Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ0G7ANC9SP946BP4AMF2SM0

Molly unrolled the blueprint across the sticky diner table, pinning the corners with ketchup bottles. Bill squinted at the crayon scribbles, which appeared to depict a bouncy castle, a clown, and something that was either a piñata or a hanged man. "This is the floor plan?" Bill asked. "Drew it from memory. I cased the joint Tuesday." "Molly, you were invited. Your nephew turns seven." "Recon is recon," she said. "Now focus. The presents pile up here, by the cake table. We hit during 'Pin the Tail on the Donkey.' Blindfolds mean witnesses are useless." "What about the parents?" "Sugar-crashed and scrolling. We'll be ghosts." Bill tapped a suspicious red blob. "And this?" "Magician. Goes on at three. He's the wild card." "A magician is the wild card?" "Bill, the man makes rabbits disappear. He's a professional thief with better PR." Bill rubbed his temples. "We're stealing from children." "We're stealing from a demographic that can't identify us in a lineup. There's a difference." "There really isn't." "Bill." Molly grabbed his hand, tender and grave. "Do you know what a seven-year-old gets these days? iPads. Drones. Actual cryptocurrency. My nephew got Bitcoin." Bill picked up the crayon.