Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKAW3KM3BTY8YTEC1BVPCZM

They staked out the inflatable castle from a bush that smelled like juice boxes and desperation. Molly sketched routes on a napkin sticky with frosting, labeling choke points: clown, cake, bewildered parents. Bill calibrated a grab-bag made from a laundry hamper and a dog leash. Balloons bobbed like buoyant sentries. A tiny wizard practiced vanishing; the trick box, crucially, was open. "Masks with unicorns?" Molly whispered. "Less glitter, more getaway," Bill replied. "We blend, grab, vanish," Molly said. "Confetti makes footprints," Bill warned. "Then moonwalk," Molly proposed. "Moonboots squeak," Bill countered. "Tiptoe," Molly said. "Agreed," Bill sighed. Molly produced a sack patterned with dinosaurs to appease the gods of camouflage. The plan: infiltrate during the birthday chant, when adults videotape and children scream in one jubilant key. Bill would fake a balloon emergency, tugging every ribbon so the ceiling swallowed evidence. Molly would slide under the gift table like a very polite ferret, convert presents to a tidy avalanche, and surf them to the back gate. For exit music, the DJ’s Baby Shark remix would cover the rattling. If questioned, Bill would point to a name tag reading Uncle Probably, while Molly juggled cupcakes into plausible credentials. What could misfire?