Run: 2026-03-06-01KK1HYFSCRSH6RV50M95HK2B2

Molly crouched behind the bouncy castle van, studying the suburban garden as balloons bobbed like cheerful sentries over the fence. Bill knelt beside her, wearing a caterer’s apron that still said KISS THE COOK in violent pink. “Tell me again,” Bill whispered, “why we’re robbing a six-year-old?” “We’re not robbing a six-year-old,” Molly said. “We’re liberating consumer goods from a chaotic gift pile.” “That sounds worse in a nicer accent.” “Focus. Three o’clock, the magician distracts the adults. Three-oh-two, you waddle in with the cupcake tray.” “I do not waddle.” “You absolutely waddle under pressure.” From the garden came a shriek of delighted children and the wet thump of a collapsed inflatable dinosaur. Bill peeked over the fence. “There are at least twelve of them. Sticky, unpredictable, sugar-powered. I’d rather burgle a bank.” “Banks have cameras. Children have face paint.” “And parents.” “Parents are useless near hired entertainment. It’s scientific.” Bill adjusted his paper hat. “What if they ask which child we belong to?” “Say ‘Olivia.’ There’s always an Olivia.” “And if there isn’t?” Molly grinned, producing a roll of gift tags. “Then in five minutes there will be.” Bill stared. “You scare me.” “Good,” she said, rising as applause erupted. “Now smile like you brought joy, not felony.”