I crouched behind a bush, scanning the yard for any sign of another egg. The sun was warm overhead, and the scent of fresh grass filled the air. Brady stood beside me, hands on his hips, surveying the area like he was about to crack some grand mystery.

"We need a game plan," he declared, squinting at the field ahead like it was a battlefield.

I rolled my eyes. "It’s an egg hunt, Brady, not a military operation."

He shot me a look. "That’s what they want you to think. But trust me, these things are rigged. We need strategy, speed, and—" He suddenly lunged forward, swiping an egg right from under my nose.

"Hey!" I yelped, shoving him.

Brady grinned, holding the egg up triumphantly. "Survival of the fittest, bestie."

I crossed my arms. "Oh, it’s so on."

With that, we both broke into a sprint. He was fast, but I was determined. We darted around trees, dodged other hunters, and scrambled over flower beds. At one point, he tripped over his own feet, rolling dramatically onto the grass.

"Save yourself!" he called, reaching toward me like he was in some tragic movie scene.