Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ02MWA1ZBNJEGN73EA9Z939

Molly tapped the rolled-up blueprint against the steering wheel, squinting at the fortress across the street. The inflatable fortress, to be exact. A sixteen-foot bouncy castle dominated the backyard of 42 Maple Drive, its primary colors clashing violently with the suburban gloom. Inside that house, a horde of seven-year-olds was currently hopped up on sugar, completely unaware that their haul of pristine, unopened birthday presents was about to walk out the door. High-value targets, zero security, and an endless supply of easy distractions. "I don't like it," Bill grumbled, adjusting his fake mustache. "Clowns give me the hives. They always look so sad, and their shoes are a trip hazard." Molly rolled her eyes so hard she could practically see her own brain. Bill was a notorious worrier, the kind of guy who checked the expiration date on a safe before cracking it. He was currently dressed in an oversized dinosaur onesie, which was supposed to be their camouflage. No child would question a dinosaur at a party, and no adult would want to tackle one. "There are no clowns," Molly replied, checking her watch. "It's a magician and a petting zoo. Now focus on the mission." "What kind of pets?" Bill asked, nervously smoothing the dinosaur tail attached to his backside. "If it's goats, I'm out." "The kind you don't pet," Molly snapped. "We go in through the side gate. You distract the dog with the jerky. I bypass the bouncy castle and enter through the kitchen." Molly unrolled the blueprint, which was actually a crayon drawing she’d bribed the caterer to sketch. The living room was the vault. The presents were piled beside the fireplace. The access point was the side gate, guarded only by a fragile latch and a very old golden retriever. The plan was solid, assuming Bill didn't get sidetracked. He had a well-documented weakness for inflatable jumping, and the last time they’d hit a suburban target, he’d spent twenty minutes bouncing before nearly getting arrested by a neighborhood watch commander. "What if the dog isn't hungry?" Bill asked, pulling a handful of tough, dried meat from his pocket. "What if he's on a diet?" "It's a lab, Bill. They eat couch cushions. He will eat the jerky." Bill nodded, his dinosaur hood flopping. Across the street, the party noise crescendoed as a chorus of tiny voices screamed in delight. The magician must have pulled a rabbit out of a hat. It was now or never. Molly grabbed her duffel bag and pulled her own party hat down tight over her forehead. "And remember," she added, pointing a stern finger at him. "No bouncing. We grab the loot and rendezvous back at the van." "What about the cake?" Bill asked. "Leave the cake," Molly ordered, opening the van door. "But it's red velvet, Molly. You know I can't resist red velvet. Just one slice?" "I will leave you behind, Bill. I swear it on the velvet cake."