Run: 2026-07-09-01KX40372DV5EM5601QD71N7CB

Molly spread the crayon map across the van’s dashboard. Outside, balloons bobbed above the community hall like brightly colored surveillance drones. Bill adjusted his pirate eyepatch, then immediately walked into the steering wheel. “Remind me why we’re dressed as entertainers?” “Because locksmiths don’t get invited to birthday parties.” “I could make balloon animals.” “You made a balloon sausage.” “It was a minimalist giraffe.” Molly pointed at the map. The gift table stood beside the cake, guarded by six-year-olds fueled by lemonade and lawlessness. Their getaway trolley waited behind the kitchen, disguised beneath a papier-mâché dragon. “We enter during musical chairs,” Molly said. “When everyone’s distracted?” “When everyone’s violent.” “And the clown?” “You’re looking at her.” “That explains your driving.” Molly honked the horn. It squeaked. Bill screamed. “Professional,” she said. “I thought it was a mouse.” “You fear mice?” “Only musical ones.” The hall doors opened, releasing shrieking children and one exhausted magician. Molly grabbed the empty present sacks. Bill seized the dragon trolley, whose head promptly fell off and rolled beneath a parked police car. “Abort?” Bill whispered. “Never. New plan: birthday telegram.” “For whom?” Molly checked the banner flapping over the entrance. “Congratulations, Euphemia.” “On turning seven?” “On owning twelve identical unicorn boxes.” Bill grinned, straightened his eyepatch, and rang the bell. The door swung open. Twenty children yelled, “Pirates!” Molly bowed. “We’re doomed.”