Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ0336GK996Y841SS4PBN53V

Molly traced the elaborate icing swirls on the bakery box with a gloved finger. "A pink castle cake. Of course it is." Bill peered through the slats of the Venetian blinds at the house next door. "The back door is unlocked. It’s a children’s party, Molly. They’re operating on a ‘please, God, don’t let them touch the thermostat’ level of security." "And the presents?" Molly asked, her voice sharp. "Piled in a corner of the dining room. Like a glittery, poorly guarded treasure fort." "They’ll have a lookout," Molly said, though she didn’t sound convinced. "Probably a seven-year-old named Kevin with a sticky hand and a disproportionate sense of responsibility." Bill snorted. "Kevin won’t see us. He’ll be too busy trying to figure out if the dip in the veggie platter is actually guacamole or just avocado-colored sadness. Our real problem is the birthday boy." "Duke?" Molly scoffed. "He’s four. He’s a menace with a juice box, not a security system." "He has a balloon sword," Bill countered, straightening up. "And don’t underestimate the rage of a child whose party you’ve just crashed. They’re tiny, screaming agents of chaos. I’ve seen it. They can take a grown man at the knees." Molly zipped open her tool kit with a satisfying *shhhhk*. "Then we hit the presents fast. I’ll create a diversion." Bill raised an eyebrow. "What, are you going to do a magic trick? Pull a rabbit out of a hat?" "I’m going to tell them the ice cream truck is free, but only for the next five minutes and outside only," she said, selecting a slim jim from the tray. "It’s the oldest trick in the book. Parents will panic, children will stampede towards the street, and we slip in, grab the loot, and are gone before anyone realizes the ice cream truck didn’t even play music." Bill considered this, a slow grin spreading across his face. "You’re a monster. I love it. Alright, let’s do it. But if I get taken down by a four-year-old with a sword, I’m haunting you. Specifically, I’m going to knock over your salt shaker every time you try to season fries." "Deal," Molly said, already edging towards the back door. "Now, be quiet. The real challenge isn’t the kid, it’s his mother. She has eyes in the back of her head and is currently refilling a sippy cup. That woman is the true vault."