Run: 2026-09-03-01M1KA37EN59F7GR5YHXN8B0V6

Molly squinted through the grimy windshield at the inflatable dragon guarding the community center entrance. The dragon listed slightly to the left, its nylon claws scuffing the pavement. She tapped a glittery invitation against her knee, the corner already soft from her thumb. "Okay, run it again. Bounce house at two." Bill, wedged into the driver's seat with a party hat strapped over his beanie, frowned at a napkin diagram of the venue. The van smelled of stale fries and the cinnamon air freshener shaped like a cartoon fox. A red crayon X marked the gift table. A blue squiggle represented the llama pen. He rotated the napkin twice before speaking. "Why can't we just walk in as clowns? Clowns are invisible at kids' parties." Molly grabbed the napkin and smoothed it against her thigh. "You're six-five with a neck tattoo. We go in as parents. Sign the sheet, say Liam's folks send love." She traced a route from the entrance to the corner where the presents would be stacked like a glittering, ungrateful tower. Her finger lingered on the fire alarm. Bill nodded, then paused. "Which one is Liam?" "Birthday boy. His mom hired a llama, so the pile will be huge." Molly said it without looking up. She was already picturing the diaper bag, the extra-large gift sack with reinforced handles, the ninety-second exit. Outside, a mother dragged a toddler toward the entrance, the child clutching a present almost as large as himself. Bill tapped the steering wheel. "What if the llama recognizes me?" Molly stared at the inflatable dragon. It wobbled in the January wind, its painted smile somehow knowing. "It's not a security llama, Bill. It's a petting zoo rental." She folded the napkin into a small, sharp rectangle. He considered this, then examined the side door as if it might bite. "What if I get stuck in a bounce house?" "You won't hide in a bounce house. Stand by the door and look panicked." She reached into the back seat and pulled out a lanyard reading VOLUNTEER. The letters were slightly askew. The lanyard had been borrowed from a blood drive three months earlier. Bill adjusted his party hat. "So we clear about thirty gifts? That's maybe four hundred bucks on resale." "Easily. There's a tablet shaped like a crayon box. Saw it on the registry." She looped the lanyard over her neck. The plastic badge bounced against her sternum. Her jacket already held two empty pillowcases and a roll of duct tape. Bill looked at the dragon again. The party hat slipped over one eye. He pushed it back with his thumb. His fingers drummed on the steering wheel. "One more thing. What's the code word if things go bad?" Molly opened the door. Cold air rushed in, carrying the distant thump of a party DJ. She stepped onto the curb, then turned back. The napkin slipped from her pocket and skittered under the van. "Use your grown-up words, Bill. Just say 'llama.'"