Run: 2026-02-24-01KJ8VCE8G4B36N5EJKDA81GBV

Molly spread the hand-drawn map across the hood of their rusty van. It was covered in crayon, because she had stolen it from a kindergartner. "The party starts at two," she said, tapping a wobbly rectangle labeled BOUNCY HOUSE. "That gives us a narrow window while the kids are distracted by the clown." Bill squinted at the map and turned it upside down. "I hate clowns." "Everyone hates clowns, Bill. That's why he's perfect cover." He scratched his chin nervously. The last job had gone sideways when Bill developed a sudden moral crisis inside a Chuck E. Cheese. Molly was not about to let that happen again. "What about the parents?" he asked. "There's always some dad hovering by the gift table like a security guard." "Wine," Molly said confidently. "Susan's mother puts out sangria at every party. By two-fifteen, every adult in that backyard will be arguing about school rezoning. Nobody will notice us." Bill pulled on his black ski mask, then immediately removed it. "It's eighty degrees outside. I'll pass out." "Fine. Wear the birthday hat I packed instead. We blend in." "We're thirty-seven years old, Molly." "Thirty-seven-year-olds love birthdays, Bill. Stop overthinking this."