Run: 2026-03-18-01KM0A9D8PEJNRCAG4NZYGJ49E

The alley behind the community center smelled like spilled punch and regret. Molly crouched behind a dumpster, her fingers tapping impatiently against the brick wall while Bill unfolded a floor plan with the concentration of someone defusing a bomb. The window of the supply closet was propped open just enough—if they wriggled just right, they could slither in without disturbing the plastic tablecloths still wrapped in their shipping plastic. “You *sure* the presents are in there?” Bill muttered, squinting at the paper as if it had personally offended him. The words “Birthday Magic” were scrawled in glitter across the top, which made Molly’s eye twitch. “Positive,” she whispered back, though neither of them were whispering anything particularly quietly. “Karen from the office told me in *code*. She said, and I quote, ‘The good stuff’s under the clown.’” Bill groaned. “There’s a *clown* in there?” “Not *a* clown. *The* clown. The one with the malfunctioning hose.” They both stared at the green door marked “Decorations—Do Not Enter,” where a distorted Barney face grinned from a peeling sticker. Bill sighed, stuffed the plan into his pocket, and pulled out a pair of bolt cutters. “Fine. But if we get caught, I’m blaming the clown.”