*The Garden Gate Heist* Her name was Briar, and technically her job was “Garden Guardian, West Bed.” Practically, her job was keeping the tomatoes from gossiping and the slugs from unionizing. The trouble started at dawn. Briar was perched on her usual fencepost, counting dew drops, when she heard it: a sniff. Not a polite squirrel sniff. A scheming sniff. Peeking through the kale, she spotted him. Morton the Mole. He’d tunneled under the fence again, and he was eyeballing the prized Moonberry plant. The one that only bloomed when someone told a good joke. Briar’s blue purple ears twitched. Moonberries were off limits. The last time Morton got one, he tried to juggle them and accidentally invented mole volleyball. The petunias were still traumatized. She adjusted her berry-branch antlers and launched Phase One: Distraction. She fluttered her tiny leafy wings and landed with a _boop_ right in front of him. “Morton,” she said, blinking her big dark eyes, “did you hear about the compost pile that went to therapy?” Morton paused, dirt on his nose. “No?” “It had too many issues to work through.” Morton snorted. The Moonberry plant shuddered and dropped one glowing berry right into Briar’s hands. Phase Two: Bribery. She held it out. “You can have this if you help me reroute the sprinkler. It’s been bullying the marigolds.” Morton considered. Briar considered. The marigolds considered, but they always considered everything too loudly. Deal struck. By noon, the sprinkler was aimed fairly, the marigolds had stopped yelling, and Morton had a Moonberry plus a new job title: “Assistant Deputy of Underground Affairs.” Briar went back to her post, berry branches catching the afternoon light. Guardian work was mostly paperwork and preventing vegetable drama. But every so often, you got a good story and a mole who owed you a favor. She smiled. Another quiet day in the West Bed.