Run: 2026-09-02-01M1H5ECCD9J53ZTVZYDFEBQMK

Molly crouched behind the inflatable bouncy castle, adjusting her clown nose. Bill hovered beside her in a full pink unicorn costume that made his six-foot frame look like a broken carnival ride. "This is the dumbest job we've ever done," Bill whispered. "Shh. The cake table is unguarded. That's where they stack the presents." "It's a child's birthday party, Molly. There are thirty toddlers here." "And thirty presents. Do the math." Bill did the math. It came out to thirty presents, which was, annoyingly, a good haul. "Fine. But if a kid cries, I'm blaming you." "Kids always cry, Bill. That's the beauty of it. We're invisible." A small girl in a fairy costume appeared between them, staring up at the unicorn. Bill froze. "Mister Unicorn, will you do the treasure hunt with me?" Bill looked at Molly with desperate eyes. Molly turned away and began counting presents, whistling softly. "Of course," Bill said, his voice pitched two octaves too high. "I love treasure hunts. It's my whole thing. Being a unicorn." "You're my favorite unicorn ever," the girl said, grabbing his hoof. Molly bit down on a laugh so hard she nearly swallowed her clown nose. The girl led Bill toward the garden, where six children immediately swarmed him, demanding rides, songs, and one heartfelt request to "neigh." Bill neighed. It was the saddest sound Molly had ever heard, and she'd once heard her own mother describe her career. Fifteen minutes later, Bill returned, mane askew, glitter everywhere, dignity nowhere. "You did that on purpose," he hissed. "I did no such thing. Also, you missed it. I got nine presents already bagged. The parents have zero object permanence. One dad watched me do it and asked if I was the party planner." "We're stealing children's birthday presents. I neighed for children. I did a treasure hunt. There was a glitter station, Molly. I glittered." "You glittered beautifully. Now grab that big box by the cake." Bill grabbed the box. The box was not a present. The box was the cake. The entire cake, layers and all, now sat in his sack next to the stolen gifts. "Molly." "I see it." "There is a cake in my bag. A four-tier cake shaped like a fire truck." "That's a bonus. That's dessert money." "It is evidence. It is delicious, incriminating evidence." An adult voice called out from the patio. "Has anyone seen the cake?" Molly and Bill looked at each other. Then at the bag. Then at the growing crowd of sugar-deprived children beginning to organize like a tiny, juice-stained militia. "New plan," Molly said. "We return the cake, blame the dog, and exit through the bouncy castle." "There's no dog here." "There is now. Wave at the dog, Bill." Behind them, Bill's sack rustled. The girl in the fairy costume peeked inside, gasped with delight, and screamed to the whole party: "THE UNICORN BROUGHT CAKE!" The militia charged. "Run," Molly said. "Run and neigh."