Run: 2026-03-11-01KKFMFTC4E9FY8YZYQAQW81X7

The basement smelled like stale pizza and broken dreams. Molly spread the blueprints across the folding table—or rather, the coloring book pages she'd stolen from a dumpster behind daycare. Bill squinted at them like they contained state secrets. "The piñata is the diversion," Molly said, tapping a crayon-drawn stick figure. "You hit it, kids scatter, we grab the bags." "What if I cry?" Bill asked. "That's not part of the plan." "No, I mean, what if seeing all those happy kids opening toys makes me cry? Like, emotionally?" "Bill, we're professionals." "We're stealing from children, Molly." "We're stealing from *parents who spent good money on those presents*," she corrected, pulling out a second blueprint that was clearly a placemat from Denny's. "Now, the cake is at three o'clock. The clown performs at three-fifteen. We enter through the garage at three-oh-seven." "How do you know the clown schedule?" "I dated a clown once. Terrible breakup. He honked during arguments." Bill nodded solemnly. "Honest question. What's the resale value on a LOL Surprise Dreamhouse?" "Forty bucks, tops." "That's felony-worthy?" "Rent is due Friday, Bill." He sighed and picked up his tiny ski mask. "Kids' medium?" "Kids' medium." "We have careers we're ashamed of." "Every great thief does," Molly said, pulling her own mask over her face. "Now stop complaining and start folding those coloring pages into ninja stars."