Run: 2026-09-10-01M25DSTHAB9TZHNSBDSSBPSZW

Molly unfolded the crayon-smeared invitation like a bank blueprint. The party was at the Fitzwilliams' mansion, Saturday, two o'clock, featuring a petting zoo, a bouncy castle, and, according to a reliable source, a mountain of presents. Bill sharpened a plastic fork against his belt. "Approach?" Bill asked. "Clown entrance," Molly said. "Terrifying." "Exactly." They mapped the route: through the hedge maze, past the face-painter, into the gift grotto disguised as a fairy princess and a very tall toddler. Molly would distract the magician with a heckle. Bill would sweep the present table into a Santa sack while parents filmed cupcakes. The complication: thirty sugar-crazed children and one vigilant grandmother with a cane. The twins had sticky fingers and a whistle. The poodle wore a security vest. Bill hated poodles. Molly hated whistles. "She'll recognize us," Bill said. "Not if we wear party hats." "That's it?" "And cry." "And glitter." They rehearsed their innocent faces. Bill looked constipated. Molly looked like a raccoon planning arson. At two o'clock, they would waddle in, steal every wrapped box, and be gone before the piñata cracked. The only question was whether to leave the birthday boy one gift or let him learn capitalism early.