Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ08D91075RQDWAQB7YZ0NRR

Molly adjusted her night-vision goggles and frowned at the suburban bungalow glowing with fairy lights. The bounce house cast long shadows across the lawn, wobbling in the afternoon heat like a poorly defended castle. The smell of discount charcoal drifted through the open window. A clown honked a bicycle horn three blocks away, each squeak a warning to anyone with sense to stay indoors. "You’re telling me the big score is a first-grader’s birthday party?" she asked. Bill unfolded a hand-drawn map on the dashboard, smoothing out a Capri Sun stain with his pinky. "It’s not a party. It’s a goldmine. Twenty-seven presents stacked by the slip-n-slide like Fort Knox forgot its fence." He tapped the map. "We go in during the piñata. Distraction by crying." "Crying?" "Piñatas create chaos. Basic party physics." Bill wrestled a black turtleneck over his head, the neck hole catching on his chin and folding his left ear forward like a snapped wallet. "Seven toddlers with allergies. One uncle who thinks he’s a magician. Brenda runs a tight ship, but she’s got a blind spot by the gift table. It’s the sunglasses." Molly stared at him. "You did recon at a Chuck E. Cheese." "I did recon at a Chuck E. Cheese," Bill confirmed proudly. "The cake is dinosaur-shaped. Twenty minutes of photo ops while the candles melt. We’ll have a window." "We’re stealing from children, Bill." "We’re liberating unappreciated assets. Do you know what a six-year-old does with a Lego set? Eats one brick and ignores the rest." He clipped a walkie-talkie to his belt. The antenna snapped off in his grip, and he pocketed it with the smooth confidence of a man who had never once finished a user manual. "Phase one: I enter disguised as the pizza guy. You rappel from the oak tree onto the garage roof—" "There are no oak trees. It’s a flat ranch house." "Step over the garden hose. I’ll announce a bee near the ice cream." Molly pinched the bridge of her nose beneath her ski mask. "A bee." "Bees are terrifying. We load the sacks." He held up two pillowcases with felt pirate patches glued to them. "Loot bags." "Those are the party favors." "Hide in plain sight." Bill checked his watch. "Piñata’s at four. We move in ten." Molly sighed and pulled her mask down. The elastic band caught on her ponytail, yanking at her scalp with small but personal violence. "If we get arrested, I’m telling the cops this was your idea." "Tell them whatever you want. Just grab the shiny presents first. That’s where the good stuff hides." Bill opened the car door, squaring his shoulders like a man about to storm a vault instead of a backyard with a sandbox. "Stay low, stay greedy, and avoid the carrot sticks. They’ll be watching the veggie tray." "Yes," Molly muttered, sliding her tactical gloves on. "Because that’s the crime they’ll focus on." Bill grinned, his eyes bright with reckless optimism. He drew a plastic sword from the glove compartment and saluted the bounce house. "Everybody’s got priorities."