Run: 2026-03-25-01KMJ8E0XNQWA8F8J4TY2SXAHA

Molly crouched behind a stack of inflatable unicorns, her eye twitching as a trombone cover of *Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star* blared from the bounce house. Beside her, Bill adjusted his tie—stolen from a thrift-store costume bin—and nearly choked on a handful of neon confetti he’d stuffed into his pockets. “They’ve outdone themselves this time,” he muttered, nodding at the Great Hall of the Sterling Mansion, now transformed into a jungle of balloons, glitter, and what appeared to be a functional pinata shaped like a dragon wearing sunglasses. “They’ve outdone *themselves*,” Molly hissed back, gesturing at the chaos. “Forty kids, three clowns, a piñata that’s probably wired to some kind of parental panic button, and a host mom who looks like she could juggle cobra bites and still serve cupcakes on time. We need a plan that’s *tighter* than that helium balloon over there.” She pointed at a rogue floatie orbiting the dessert table like a disco ball. Bill saluted with a candy-corn necklace dangling from his hand. “I was thinking we slip in as party favors. The kind with the noisemakers. You know, the ones you pull the tab and—” He yanked the plastic, unleashing a thunderous *POP* that startled a toddler into barfing on a potted fern. Molly groaned. “You’re a menace. No, we go in as the cake. That giant fondant castle. The staff’ll be too busy arguing over whether it’s *too sparkly* to notice us slicing the tier open.” Bill brightened. “And then we just… eat the presents? Like a gift-wrapped cannoli?” “No, you moron—we hollow it out *before* they wheel it in. You’re the ‘hollower.’ Just don’t use that ‘edible glitter’ they gave us for ‘decoration.’ It’s laced with glitter. The *non-edible* kind.” She checked her watch. “We have twelve minutes before the ‘gift reveal.’ You’ll need to sync your fork with the music.” Bill frowned. “What fork?” Molly facepalmed. “The distraction! You’re the ‘trombone clown,’ remember? You said you could play *Fur Elise* on that thing.” “I can! I just… might have left the trombone inside the piñata.” He patted his backpack and yelped as a rubber chicken erupted from the zipper. Across the room, a teenager in a pirate costume waved a foam sword at a table of wrapped toys. Molly leaned in. “Once the cake’s on the stage, you’ll be under it, rigging the presents out through a false bottom. I’ll mingle, disable the security system—probably hidden in the DJ booth—and get us the hell out before the ‘surprise scavenger hunt’ starts.” Bill nodded, then glanced at the ceiling. “What about the motion sensors? You said they’re in the walls?” “They’re in the *chandeliers*. Which is why you’re not wearing that blinking LED bow tie.” “I was wearing it for morale.” The balloonist, a woman in a silver jumpsuit, floated by with a cluster of balloons. Molly hissed, “Focus. If we screw this up, we’re either committing acts of glitter terrorism or facing a room full of kids who’ll recognize us as the ‘cool burglars.’” Bill perked up. “Hey, remember that time we dressed as mascots and got stuck in a mall Santa’s suit?” “I remember the lawsuit. And the fire department. And the time you ‘accidentally’ set off the karaoke machine during a bank job.” Before he could defend himself, a group of kids converged, hoisting a banner reading “PIRATE TREASURE HUNT!” Molly ducked. “There’s your scavenger hunt. Once that starts, everyone’s eyes will be on the riddles. You get to the cake, I’ll hit the DJ booth. And Bill?” He was already fiddling with the rubber chicken. “Yeah?” “Don’t ‘play’ with the loot. We’re stealing toys, not… *embarrassing* the birthday girl a second time.” The first clue was pinned to a banner above the cake. Molly slinked toward the DJ setup, a wheezing keyboard next to a disco ball that spun like it was on meth. Bill lurched toward the cake, tripping over a My Little Pony and muttering, “This is a *strategic misstep*, not a stumble.” Inside the cake tent, he fumbled with a buttercream-coated hacksaw. “Molly, the false bottom won’t fit! The castle’s got a *moat* of fondant!” “Try the straws. You’re a *pirate*, not a maitre d’!” Meanwhile, Molly jammed the security feed by dancing aggressively to *Eye of the Tiger* on the mic. “You’ve got three minutes before the piñata gets cracked—it’s got a *motion sensor* for when it breaks, genius!” Bill, now half-buried in a gumball machine he’d mistaken for the cake base, yelled, “What if I dress as a clown and just *walk out* with the presents?” “Then I’ll eat the gumballs. They’re *raspberry*.” As kids swarmed the piñata, Molly yanked free a tangle of wires behind the DJ booth. “You’ve got sixty seconds to extract the loot and rendezvous at the parking lot mural. And don’t bring the trombone. Again.” Bill, now wearing a clown nose and holding the gumball machine like a treasure chest, replied, “I’m the ghost of heists past. Just follow the yellow balloon trail!” “Bill. Do. Not. *Pop* the balloon. It’s the decoy for the—” The trombone screeched to life. A clown emerged, honking a rendition of *Chariots of Fire* that made a toddler bawl. Molly sighed as the room exploded into noise, Bill juggling gumballs and a stolen LOL Surprise doll. “Move, move, move!” she whispered, yanking him into a supply closet filled with inflatable dinosaurs. “Did you know dinosaurs are excellent at stealth?” Bill offered, patting a neon iguana. “No, Bill. They’re excellent at *blowing air* and ruining timelines.” The clock ticked. Somewhere, a dragon piñata hissed. They had a lot of balloons to pop.