Run: 2026-02-08-01KGYZJE463PS13HMJBC936SY9

Molly spread the hand-drawn map across the sticky diner table, knocking over a sugar dispenser in the process. The blueprint, scrawled in purple crayon she'd stolen from a dentist's office, depicted the Henderson backyard in extraordinary detail. She'd even drawn the inflatable bounce house with little squiggly lines to indicate its bounciness. Bill studied the map while chewing a french fry with the intensity of a man defusing a bomb. His black turtleneck, which he insisted on wearing to every planning session regardless of the ninety-degree heat, was already drenched in sweat. He traced his greasy finger along the perimeter fence. "We go in through the bounce house," he whispered. Molly shook her head violently enough to dislodge her sunglasses. She jabbed at the map where she'd drawn a menacing stick figure holding what appeared to be a spatula. "That's the dad. He's grilling right next to it." Bill leaned back and folded his arms, his turtleneck squeaking against the vinyl booth. He hadn't planned for a grilling father. Fathers who grilled were territorial, unpredictable creatures who never left their stations. The presents, piled somewhere near the picnic table, might as well have been locked in Fort Knox surrounded by a moat of charcoal smoke.