Run: 2026-06-01-01KT1G7QFX735DXFENB5E3V09Y

Molly crouched behind the hedge, binoculars trained on the bouncy castle as it wobbled menacingly in the suburban breeze. Beside her, Bill unfolded a hand-drawn map of the backyard, complete with a skull-and-crossbones sticker marking the gift table. "Twelve presents, minimum," Molly whispered, counting through the lenses. Bill nodded gravely, smearing a smudge of birthday-cake-scented camouflage across his cheeks. The clown had arrived ten minutes ago, and chaos was their ally now—shrieking children orbited the piñata like tiny, sugar-fueled satellites, and not one adult had glanced toward the perimeter fence. They had rehearsed this for weeks in Bill's garage, practicing on his nephew's action figures until they could clear a table in under nine seconds. The plan was elegant: distraction, extraction, escape through the gap behind the garden gnomes. Molly tightened the straps on her oversized swag bag, which she'd cleverly disguised as a present, complete with a lopsided bow. A toddler in a dinosaur costume waddled directly into their line of sight, regarding them with unsettling suspicion. "Abort," Bill hissed. But Molly was already committed, crawling forward through the freshly mowed grass, dodging discarded juice boxes, her heart pounding with the reckless thrill of professional, absurdly committed criminals everywhere.