Run: 2026-04-24-01KPZTXP92P4EHZA78HNV2GEA4

Molly unrolled the blueprint across the sticky diner table, pinning the corners down with a ketchup bottle, a sugar dispenser, and two half-eaten pancakes. Bill leaned over, squinting at the crayon-drawn map like it was the Rosetta Stone. "Why is the living room shaped like a kidney bean?" he asked. "Because I drew it from memory, and I had a kidney bean for lunch. Focus." The diner hummed around them. A waitress refilled their coffee without asking, which Molly took as a sign from the universe that their plan was blessed. Bill tapped the map with a greasy finger. "Okay, so. The target is a seven-year-old named Tyler. Theme is dinosaurs. Forty guests, give or take a screaming cousin. Presents get piled in the corner of the den at approximately two-fifteen, right after cake." "How do you know all this?" "I'm on the evite list." Molly looked up slowly. "You're what?" "I may have infiltrated the mom chat." "Bill. Bill, look at me. You joined a mom chat." "Under the name Cheryl. Cheryl brings a surprisingly good seven-layer dip, and nobody asks questions about Cheryl." Molly rubbed her temples, which had started to throb in the specific rhythm that only Bill's decisions could produce. Still, she had to admit, intel was intel. She circled the den on the map with a red pen. "Entry point is the sliding glass door off the patio. The dad always forgets to lock it because he's too busy manning the grill and explaining his smoker to men who don't care." "What about the clown?" "What clown?" "There's a clown. Cheryl sent condolences in the group chat." "Of course there's a clown." Molly exhaled through her teeth. "Fine. The clown is a variable. We neutralize him with a balloon animal request so complicated it takes his whole soul to complete. I'm thinking a giraffe riding a motorcycle." "Diabolical." "I have my moments." Bill pulled a gym bag from under the booth and unzipped it just enough to show a neatly folded pile of T-Rex costumes. Molly stared. "Camouflage," he whispered. "Nobody looks twice at a dinosaur at a dinosaur party." "Bill, those costumes have tiny arms. How are we supposed to carry the presents?" There was a long silence. Bill's face did a slow, tragic journey from pride to devastation. "I didn't think about the arms," he said quietly. "You didn't think about the arms." "The arms didn't occur to me, Molly." She took a long, slow sip of coffee, the kind of sip that bought a woman time to reconsider her entire career. Outside, a minivan honked. A child wailed somewhere in the parking lot, possibly in celebration, possibly in protest. Molly set down her mug. "We go as parents," she said finally. "Khakis. Sensible polos. A folding chair under one arm. Nobody questions a tired-looking adult at a kid's party. We'll walk out with the loot and everyone will assume we're Tyler's uncles." Bill grinned. "Cheryl would approve."