Run: 2026-03-11-01KKFBS072DAT6RY77QBY5YMAW

Molly adjusted the rearview mirror, not to check for police but to examine a suspicious smudge on her black turtleneck. The van smelled faintly of powdered sugar and betrayal. Bill, ever the optimist, studied the blueprint of the Sunshine Meadows Community Center with a jeweler's loupe, though the schematics were a crayon drawing he'd convinced a bribed five-year-old to make. "The entry point is the bouncy castle vent," he whispered, tapping a wobbly pink crayon line. "Classic soft target." "And the exit strategy?" Molly asked, not looking up from her smudge. "We blend with the fleeing toddlers at the first sign of cake. Chaos is our cloaking device." She finally met his gaze in the mirror. "Our getaway vehicle is an ice cream truck, Bill. It plays 'Pop Goes the Weasel' at fifteen decibels." "Exactly! Auditory camouflage. They'll never suspect the jingle is carrying six hundred dollars' worth of Lego sets." He folded the blueprint with the reverence of a holy text. "The presents are in the 'Present Cave' behind the magician. We go in during the magic show's finale—when the rabbit comes out of the hat. Maximum distraction." "Maximum insanity," Molly corrected, but she was already pulling on her gloves. The van's engine coughed to life, somehow smelling even more of betrayal and cheap frosting.