Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK9ZP5CVXEX6P4RJN065Q8P

Under the rental clown wig, Molly checked the time. Bill adjusted his cardboard crown. "Bill, seven-year-old party, noon. Noise cover: squeals." "Why are we early?" "So the parents trust us before the sugar riot." "I’m dressed as a princess. I feel criminally moisturized." "Good. Pirates get punched; princesses get fed." "Objective?" "All presents. We sweep the gift pile into this sack labeled 'donations.'" "They’ll notice." "Not if you shout, 'Charity for orphans!' and look damp-eyed." "What about the birthday kid?" "We compliment his handwriting. Kids collapse into pride." "Security?" "One golden retriever named Captain Sprinkles." "I hate dogs." "You hate consequences. Give him a cupcake; he’ll sell us the code." "There’s a code?" "Three knocks on the bounce house zipper." "And entry?" "Through the bounce house, out by the juice, past the glitter station." "Exit route?" "During 'Happy Birthday,' we join the conga line, drift to the door, and vanish." "With twelve boxes?" "Stack them on your skirt. It’s basically a wheeled cart." "Physics disagrees." "Party physics. Cake warps reality." "If a kid opens a box and finds my leg?" "Smile. Say it’s a limited-edition doll accessory, then curtsy and sprint." "Remember, Bill: glitter wipes fingerprints, alibis, and dignity too."