Run: 2026-02-24-01KJ8VHAQTSQD1Q8E0BMAKN5CW

Molly spread the crayon-drawn map across the hood of the rusty van and smoothed out its corners with both palms. The map had been sourced from the birthday party's own invitation, which she had intercepted from a neighbor's recycling bin. It featured a drawing of a smiling sun and the words "Timmy's BIG Day" written in purple glitter glue. "The presents will be in the living room," Molly said, tapping the map with one finger. "Parents always pile them by the couch." Bill squinted at the illustration. "Is that a unicorn or the floor plan?" "It's both. The unicorn marks the back entrance." "Why would a floor plan have a unicorn." "Because Timmy drew it, Bill." Bill pulled his black beanie down over his ears even though it was seventy degrees outside. He considered himself a professional, and professionals wore beanies. He studied the invitation more carefully, noting the start time of two o'clock and the promise of a bouncy castle. "There's going to be a bouncy castle," he said gravely. "I know." "Molly, bouncy castles make noise. The kids will be on the bouncy castle, which is outside, which means the presents will be unguarded inside." Molly pointed at him. "Now you're thinking." "I've always been thinking. You just never notice because you're always talking." She ignored this and pulled out a second document, which was a hand-drawn diagram of the neighborhood showing the van's parking position, the optimal extraction route, and a small doodle of a cupcake she had added absent-mindedly during the planning phase. "We park on Elm, go through the side gate, in through the back door, grab the presents, and we're gone in four minutes." "What if the back door is locked?" "It won't be locked. Parents never lock anything during a party. They're too busy stopping children from eating decorative candles." Bill considered this wisdom and found it sound. He had attended enough birthday parties in his youth to understand the particular chaos that descended upon households when twenty small people arrived simultaneously demanding cake and validation. "What about the clown?" he asked. Molly froze. "What clown?" "The invitation says there's a clown. Rascal the Amazing, apparently." "You never mentioned a clown." "You had the invitation." "I was focused on the unicorn." Bill leaned against the van and crossed his arms with the satisfaction of a man who had finally said something useful in a planning session. Clowns were wildcards. Clowns moved unpredictably between indoor and outdoor spaces. Clowns noticed things because their whole existence depended on reading a room. "We'll have to neutralize Rascal," Molly said quietly. "I am not neutralizing a clown, Molly." "I mean distract him." "How." Molly looked across at the balloon animals visible through the neighbor's fence and slowly smiled the smile of someone whose plan had just become considerably more complicated and therefore considerably more interesting. "Do you still know how to make a poodle?"