Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ05VP9D47DK3K6VVXDD3QCG

Bill tightened his balaclava in the rearview mirror three blocks too early, his breath fogging the glass. He did this before every job, as if the suburban cul-de-sac required the same tactical mindset as a bank vault in Zurich. Beside him, Molly studied the blueprint—a crayon drawing of a house shaped like a potato, taped to a juice box. They had lifted it from the target's refrigerator during reconnaissance the previous Tuesday, right after Bill had eaten half a string cheese and left a trail of cracker crumbs that Molly insisted would compromise the operation. "We go in fast," Bill said. "I want that scooter and the Nerf guns." Molly didn't look up. "It's a child's party. Parents. Cake. A clown." "I've prepared." Bill patted his satchel, which contained three water balloons and a whoopee cushion he had deemed essential tactical gear. "Distraction is crucial. Once the adults herd toddlers toward the entertainment, we hit the gifts." They sat in a van decaled with Franklin's Pet Grooming, a front Molly found absurd given Bill's crippling allergies to anything with fur. Through the windshield, a bounce castle wobbled in the breeze like a drunk marshmallow. A woman in yoga pants carried a piñata shaped like a dinosaur toward the garage. Molly traced the crayon lines with her finger. "The invite said presents go straight to the designated table. Apparently, Tyler's mom runs a tight ship." Bill's eyes gleamed with the same intensity he'd once used while stealing the Mona Lisa's security schedule. "Systems are made to be breached. Two minutes through the back gate. I disabled the safety latch with a juice box straw. Then we blend." "Blend how?" He produced two hats from beneath his seat. One read Party Captain. The other read Balloon Artisan. They shimmered with assaultive levels of glitter. Molly felt her soul leave her body. "We're thirty-four." "And about to abscond with forty grand in plastic treasure," Bill shot back. "The Lego alone will fence for—" "Lego doesn't fence," Molly interrupted. "Market crashed after the Denmark job." Bill looked genuinely wounded. "Fine. Gift cards, cash envelopes, electronics in my pack. Perishables in yours." "Perishables?" "The cake, Molly. Four tiers of fondant. Client in Reno is very interested." Molly watched a child in a superhero cape crash into a rosebush and immediately get up screaming with joy. She wondered when her life had taken this turn. Last year she had been in Macau lifting diamonds. Now she was casing a bouncy house because Bill had already spent his advance on tactical earmuffs shaped like puppy ears. "Three minutes," Bill said, checking a watch that chirped the opening notes of Baby Shark. "If anyone asks, we're the advanced party team." "Advanced party team." "Trust the plan." He adjusted his Balloon Artisan hat. Molly grabbed the gift bag they had pre-packed with coal, which felt on-brand. She checked her pockets for the juice box straw. It was, she had to admit, a pretty good latch pick.