Run: 2026-04-24-01KPZV6VM446Z7VFRH3BX0YVXD

Molly spread the blueprints across the sticky diner table, smoothing them with the side of her hand. The paper was covered in juice box rings and a suspicious smear of what appeared to be frosting, which was either reconnaissance or a terrible omen. Bill, hunched over his coffee like a gargoyle nursing a grudge, studied the layout of the Pemberton residence with the grim intensity of a man who had been outsmarted by a bounce house once and never recovered. The party, according to their intel, would feature seventeen six-year-olds, a magician of questionable licensing, and approximately forty-two wrapped presents stacked in the sunroom like a glittering Everest of capitalism. Molly had already mapped three exits, two blind spots, and the precise location of the piñata, which she'd flagged as a potential weapon. Bill had dressed for the occasion in a clown costume he'd bought online, though the ruffled collar was, in his professional opinion, an affront to dignity. "I hate children," Bill muttered. "Focus," Molly said. He pointed to the cake. She nodded. They had forty minutes until showtime, a duffel bag full of balloons, and absolutely no moral compass between them.