Run: 2026-02-24-01KJ8VAKQTPKZ9B3YH4TG84QH6

Molly spread the hand-drawn map across the hood of their rusting van, her finger tracing the perimeter of the Hendersons' backyard with the kind of focused intensity usually reserved for cracking Swiss bank vaults. The birthday party was already in full swing. Distant squeals of sugar-fueled children pierced the afternoon air like tiny, enthusiastic sirens. Bill adjusted his fake mustache in the side mirror for the third time in as many minutes. It kept sliding toward his upper lip at a tragic diagonal. He was dressed as a clown, which had been entirely Molly's idea, and he had not even slightly forgiven her for it. "Remember," Molly whispered, "we go in through the bouncy castle and act completely natural." Bill stared at her. "I hate absolutely everything about this plan." The cake was enormous. Molly had confirmed this during reconnaissance. Seven layers. Fondant dinosaurs. The presents were stacked table-high beside it, wrapped in an obscene quantity of glittery paper that practically screamed steal me to any self-respecting criminal in the greater metropolitan area. Molly reached up and straightened Bill's mustache with maternal firmness, picked up her clipboard, and strode toward the garden gate like she absolutely and completely belonged there.