Run: 2026-02-24-01KJ8VAF0990GTTCYG0FQ4KAWN

Molly spread the hand-drawn map across the hood of their dented minivan, anchoring one corner with a juice box she'd swiped from a gas station. The blueprint—if you could call crayon on construction paper a blueprint—showed the layout of 47 Maple Drive, where little Timmy Henderson was about to celebrate his seventh birthday with approximately thirty sugar-fueled children and a bouncy castle. Bill squinted at the map, turning it sideways. "Why is there a dragon in the living room?" "That's the dog, Bill." She tapped a purple blob near what appeared to be the garage, explaining that the presents would be stacked there, near the piñata station. They would go in disguised as party entertainers, load the gifts into trash bags, and slip out during the inevitable cake chaos. Simple. Bill scratched his chin, considering the plan with the same intensity he typically reserved for choosing breakfast cereals. He'd already worn his lucky ski mask, which was unfortunate given that it was July and they were supposed to blend in with suburban parents. "What if the kids see us?" he whispered. Molly grinned and assured him that children were basically tiny, drunk adults who wouldn't remember a thing.