Run: 2026-04-24-01KPZV7C7NTN7617V34THCS35F

Molly spread the blueprints across the folding card table, weighing down the corners with half-eaten juice boxes she'd swiped from a reconnaissance mission three days prior. The floor plan of the Pemberton residence sprawled before them in loving detail: the bouncy castle in the backyard, the piñata suspended from the old oak, and, most critically, the mountain of gift-wrapped boxes piled high on the sunroom table. Bill adjusted his clown wig and studied his reflection in the toaster. The red nose kept slipping. He looked, he thought, like a man who had made several questionable career decisions in rapid succession, which was accurate. "The magician arrives at two," Molly said, tapping the blueprint. Bill grunted, stuffing balloons into his oversized pockets. The plan was elegant in its stupidity. They would blend in with the entertainment, wait for cake time when every child's attention turned toward sugar, then load the presents into a trick suitcase and waddle out whistling. Nobody suspected clowns. Nobody ever suspected clowns, which Bill had always found suspicious in itself. Molly circled the sunroom in red marker. "Remember, no eating the cake." Bill's silence was extremely unconvincing.