Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK9G76HJRP3YWT237E9N5WT

The park shelter glowed like a paper lantern, strung with banners proclaiming heroic fours. Balloons joggled against the rafters, making skittish squeaks that sounded like guilty shoes. A DJ tested a bubble machine, and the bubbles took attendance, bobbing toward the gift table like nosy jellyfish. Molly crouched behind a hedge fragrant with frosting breath and dandelion gossip, eyeballing the pile of pastel boxes. Bill adjusted his cap until it declared plausible innocence. The parents milled in phalanxes, armed with napkins, cameras, and the fierce optimism of people who believed cupcakes could halt entropy. Somewhere a magician rehearsed a dove who clearly wanted a union. A border of orange cones penned in a bouncy castle that sighed each time a toddler applied science. "We’re really doing this, Bill? Raiding a birthday like confectionary pirates?" "Molly, piracy has rules; we’re just borrowing joy wrapped in recyclable paper." "Borrowing implies returning, and I doubt toddlers run a deposit system." "We return the glow of mystery, plus a teachable moment about locks." "Your teachable moments usually involve smoke and me sprinting in novelty shoes." "Hence tonight’s footwear: quiet sneakers; mine squeak only when morally judged." "By whom, Bill, the cake? Frosting is famously unforgiving." "Listen: perimeter fence, bouncy-castle moat, gift table at two o’clock." "A moat made of air is not a moat; it’s enthusiasm." "Enthusiasm is security’s cousin; it distracts guardians with ethically sourced chaos." Molly tapped a stopwatch she’d drawn on her wrist with eyeliner, the minute hand a determined arrow. Planning required gestures, especially theatrical ones, and the hedge was an appreciative audience. Bill unfolded a crumpled sketch of the grounds that mostly consisted of arrows, stars, and the phrase absolutely not suspicious. A gust tried to confiscate the plan; he bribed it with a cheese puff. The stack of presents shimmered with thin paper armor, taped corners like tiny shields daring fate. Somewhere, the cake emitted a calm, vanilla yawn. A cluster of grandparents formed a chessboard near the lemonade, bishops guarding the ladle with legendary focus. "Fine, strategist, how do we breach without traumatizing whoever owns the unicorn?" "We blend in: I’ll juggle grapes, you pretend to supervise gift hygiene." "Gift hygiene sounds like we’re laundering teddy bears through moral fabric softener." "Exactly; we’re public servants with ribbons, confetti, and non-denominational glitter." "Do public servants carry a sack labeled Definitely Not Stolen?" "Yes, because irony lowers suspicion; it’s science, Molly, peer-reviewed by clowns." "Clowns are not a peer group; they’re a weather pattern." "Then pack an umbrella; the forecast predicts showers of shredded wrapping." "And what if a child asks why Santa’s interns operate in June?" "We say Q2 is for prototypes; elves pivot, markets fluctuate, dreams iterate." She inhaled courage and powdered sugar, counted bounce cycles, and imagined slipping gifts into absence like coins into a polite wishing well. "I’m not explaining quarterly reports to a four-year-old hopped up on helium." "Then explain escape routes; sugar crashes unlock windows, and piñatas create cover." "Try not to crinkle."