Run: 2026-02-18-01KHQ93XDH0VSQ7T4H5MZ9N5YR

The van smelled like old cheese and broken dreams. Molly spread the hand-drawn map across the dashboard while Bill ate a bag of crisps with the enthusiasm of a man who had nothing to feel guilty about. "Right," Molly said, tapping the paper. "The party starts at two. We go in at three, when they're all sugared up and distracted." Bill crunched loudly. "What's the theme again?" "Dinosaurs." "I love dinosaurs." "Bill." "Just saying." Molly pressed her finger to a squiggly rectangle on the map. "The presents will be here. On the gift table. Adjacent to the bouncy castle." "How big's the bouncy castle?" "Why does that matter?" Bill shrugged with the energy of a man who asks questions for sport. "Tactical awareness, Molly. What if we need a quick escape route and the bouncy castle is blocking the exit?" "We walk around it." "Or," Bill raised a finger, "we go through it." Molly stared at him for a long moment. "We are not bouncing our way out of a heist." "Fastest route between two points." "That's not even remotely what that means." Bill finished his crisps and scrunched the bag noisily. "What are we wearing? Please don't say clown costumes again. My therapist and I are still unpacking the last time." "Party guests. Civilian clothes. Normal faces." "I only have the one face." "Then try to make it look like it belongs at a children's party and not in a police lineup." Bill touched his cheek, mildly offended. "Children love my face. I have a friendly face." "You have the face of someone who definitely took the last biscuit and blamed the dog." "That was one time." He paused. "And the dog looked guilty." Molly rolled up the map and pointed it at him. "Here's the plan. We arrive separately. You bring a gift so you blend in." "What kind of gift?" "Cheap. Wrapped." "Can it be dinosaur-themed?" "Bill, I will leave you in this van." "Fine. Boring gift. Got it." He looked out the window at the terraced house with the cluster of balloons tied to the gate. "Who are all these presents even from?" "Grandparents, aunties, school friends. The usual suspects." "Feels like a lot of effort for a six-year-old who won't remember any of it." Molly looked at him. "Are you having a moral crisis right now? Because your timing is genuinely spectacular." "Not a crisis. More of a philosophical wobble." "Wobble on your own time. We've got a window of eight minutes once the cake comes out. They sing, we lift, we leave." Bill nodded slowly. "What if the kid cries?" "Kids always cry at parties. That's basically the whole point of parties." "Fair." He straightened up and cracked his knuckles. "Okay. I'm focused. I'm professional. I'm ready." Molly opened the van door. "Try not to go on the bouncy castle." "Absolutely no promises."