Run: 2026-07-01-01KWE8ZHZAHJJD7RZPTJKHY9PS

The warehouse smelled of stale popcorn and desperation, which suited Molly and Bill just fine. Spread across the table between them was a hand-drawn map of the Hendricks estate, complete with little cartoon balloons marking the backyard where seventeen unopened birthday presents sat waiting like lambs to slaughter. Bill traced a finger along the fence line, muttering calculations under his breath. Molly leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, studying the bounce house sketched crudely in the corner of the map. "Bounce house is the weak point," she said. "Kids'll be distracted in there for twenty minutes, easy." Bill nodded slowly, still frowning at the details. He'd been in this business fifteen years and something about robbing seven-year-olds still nagged at him, though never enough to actually stop. "Clown's the real problem," he said finally. "Professional ones notice things." "So we become the entertainment." He looked up sharply. "You're not serious." "Dead serious. Face paint, red noses, the whole bit. Nobody questions a clown carrying a suspiciously heavy sack." Bill considered this, then allowed himself a small grin—the same grin he got before every job, equal parts thrill and dread. Molly was already sketching balloon animals shaped suspiciously like blueprints, humming some birthday tune under her breath, already three steps ahead as always. The presents never stood a chance.