Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ02X1RV766PJ110Z00GNJZ9

Molly adjusted her night vision goggles in broad daylight, which was absurd because the Yates family residence blazed with three o'clock sunshine and the only thing her lenses illuminated was the bounce house throbbing like a radioactive marshmallow. She crouched behind a hydrangea offering roughly the same tactical coverage as a lettuce leaf, watching enemy combatants—ages four to six—patrol the lawn with chocolate-smeared faces and water pistols. A terrier with a party hat barked at a cluster of balloons, providing excellent audio cover. Bill lay belly-down beside her, sweating through his tactical turtleneck and the butterfly face paint he'd picked up during an ill-advised craft table reconnaissance. His knee kept knocking against the Radio Flyer they'd hotwired behind the recycling bins. "This is a disaster," Molly whispered, flattening her crayon map against the grass. Pin the Tail on the Donkey sat directly at their seven o'clock entry point, a paper burro smirking at their ambitions. Bill wiped his forehead, smearing glitter toward his ear. The purple sparkles clashed with his stubble and general air of regret. "I told you we should've rappelled from the oak tree," he said. "Your harness won't fit over the mascot costume." "I'm not wearing it." "You're absolutely wearing it. The invitation said surprise guest. That's your in." Bill's expression suggested that incarceration had been less humiliating. Bill stared at the fence, where a piñata dangled like a colorful hostage. "Why can't I scale the gutter?" "Because you're thirty-six and the gutter is plastic." Molly traced a route from the cake table to the present mountain, noting that Bill would create the diversion with juggling. Stealth was paramount. She had spent three days studying the floor plan, which was mostly open concept and frosting-based hazards. Bill said he couldn't juggle. Molly ignored this and studied her watch. "Two minutes until the clown starts balloon animals. You go in, do the dance—" "There's a dance?" "There's always a dance. Then signal me." He sat up, twigs cracking beneath him, and stared in horror at the wagon. He had robbed a brokerage firm once using nothing but a fax machine and bad intentions, yet this wounded his pride more deeply. "A wagon. We're stealing a Fisher-Price roller coaster and fourteen copies of Goodnight Moon using a Radio Flyer?" "It's got a duck on it." Bill sighed, pulling a felt dragon head from his duffel bag. It smelled like applesauce and defeat. A tag dangled from one horn that read property of enchanted learning center. "I can't believe I went to prison for this." "You went to prison for wire fraud." "And yet here I am." He stuffed his head inside the mascot. His voice came out muffled. "Molly? A kid saw us." Molly turned slowly. A small girl in a tiara stood three feet away, sucking a lollipop and studying the felony with mild curiosity. Her sneakers lit up every time she shifted her weight, turning the surveillance encounter into a disco. Molly smiled. Her fingers itched toward the wagon handle, calculating haul weight and escape velocity. "We're the entertainment, sweetie." The girl held out a juice box. "You look sad, dragon." Bill accepted it through the mouth hole. "Thanks, kid." "Move," Molly hissed, shoving him toward the fence. "And if anyone asks, you're from the Enchanted Pony franchise." "That's a unicorn." "Just hop the fence before the birthday song."