Run: 2026-10-20-01M5C6F2RA47XPKHVW668RZQP6

Molly unfolded the birthday-party flyer across the van’s dashboard, smoothing its creases with the reverence usually reserved for treasure maps. Bill leaned over, chewing a pencil, and studied the crayon-drawn castle, the bouncy-castle times, and the all-caps warning that presents would be guarded by a magician named Wizzo. The plan, Molly explained, required matching party hats, a convincing gift box, and absolutely no screaming. Bill suggested they arrive as uncles. Molly rejected this immediately; uncles were expected to contribute presents, not abscond with them. They settled on caterers. Bill would wheel in a fake cake while Molly slipped through the playroom with a laundry sack. The only complication was the piñata, which looked suspiciously like a security camera with streamers. Bill tapped the flyer. "What if the magician turns us into rabbits?" he asked. Molly grinned. "Then we hop fast." Bill frowned at the guest list. "And the clown?" Molly checked her fake mustache. "Avoid eye contact. Very fast." Bill brought a clipboard, because caterers always looked official and mildly disappointed. They practiced their caterer faces, which mostly looked like two men trying not to steal a tricycle, and agreed to meet at noon, armed with napkins and plausible excuses.