside, a kazoo orchestra hit a note last heard during medieval torture. “You’re the one obsessed with disguises at children’s parties,” Molly said, fishing in her backpack and coming up with a roll of duct tape, a plastic tiara, and three glittery stickers that said HELLO, MY NAME IS PRINCESS. Bill checked his watch, like punctuality could save them. “No, I’m the one obsessed with not being arrested.” “Same thing tonight.” She stuck a PRINCESS sticker crookedly on his black hoodie. Through the glass doors, a banner read HAPPY 8TH BIRTHDAY, JAYDEN!!! beneath a cardboard volcano spewing paper flames. At the foot of the stage, a table sagged under a precarious mountain of presents wrapped in dinosaurs, superheroes, and something sparkly that looked hostile. “You do realize we’re robbing eight-year-olds, right?” Bill muttered, peeking in. “Technically we’re redistributing their parents’ poor financial choices.” Molly adjusted the knit cap over her curls, assessing the room like it was a bank vault instead of a function hall exploding with confetti. “That argument won’t hold up in the bouncy castle.” Bill watched as a toddler vanished into the inflatable dragon’s mouth and bounced out, screaming with delighted trauma. Molly shrugged. “Relax, Bill. Birthday loot is beginner level.” “Beginner level until a magician pulls cops from a hat.” He pointed at the stage, where a man in a sequined vest practiced shuffling cards like he hated them personally. “The invitation said magician, not clairvoyant security consultant.” Molly dug out a crumpled piece of paper, smoothing it with reverence. Glitter puffed up like a small, sparkling curse. “You read the invitation? That’s disturbingly professional.” Bill took it from her, frowning at the cartoon dinosaur wearing a party hat. “I like to know my mark’s cake flavor.” Molly said it with the seriousness of a surgeon requesting a scalpel. “That’s not profiling, that’s emotional eating,” Bill said, though his gaze did linger a little long on the dessert table inside. “Chocolate with dinosaur sprinkles. I double-checked on Facebook.” Molly tapped her phone. On the screen, Jayden’s mom beamed beside a photo of the precise cake currently being menaced by a kid with both hands in the frosting. “You friended an eight-year-old to case the joint?” Bill asked. “His mom. We’re going in as her gift coordinators.” Molly nodded toward the name tags stacked by the door. Several adults already wore them, staggering under armloads of presents and the existential despair of forced small talk. “Please tell me that comes with dental insurance.” Bill sighed, but there was resignation under it. He’d followed Molly through worse ideas. Slightly worse. Molly cracked her knuckles. “Focus. Presents go from table to my duffel.” “And my job is what, emotional support criminal?” Bill said. “Decoy uncle,” she replied. “You mingle, laugh at small jokes, maybe lose an arm-wrestling match to a child so no one suspects your latent competence.” He glanced down at his all-black outfit. “Do I look like I own nieces?” “Tonight you do.” She straightened his PRINCESS sticker. “You’re Uncle Bill. You forgot a gift because you’re ‘bad with dates,’ so you’re helping me organize the present table to compensate.” He winced. “That actually sounds like a genuine personality flaw.” “Use it,” she said. “Channel it. Make it art.” Inside, the music shifted to something with aggressive hand motions. An adult in a dinosaur costume tripped over a streamer and face-planted to the kind of laughter that left scars. Molly slid toward the door, Bill at her heels. As they stepped into the fluorescent chaos, the sugary air hit them like a weapon. “Smile,” she hissed through her teeth. Bill’s mouth twitched upward, uncertain, as a kid covered head to toe in glitter barreled into his knees. “Are you my new uncle?” the kid demanded. Bill swallowed. “I… might be, legally, by the end of the night.”