Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK9DEBJJRFC9DS42NPHF9ZH

"Molly, do you seriously have a blueprint for a bouncy castle?" "Of course, Bill. You can't improvise on a trampoline. It's unethical." "We're not bouncing; we're burgling the presents, quietly, like considerate raccoons." "Considerate raccoons wear tiny bow ties. Do we have tiny bow ties?" Bill squinted at the crayon-smeared map, which labeled every room "Fun," except the kitchen, which was "Extremely Fun." "We have burglar masks, Molly, not fashion statements." "A mask is a fashion statement that says, please don't perceive me." "Fine. What's our entry? Front door? Chimney? Tunneling through cake?" "Front door, obviously. We bring a present, we blend." "What present says, these are not bandits?" "A plant. Criminals never bring ferns. They hate watering schedules." Molly patted the fern in its pot, which wore a birthday hat at a jaunty, conspiratorial angle. "Name's Fernando. He opens doors, metaphorically." "Metaphors don't turn knobs, Molly." "Then we'll use our hands. Keep up the optimism." "What's the timeline once we're inside?" "Cake distraction at two. Pinata hysteria at two-oh-five. We yoink at two-oh-seven." "Yoink is not a legal term." "Neither is birthday, if you think about copyright." Bill imagined the living room, swarming with tiny shoes, streamers, and six separate kingdoms of icing. He sighed like an accordion losing patience. "What about security? Parents are basically bouncers with snack authority." "We neutralize with charm. Compliment the juice. Praise the playlist." "And if they ask who invited us?" "We say, the fern. Everyone nods at a confident fern." "You're a menace with botany." "I'm a visionary with chlorophyll." A horn honked outside; the party was two streets over, audible as a sugar-fueled chant. Confetti already hung in the air like patient snowfall. "Bags ready? We can't look like we're relocating Santa." "These are eco-sacks. Theft, but sustainable." "Steal softly, leave lightly, recycle the ribbon." "What about moral qualms, Molly?" "The invites said, bring gifts. We're bringing them to my apartment." "That's not how arrows on envelopes work." "Semantics are the helium of ethics. They make it all float." Bill checked his watch, which was actually a compass he wore for confidence. It pointed decisively toward cake. "Two minutes. Last rehearsal: you do smiles; I do diplomacy." "You call lying diplomacy because it wears a tie." "I call it linguine. It's slippery and everyone pretends it's fancy." "Focus. Presents table?" "By the window, per my reconnaissance through the bakery's Instagram." "You did digital scouting for a toddler gala?" "I subscribe to excellence." They practiced passing the fern back and forth like contraband cheerfulness, then tucked it under Molly's arm, as natural as a purse with leaves. "Remember the code phrase if we split: the cupcakes are learning French." "That's not covert; that's bilingual pastry." "Exactly. No one suspects the educational baking." "Fine. If caught, we say we're gift auditors." "Clipboard energy, love it. Walk tall. Try not to crunch a balloon." They set off, shadows with a fern, marching to the chorus of cheers. Above, paper stars winked like accomplices softly.