Run: 2026-03-18-01KM0986EQFW9FA7QRYAW80P77

The rain drummed against the windshield of their stolen getaway car—a vehicle they'd "borrowed" during what the dentist would later call "a moment of weakness." Inside, the dome light flickered like a horror movie effect as Molly sorted sticky notes labeled *Decorations*, *Food*, and *Presents (Sadly Mostly Useless)*. Bill sketched floor plans with the intensity of a man mapping escape routes from his own wedding. "I still say we hit the clown hire place," she muttered, eating a gummy bear that tasted like regret and artificial flavors. Bill didn’t look up. "Molly, we are professionals. We do not steal balloons, noses, or cheap plastic jewelry that’ll break in a week." She scoffed. "Breaking into a kid’s third birthday where the theme is *Dinosaurs*? We are officially the b-team of villainy." Bill tapped his pen against his teeth. "No security systems, no pressure plates, just one distracted magician and a room filled with sugar. I timed it: piñata smash marks our perfect escape window." Molly groaned. "There’s a *clown*." "And?" "And clowns *remember faces*! That’s literally their brand!" He tossed the napkin onto the dashboard. "Then we’ll wear ski masks. Or full balaclavas. Or we pretend to be entertainers too." She tore his napkin in half. "Fine. But if I’m stuck refereeing a screaming match over who gets the blue dinosaur while you haul loot to the car, I’m blaming you when glitter permanently stains my favorite sweater." Bill grinned. "Deal. And I call dibs on the Paw Patrol figurine." Molly nailed him with a gummy bear. "You can have it. I heard somewhere that collectible figurines lose value if you play with them anyway."