Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKAVFG2JRCJW2XBE9NP58V6

Molly and Bill huddled behind a bouncy castle brochure, casing the suburban stronghold of frosting, streamers, and unguarded treasure. The invitation, stolen from a mailbox with tweezers, described a fortress ruled by a six-year-old tyrant named Daisy, who paid her guards in cupcakes and temporary tattoos. Bill unfolded a crayon map of the premises: living room minefield, cake table bottleneck, present pile glittering like a dragon hoard under a banner that misspelled birthday with fierce confidence. They rehearsed steps: stroll in, applaud a magic trick, adopt aliases, and redistribute gifts into a morally flexible sack. Confetti would be a smokescreen; kazoo solos would cover footfalls. A pinata, ominously armored, mocked them from a tree branch, promising structural resistance and a rain of decoys. "Masks on, Bill. Smile like clowns, move like ghosts, grab the loot, then vanish." "And if a balloon pops?" "Confetti." Bill checked his watch, synchronized to the exact moment candles summoned chaos. Molly tucked lockpicks into a juice box sleeve and practiced her innocent aunt grin, the kind that apologized while shoplifting hugs. He rehearsed a pratfall to derail suspicion, studying slapstick like blueprints. The getaway dinosaur-stickered scooter purred behind a hedge, its bell muted with gum.