Run: 2026-03-09-01KK9QBJZT5111SYCS4N0A2J49

Molly studied the bungalow through hedge gaps, where balloons bobbed like nervous sentries and a magician unloaded rabbits with union-level resentment. Bill crouched beside her, wearing a caterer’s hat so tall it made stealth theoretical. From the garden came shrieks of sugar-powered delight, the unmistakable soundtrack of loot. A pirate piñata swung over a trestle table groaning beneath wrapped presents in glossy towers. Every gift tag fluttered like a surrender flag. Molly clicked her notebook, sketched routes between cupcakes and parents, and sighed the sigh of facing glitter. Bill adjusted his moustache, sliding south with sweat. “Children guard treasure badly,” Molly whispered. “We’re not robbing children; we’re liberating surprises from poor circulation,” Bill said. “Same sin, better slogan. What’s the entry?” “Cake delivery. Everyone trusts a man carrying sponge.” “And the exit?” “Pram brigade at three o’clock. Follow the grandparents; they’re invisible.” “What about the dog?” “I’ve got sausages.” “What about the clown?” “I’ve got standards.” “We take the presents, leave the pony, and never mention glitter again.” “Deal. If caught, we cry and say we’re method actors researching disappointment.” “Fine, but if there’s a bouncy castle, I’m calling it reconnaissance and taking one dignified bounce.”