Run: 2026-02-24-01KJ8X5V9G7Z3MQCTQTD3FJYY2

Molly spread the hand-drawn blueprints across the hood of their rusted getaway van, a 1997 Dodge Caravan they had named The Phantom for reasons that made considerably more sense after three glasses of wine. The blueprints, rendered in crayon because Bill had once again misplaced the good markers, depicted what appeared to be a moderately sized suburban home with a large backyard. Someone had drawn a small smiling sun in the upper corner. That had been Bill. "The target is the Henderson place on Maple Grove," Molly said, tapping the paper. "Little Tyler Henderson turns seven tomorrow. Intel says there are roughly forty wrapped presents stacked in the living room." Bill squinted at the blueprints. "Which room is the living room?" "The one I labeled living room." "I thought that was a swimming pool." Molly rubbed her temples with the focused patience of a woman who had spent seventeen years in the criminal underworld and somehow found this partnership to be her most challenging assignment yet. Bill was not a stupid man. He simply existed at a slight perpendicular angle to reality, like a picture frame that no amount of nudging could ever straighten. They had been casing the Henderson property for four days. Molly had disguised herself as a jogger, which naturally required her to actually jog, something she had not fully anticipated and was still recovering from emotionally. Bill had attempted a disguise as a meter reader but had forgotten that meter readers generally carry equipment of some variety and had spent nearly forty uncomfortable minutes standing near the curb holding a blank clipboard until a sympathetic neighbor brought him lemonade and asked if he needed to sit down. "The party starts at two," Molly continued, unrolling a second set of notes with a grape juice stain obscuring what she believed was the back entrance. "The adults will be distracted. There is a clown booked. People always watch the clown." "I don't watch the clown," Bill said. "Nobody is asking you to watch the clown." "I'm just saying, if the clown notices us—" "The clown will not notice us. We move with precision and silence and absolute professionalism." She paused carefully. "We will also be wearing the matching cat burglar outfits I ordered online." Bill reached into the back of the van and produced two black bodysuits, each one featuring small decorative cat ears sewn into the hood. He held his against himself and studied his reflection in the van's side mirror with an expression suggesting a complicated internal negotiation. "Mine has a tail," he said finally. "They both have tails." "Yours has glitter." "I may have upgraded mine slightly." Bill set his suit back in the bag and gazed out at the quiet suburban street stretching before them. Somewhere behind those tidy hedgerows, forty wrapped presents sat in complete and innocent ignorance of what was coming their way. He cracked his knuckles with considerable ceremony. "I still think we should've just stolen the birthday cake," he said.