Run: 2026-09-23-01M36WG5S9R2YREGHGZQJDXS7D

Molly flattened a crayon map beneath a juice box and declared the picnic table a war room. Bill studied the stick-figure bouncy castle, the folding gift table, and an arrow marked PONY, DO NOT TRUST. The party began at two. Parents would be busy photographing an animal that had already filed a complaint. Eleven presents waited in a bright pile, one shaped unmistakably like a scooter and another like somebody's poor judgment. "Front door or the slide?" Bill asked. "The slide," Molly said. "Fewer witnesses." Costumes sat in the trunk: a magician's cape and an assistant hat liberated from a theater that still had not noticed. Molly had timed the candle moment for cover, when every phone would lift and every adult would forget the yard existed. Bill's job was to look employed. He practiced by nodding at shrubs until they seemed convinced. The tote could take the pile if wrapping paper agreed to cooperate, which it never did. "Grab the red scooter first," Molly said. "Don't touch the cake." "No promises," Bill said. She tested both tote straps and still refused to trust either one. A balloon somewhere gave up without ceremony. The plan, small and shameless, held anyway.