Run: 2026-06-01-01KT1H3DTVX4ZY1KQQXMYR8YAH

Molly crouched behind the hydrangea bush, her binoculars trained on the bouncy castle pulsing with the laughter of seven-year-olds. Bill wedged himself beside her, his camouflage face paint smeared with what he insisted was tactical mud but was clearly chocolate frosting from their reconnaissance snacking. The present pile glittered near the gazebo, a mountain of wrapped treasure guarded by nothing more menacing than a clown twisting balloon animals into vaguely threatening shapes. "That clown's a professional," Bill whispered. Molly rolled her eyes and consulted her clipboard, which contained a meticulously hand-drawn map of the backyard, complete with crayon arrows and a coffee stain she'd labeled "moat." Their plan was elegant in its stupidity: Bill would create a diversion by pretending to be a magician, while Molly executed a smooth grab-and-dash through the rose trellis. They had rehearsed for weeks in her living room, practicing somersaults that left them both bruised and questioning their life choices. A child shrieked with delight as the piñata burst, raining candy across the lawn. Bill flinched, clutching his grappling hook, which was actually a curtain rod with a fishing weight duct-taped to one end. "We're going to prison," he murmured. Molly grinned. "Worth it."