Run: 2026-03-18-01KM07E1HFNXFBHGG14HJG1AQZ

Molly crouched behind the bakery dumpster, consulting a hand-drawn map that looked as though a pigeon had walked across it with purpose. The moon hung over the neighborhood like a skeptical landlord. Across the street, a house glowed with paper lanterns and cartoon balloons. Music, shrieks, and the occasional burst of forced laughter floated over the fence. Bill adjusted his gloves and stared at the house. “I still think this is a terrible idea.” Molly didn’t look up. “That’s because you suffer from a chronic lack of imagination.” “I suffer from a chronic lack of trust,” Bill said. “Also, the clown. Did you see the clown?” “He’s a face painter.” “He has a nose like a warning flare.” Molly folded the map. “Relax. It’s a children’s party, not Fort Knox. We go in, blend in, smile if necessary, and leave with the presents.” Bill frowned. “Blend in as what? Tall regret?” “As parents,” Molly said. “Or relatives. Or help. People at children’s parties are too exhausted to question anything.” Bill glanced at the driveway, where a line of shoes had been left at the door in a perfectly organized row. “That’s because everyone in there has already lost a battle they don’t remember starting.” “Exactly. Vulnerable. Now listen carefully.” She pointed toward the backyard. “The gift table is by the patio doors. There’s a stack of presents, one of those giant bouncy things full of toddlers, and a lady in a headband who appears to be guarding the cake with military discipline.” Bill squinted. “The headband lady?” “The headband lady.” “And our plan is?” Molly smiled. “Simple. You carry the cake.” “Why am I always carrying the cake?” “Because you have the face of someone who belongs near dessert and far from decisions.” “That is not a compliment.” “You’re welcome. While you’re distracting the adults, I’ll collect the presents into the wagon.” Bill looked down the alley at the battered red wagon they had parked beneath a hedge. “That wagon has one wheel that sounds haunted.” “It adds character.” “It adds a squeak that announces us to the county.” Molly put a hand on his shoulder. “Bill, if you wanted subtlety, you should have become a librarian.” “I did once consider it.” “You considered many foolish things. Tonight, however, you are a father with a harmless sweet tooth. I am your sister. We are here because little Timmy’s parents asked us to help with cleanup.” Bill blinked. “Little Timmy?” “Generic child. Very versatile.” “And if they ask what our names are?” Molly sighed. “You say ‘Mum’ or ‘Dad’ with confidence. No one ever checks.” From the backyard came a sudden chorus of children screaming in delight. A bouncy rocket blasted into the air, followed by applause. Bill winced. “I hate this already.” “That’s the spirit.” A woman in a paper crown opened the patio door and called, “Can somebody bring more napkins?” Molly straightened her cardigan, transformed instantly into the weary expression of a woman who had seen too many birthday parties and survived all of them. “I’m in.” Bill hesitated. “What if there are name tags?” Molly reached into her pocket and handed him a marker. “Then improvise.” He stared at the marker. “That’s your whole strategy, isn’t it?” “It’s a proven one.” They walked toward the house, past the garden gnomes and the glittering streamers, looking for all the world like two exhausted relatives arriving late with mixed intentions. Molly carried the wagon handle in one hand and confidence in the other. Bill lifted the empty cake box like a shield. At the back door, the headband lady looked up from the cake and smiled with alarming suspicion. “You’re the helpers?” Molly didn’t miss a beat. “Afraid so.” Bill added, “We brought the cake.” The headband lady narrowed her eyes. Then she glanced at the wagon, the gloves, and Bill’s nervous grin. “Wonderful,” she said at last. “The presents are in the living room. Please don’t let the children near the frosting. They’ve already gone feral once today.” Molly gave Bill a triumphant look as they slipped inside. Bill whispered, “I think we may be bad people.” Molly whispered back, “No, Bill. We’re just very efficient.”