Run: 2026-09-23-01M37HAEZ5RMV0DGXD4RHQZC6E

From behind a hedge shaped like a disappointed rabbit, Molly watched the children’s party unfold across the lawn. There were balloons, bunting, and a mountain of presents beneath a tablecloth printed with smiling dinosaurs. Every few seconds, a child attacked the piñata with the determination of a medieval tax collector. Bill adjusted his paper crown. It was yellow, too small, and labelled BIRTHDAY KING in glitter. “I still say we should have come as magicians,” he whispered. “Nobody questions a magician carrying a sack.” “Nobody questions a birthday king, either, if the real birthday king is too busy screaming at a piñata.” The real birthday king was eight and currently demanding a bigger stick. Molly checked the sketch she had made of the garden. It contained three useful landmarks: the gift table, the kitchen door, and a pond into which Bill had already stepped. Their plan had the elegance of a falling piano. Molly would distract the parents with a fabricated emergency involving the bouncy castle. Bill would collect the presents. Then they would leave before anyone noticed the gifts had gone or wondered why the king’s trousers were wet. “You’re limping,” Molly said. “Can you still carry everything?” “I’m not limping. My shoe is making a speech every time I walk. Listen.” His left trainer squelched. A little boy on the other side of the hedge turned toward the sound. Molly and Bill froze. The boy studied the rabbit’s leafy ears, then ran off to join the piñata siege. Molly waited until the coast was clear. “Remember: no improvising. You take the presents, not the cake, not the decorations, and definitely not a child.” “That was one time, and she climbed into the laundry basket herself.” They slipped through the gate. Molly reached the bouncy castle, where two parents were trying to separate a pair of children velcroed together by novelty capes. Bill reached the presents. He lifted the tablecloth and peered underneath, evidently assessing how much the yellow sack from his pocket could hold. Then a small hand caught his sleeve. The birthday boy stood beside him, stick in hand, face flushed with victory. Bill went rigid. Molly crossed the lawn, already assembling an explanation involving a surprise inspection by the Birthday Council. The boy pointed at Bill’s crown. He had one just like it, except his was silver. After a long, solemn examination, he placed a wrapped box into Bill’s hands and pointed toward the house. “He thinks you’re helping carry them inside,” Molly said when she reached him. “This is good. Carry them inside.” “That sounds a lot like the opposite of stealing.” “Then consider it a strategic retreat. Go on, before he promotes you.” Bill carried the box inside. The boy followed, then returned with another gift for him to fetch. By the time the party ended, Bill had delivered every present to the birthday boy’s bedroom. On the way out, Molly retrieved him from a game of musical chairs. He was wearing three crowns and had won a chocolate medal. “You were right,” he said. “Nobody questioned the birthday king.”