Run: 2026-03-18-01KM08SYSWCMGF6883MA99E1PF

Molly twirled a lockpick between her fingers as she crouched behind a dumpster, the stench of half-eaten cake and discarded balloons clinging to the air. Bill adjusted his clown wig for the tenth time, the frizzy red curls doing little to hide his scowl. "Alright, listen up," Molly said, her voice a whisper barely audible over the distant shriek of a toddler. "The cake’s already been cut, which means the parents are distracted. We’ve got twenty minutes tops before they remember to open presents." Bill groaned, shifting the oversized polka-dot bowtie around his neck. "Twenty minutes? With these shoes? I can’t run in these things. Last heist, I tripped over a balloon animal and face-planted into a pile of glitter." Molly shot him a look. "Please tell me you left the glitter out of this plan." "It’s part of the disguise!" Bill protested. "How else am I supposed to blend in at a children’s party?" "By not looking like you’re being held hostage by a rave and a balloon-fighting tournament?" Molly sighed. "Fine. You go in through the back door like we rehearsed. I’ll handle the presents from the inside. The clown costume’s a liability, Bill, not a tactical advantage." Bill clutched his chest in mock offense. "A liability? Molly, this costume is *art*. The parents won’t suspect a thing when I start juggling stolen toys. In fact, they’ll probably tip me." Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. "Just get in, grab the good stuff, and meet me at the van. And for the love of all things holy, don’t eat any of the cake." Bill adjusted his oversized gloves. "What if it’s my favorite flavor?" "It’s vanilla." "Exactly." Molly exhaled sharply, then nodded toward the house. "Go. Now." Bill waddled off, his giant shoes flapping with each step. Molly watched him go, then muttered under her breath, "I’m robbing a kindergarten party with a man who moves like a constipated penguin." A child’s laughter rang out from inside. Molly checked her watch, counting the seconds. Ten to go. She stepped out of the shadows, her own disguise—fluffy pink sweater and a too-wide grin—already making her blend in. As she crossed the lawn, a tiny hand yanked on her sleeve. "Are you the new helper?" a little girl asked, her pigtails bouncing. Molly hesitated. "Uh. Yes. The assistant clown." The girl beamed. "Cool! Can you blow up more balloons?" Molly past the sudden urge to toss the child over her shoulder like a sack of stolen loot. "Sure thing, kid. After I help with the presents." The girl skipped away, and Molly slipped inside, her fingers already itching for the first wrapped box. Somewhere in the house, Bill was probably demanding more cake. Molly just hoped he didn’t blow their whole operation over a dessert-based meltdown.