Run: 2026-03-09-01KKABYJTWJ9SRDB8C9GDGDFBG

Molly crouched behind the inflatable castle, wearing a caterer’s apron over black burglary clothes. Bill knelt beside a hedge, clutching a clipboard and a balloon pump like they were professional equipment. “Remember,” Molly whispered, “we’re not robbing children. We’re redistributing unappreciated inventory.” Bill peered at the garden. “Inventory wrapped in dinosaurs and glitter. Morally, it’s very confusing.” “The key is confidence. We stroll in, smile at a grandmother, and locate the present table.” “I can smile,” Bill said. “At grandmothers, less so. They can smell panic and discount aftershave.” A shriek erupted from the trampoline. A clown on stilts wandered past the gate, smoking. Molly adjusted her apron. “The clown is our window. No one watches presents when a tall man makes balloon swords.” Bill frowned. “I hate this plan.” “You hate all plans.” “I liked the tunnel under the aquarium.” “That was because it involved a sandwich van.” “An essential component of strategy,” Bill muttered. “What if they ask whose child we belong to?” Molly grinned. “We say we’re with Kevin.” “There’s always a Kevin.” “Exactly.” They slipped through the gate, nodding like exhausted parents. The gift table gleamed beneath a banner reading HAPPY SEVENTH, OLIVER. Bill lifted a parcel. “Heavy. Educational, probably.” Molly filled the sack. “Move quickly. Nothing inspires pursuit like stolen Lego.”