Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKADB1AHXTS2N43PJ5E7H1Y

The community hall shimmered under helium balloons like a submarine made of laughter. Banners announced Milo Turns Eight in a font that vibrated with cake. From the open doors drifted the smell of sugar and a drumbeat of small sneakers. Molly and Bill watched from their parked van, which looked like a pastry with regrets. On the passenger seat sat two disguises, both composed mostly of confidence. A mountain of presents had already colonized a table near the stage. Paper rustled whenever a child ran past, as if trees were gossiping. The hired magician stretched his cape like a bat arguing with daylight. Somewhere a bubble machine sneezed and released a galaxy of trembling moons. "I can't believe we're targeting a birthday party, Bill, today." Molly adjusted a crooked feather on her decoy hat. "Relax, it's practically a heist-themed cake with wrapping paper everywhere." Bill peered over the steering wheel like a meerkat in witness protection. "Still, tiny humans have fierce elbows and suspicious frosting-stained eyes." She watched a child wobble past with a slice like a shield. "We'll blend in, smile, applaud, then vanish with festive rectangles." Their plan, such as it was, relied on timing, charm, and implausible confidence. "Rectangles are called boxes, and boxes are called evidence, genius." A pastel banner flapped, nodding as if approving this terrible scholarship of larceny. "Evidence loves ribbons; juries get distracted by polka dots, statistically." Somewhere behind the cake, a chorus of recorders pierced the afternoon. "We need disguises that scream harmless without actually screaming, obviously." Molly unfolded a schedule she had drawn with crayons during surveillance. "I brought hats suggesting whimsical aunt and suspiciously supportive uncle." It contained arrows, clouds, and one extremely judgmental stick figure labeled Consequences. "Supportive uncles don't lurk near gift tables counting bows, Bill." Bill blew dust from a party horn and tested a worried smile. "They do today, for charity, the charity of us two." The presents glittered as if they had pooled all the neighborhood sun. "Fine, but no confetti; last time we adopted a piñata." He checked his watch, which had given up telling time for optimism. "Understood; subtlety is our middle name, hyphenated, possibly misspelled today." Outside, a gust rolled a rogue balloon into the van’s bumper. "What about the magician, his rabbit, and those judging clowns?" Molly stared at the magician, whose rabbit regarded everything with ancient disappointment. "We applaud loudly, cry softly, leave boldly, gifts carried confidently." Clowns loitered near the lemonade tub like judgmental lighthouses in big shoes. "If anyone asks, we're delivering weather, because storms love presents." She practiced a stormy expression in the rearview mirror and almost believed it. The music inside surged, and a herd of children stampeded toward the bouncy castle. Molly counted the exits, then stopped, remembering that doors were merely suggestions today. Bill breathed in the sugar air and grinned. He loved ridiculous plans until they worked. The van ticked, patient. Confetti shimmered on the asphalt like fallen, sparkling snow. Clouds approved quietly.