Run: 2026-10-08-01M4DYV2MSFVV1X24WE7CH8D0N

The minivan idled at the end of Juniper Court, headlights off, its Frozen decal peeling, engine rattling like a shopping cart with a bad wheel. Molly spread a floor plan across the dashboard and weighed down the corners with a juice box, a roll of duct tape, and a half-eaten churro. "Gift table," she said, tapping the paper. "Living room, right beside the cake. Twenty-two presents, give or take. Three are shaped like ponies, so they're heavy, so you carry the ponies." Bill leaned over the seat wearing an inflatable green dinosaur costume, its head tucked under one arm. He had insisted on it. "Nobody suspects a dinosaur," he had said. Molly had pointed out that every child in the neighborhood would scream at a dinosaur, which was the entire problem. "And security?" he asked. "One grandmother, two uncles, and a clown." She squinted at her notes. "The clown's the real threat. Balloon animals. Those things pop like gunfire." "What about the kid with the whistle?" Molly shuddered. "Tyler. Seven years old. He once made the mailman sit in the time-out chair for forty minutes." Bill swallowed. "So we go in quiet." "Silent, like ninjas." "I'm a dinosaur." "Silent dinosaurs." From the backyard came a shriek, then a wild, delighted howl, then the thunderous boom of a bouncy castle taking a beating. "Is that the diversion?" Bill asked. "That's the diversion. Forty kids on a rented castle. Nobody's watching the front window." They slipped through the side gate, crept past a tower of cupcakes, and found the front window unlatched. Bill attempted the entry head first, got stuck at the hips, wriggled, kicked, and finally tumbled onto the carpet with a sound like a deflating tire, shedding plastic scales across the rug. "Shh," Molly hissed. "Bag. Now." She began stuffing presents into a laundry sack with the efficiency of a professional. Bill read a tag aloud. "To Brayden, love Grandpa Lou." He paused, holding a suspiciously light box. "Molly, will Brayden be sad?" "Brayden will get more presents." "From who?" "From everyone who hears about this." A tiny voice spoke from the doorway. "Are you the dinosaur?" Bill froze. Tyler stood in the hallway in a cape, a whistle clenched between his teeth. He looked at the sack, then at Bill, then back at the sack. "Those are mine." "They're on loan," Molly said. Tyler raised the whistle to his lips and blew with all his might. Within seconds the house filled with uncles, one furious grandmother, and a stampede of sugar-crazed children. The clown's balloon popped like a gunshot. Bill yelped, spun, and took out the dessert table with his tail. They ran for the front door, Molly clutching the sack, Bill clutching his dinosaur head and a cupcake for the road. Back in the van, under the flickering dome light, Molly tore open a heavy pony box. Socks. Bill opened the suspiciously light one. More socks, and a card. "Sorry about the socks," he read. "Love, Grandpa Lou." Molly sighed. "Well. At least he's honest."