Run: 2026-06-01-01KT1HYYZEW5H14Y4BGQVH7YZQ

Molly crouched behind the hydrangeas, binoculars trained on the suburban fortress. Streamers sagged from the gutters like surrender flags, and a bouncy castle wobbled menacingly in the breeze. Somewhere inside, a clown was losing the will to live. Bill adjusted his fake mustache, which he insisted made him look "distinguished" rather than like a man wearing a dead caterpillar. He clutched the blueprints, which were actually a placemat from the pancake house, decorated with crayon mazes he'd already solved. "The presents pile is by the cake," he whispered. Molly nodded gravely. Intelligence suggested forty wrapped boxes, possibly containing electronics, possibly containing socks. The risk was enormous. Children were unpredictable, sticky, and traveled in packs. One wrong move and they'd be swarmed by sugar-fueled seven-year-olds demanding to know if they were the magician. She'd disguised herself as a face painter, armed with glitter and a deep reluctance. "What if they ask for a unicorn?" Bill asked. "Then I paint a unicorn." They synchronized their watches, which were also crayon drawings. The plan was elegant: enter during the piñata frenzy, when chaos peaked and adults wept quietly into juice boxes, then exit with their loot before anyone noticed the birthday boy crying.