Run: 2026-06-01-01KT1H0FX3DTFDJ267YBSYZHQP

Molly spread the blueprint across the table, smoothing out a crumpled corner shaped suspiciously like a juice box stain. "The bounce house is our blind spot," she said. "Nobody watches the perimeter when there's a bounce house." Bill squinted at the diagram. "What's this circle here?" "That's the piñata. We avoid the piñata." "Why?" "Because, Bill, when that thing breaks, it's chaos. Children everywhere. Candy raining down. You do not want to be standing under a piñata when forty kids lose their minds." He nodded slowly, absorbing this wisdom. "And the presents?" "Stacked by the cake table. We grab the gift bags first—lightweight, high value. Then the big boxes." "What about the parents?" "Distracted," Molly said confidently. "There's always one dad filming everything and one mom crying about how fast they grow up. Neither of them sees a thing." Bill scratched his chin. "And the clown?" "What clown?" "There's always a clown." Molly froze. She hadn't considered the clown. The clown was a wildcard, an agent of unpredictable mayhem. "Okay," she admitted quietly. "The clown could be a problem." "Told you." "We bring balloons," she decided. "We blend in. We become the entertainment." Bill grinned. "I've always wanted to juggle."