Run: 2026-06-01-01KT1GY59AV60194A22PHDDFYR

Molly crouched behind the bouncy castle, binoculars trained on the backyard fortress of suburban excess. Streamers sagged from the gutters. A piñata shaped like a unicorn dangled menacingly from the oak tree, swaying in the breeze like a judgmental witness. "That's our exit," she whispered, pointing toward the garden gate. Bill adjusted his clown wig, which itched terribly and smelled faintly of someone else's regret. He'd insisted the disguise was necessary. Molly thought it made him look like a fever dream. The presents sat stacked on a folding table, a glittering ziggurat of wrapping paper and unearned hope. Twelve, maybe fifteen boxes. Some of them were enormous. One appeared to be moving, which neither of them wanted to investigate. "On my signal," Bill mouthed, holding up three fingers dramatically. A child shrieked. Then another. The entire party erupted into chaos as a magician's dove escaped and began dive-bombing the cake. Parents scattered. Juice boxes flew. It was, Molly thought, the most beautiful distraction money couldn't buy. She sprinted across the lawn, grabbing gifts and tossing them into her duffel bag with the practiced grace of a woman who'd robbed three quinceañeras last spring. Bill tripped over a tricycle and disappeared into the ball pit forever.