Run: 2026-03-11-01KKFH8T8465Y658NTQ8AV62TX

The park bench faced the town hall, where a banner reading “SOPHIA’S 5TH BIRTHDAY BASH!” fluttered like a taunt. Molly traced the perimeter of the building on a crumpled napkin with a stick of stolen ketchup from a nearby hot dog stand. “The air vents,” Molly said, not looking up. “They’re your way in. Standard industrial grating. You can unscrew it with that multi-tool I swiped from the hardware store.” Bill stared, chewing his lip. “The vents. Right. That’s… a lot of duct work. What if I get lost? I got lost in the IKEA last month.” “You won’t get lost if you follow my schematic.” She jabbed the ketchup stick at a crude drawing of a winding path. “It’s a straight shot past the main duct, then a right at the junction labeled ‘HVAC Unit 3B.’ Don’t go left. Left is the crawl space over the ladies’ restroom.” “Ugh. Not again.” “Focus, Bill. Our window is tight. The ‘Free Face Painting’ session starts at 3:00. That’s our diversion. The line will be out the door and around the bouncy castle. Attention will be on glitter and temporary tattoos.” “And what about the parents?” Bill whispered, eyeing a woman pushing a stroller nearby. “They’re always watching. They’ve got that… hyper-vigilant thing going on.” “That’s why you’re going in from above. They’re watching the clowns and the cake. Nobody looks up.” Molly finally looked at him, her eyes intense. “Once you’re in the ceiling grid above the main room, you find the access panel directly over the present table. I’ve got the intel from the invitation list—three remote control cars, a princess castle, two tablets, and a drum kit.” “A drum kit.” Bill shuddered. “That’s a high-noise item, Mol. Extraction’s gonna be tricky.” “We’re not extracting the drum kit.” Molly tucked the napkin away. “We leave the drum kit. We take the two tablets and the remote control cars. They’re small, quiet, and resell at a premium. The castle’s too bulky. We’re professionals, not moving men.” “And the diversion?” “I’m the diversion. I’m going to sign up for the face painting. I’ll ask for something incredibly detailed. A full-face peacock, maybe. That’ll take at least fifteen minutes. While I’m keeping our artist engaged, you drop down, scoop the target items into your bag, and go back up the way you came. Simple.” Bill nodded slowly. “Peacock. Got it. What if they don’t have peacock colors?” “They’ll have green and blue. Improvise. Act disappointed. Ask for a majestic phoenix. Whatever it takes to buy you time.” She stood up, brushing crumbs from her pants. “Now, we go over the timing one more time. At 2:55, you’ll be in position in the vents. At 3:00, I engage the face painter. You wait exactly two minutes for the line to solidify. Then you make your move. You have five minutes maximum from the moment you drop to the moment you’re back in the ceiling.” “Five minutes. To steal from five-year-olds.” Bill let out a long breath. “My life is a strange journey.” “Your life is about to be fifteen hundred dollars richer,” Molly corrected. “Now, let’s go over your exit route again. Remember: don’t go left.”