Run: 2026-02-24-01KJ8X06QE2HXH5WVH95R0Q7FZ

Molly unrolled the hand-drawn blueprint across the park bench, her coffee-stained fingers tracing the perimeter of what was, by any reasonable assessment, the most heavily fortified sixth birthday party in suburban history. Seven bouncy castles. Three face painters. One alarmingly alert grandmother stationed near the gift table like a retired intelligence operative with excellent peripheral vision. Bill pulled his too-small baseball cap lower and studied the diagram with the expression of a man facing his greatest professional challenge. "The clown is the variable," he said gravely. "I have never once trusted a clown in my career." Molly nodded. She had anticipated the clown. She had not, however, anticipated the eleven children currently practicing karate kicks in the driveway, which she circled on the blueprint with a small alarmed mark. The target was a towering pile of presents near the back fence, wrapped in aggressively bright paper and topped with enormous curling bows. Conservative estimates placed the haul at around forty gifts. "We move at cake time," Molly said. The logic was airtight. Sugar-deranged children would generate perfect chaos. Bill straightened his sliding fake mustache and attempted to look like a professional criminal rather than a hopeful amateur on a bench.