Run: 2026-03-18-01KM08S6GEJ7X5EYWQEC40N7J4

Bill crouched beside the hedge, watching the balloons bob above the garden fence. “Children’s parties,” Molly whispered, “are perfect. Everyone assumes the clown is the biggest threat.” Bill adjusted his tie, which was stolen, optimistically, from a laundrette mannequin. “What’s the route?” “Front gate, inflatable castle, gift table, out through the kitchen like we belong there.” “And if anyone asks?” “You’re Uncle Barry.” “I don’t look like a Barry.” “That’s why it works.” A shriek of laughter rose from the house, followed by the tinny honk of a party trumpet. Molly grinned. “Listen to that. Chaos. Cake. Custard. No security team can survive that trio.” Bill pulled on white gloves. “I still say the presents are small.” “Small?” Molly said. “Bill, those are not presents. Those are treasure chests with ribbons.” He peered over the fence. “I can see a robot, three books, and something wrapped like a football.” “Exactly,” she said. “Tonight, every child learns a lesson.” “About generosity?” “About perimeter weaknesses.” They climbed the fence, landed in a marigold bed, and marched toward the party as if invited by destiny and bad manners. “If this goes wrong,” Bill murmured, “I’m blaming the clown’s aura and your leadership style entirely.”