Run: 2026-05-31-01KSYXBQMKNE0N8G9R4NQ00VR1

Molly crouched behind the shrubbery, binoculars trained on the suburban fortress decorated with balloons and a sagging banner that read HAPPY BIRTHDAY TIMMY. Bill wedged himself beside her, crushing a garden gnome with his considerable backside, and offered no apology to the ceramic casualty. The intelligence had been impeccable. Forty children, one distracted clown, and a mountain of gift-wrapped treasure piled beside a bouncy castle that wobbled like a drunken jellyfish. Years of planning bank vaults and museum galleries had led them, somehow, to this. "We strike at piñata," Molly whispered, eyes gleaming with criminal ambition. Bill nodded gravely, adjusting the foam party hat that constituted his entire disguise. He'd insisted it made him invisible. It did not. The plan was elegant in its simplicity. During the chaos of swinging bats and showering candy, they would slip past the parents, commandeer the wagon overflowing with presents, and vanish into the cul-de-sac before anyone noticed two grown adults fleeing with a child's loot. Molly synchronized their watches, which were actually just identical novelty wristbands she'd found at the dollar store. Professionalism, she believed, lived in the details. "Remember," she breathed, "no mercy." Bill, weeping slightly, pointed at the cake. He was hungry.