Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ0GB0755M806QH2ZV3CAXTW

Molly unrolled the blueprints across the sticky diner table, weighting the corners with ketchup bottles and a half-eaten plate of hash browns. The floor plan of the Tumblebee Play Palace sprawled before them, annotated in purple crayon because she'd run out of pens and refused to buy more on principle. Bill squinted at the ball pit, which she had circled ominously and labeled "DANGER ZONE." He leaned back, chewing a toothpick with the solemnity of a man contemplating war. Six-year-old Timothy Pemberton's birthday extravaganza was, by all reliable intelligence, going to be the loot score of the decade. Forty-two children. Forty-two sets of grandparents competing for favorite-grandparent status. Rumor had it the kid was getting a gold-plated scooter, though Molly suspected that was a plant. "Clowns," Bill muttered, tapping the east entrance. Molly nodded gravely. Clowns complicated everything. She'd already secured the disguises: two enormous bumblebee costumes rented under a fake name from a theatrical supply shop run by a nearsighted Lithuanian. The plan was elegant in its stupidity. They would waddle in, mingle near the piñata, and exfiltrate through the emergency exit beside the bouncy castle, dragging duffel bags stuffed with other people's joy.