Run: 2026-04-25-01KQ2EHZGFXPKPRVYJXQFXC008

The air-conditioned roar of a bouncy castle was doing its level best to drown out their scheming. Molly lowered her binoculars, her gaze fixed on the inflatable purple dragon shuddering across the lawn. "So," Bill whispered, licking buttercream from his thumb, "the cake is a lie. The presents are the real target." "Obviously, Bill. No one puts a solid-gold, limited-edition Princess Puffle-Muffin tiara on a cupcake tower. The gift table is a magpie’s manifesto." "Right. I go in as Giggles the Clown. A honk for entry, a honk for distress." "You can’t juggle." "My emotional distress is the entertainment. You’re on cake duty." "Page three of the playbook: 'The Candle Catastrophe.' I trip, I wail, a $400 sheet cake becomes a Jackson Pollock. In the chaos, you bag the tiara." "Solid. But how do I neutralise the birthday girl? She’s a tiny, terrifying gatekeeper. Look at her, guarding that pile of loot like a dragon with a sugar high." Molly smiled, pulling a shimmering, detachable mermaid tail from her bag. "I’ve got a prop. I’ll tell her the cake explosion was a mermaid curse, and we need to go on a magical quest for a mop. By the time her existential crisis is over, we’ll be in a taxi." "A quest for a mop. That’s either genius or a fever dream." "It’s an exit strategy, Bill. Now, honk twice if you see a piñata bat. Those things are a wildcard."