Run: 2026-07-01-01KWE9QCGNWR07NZD0QN5T63DN

The warehouse smelled like motor oil and stale pizza, which Bill said was "atmospheric" and Molly said was "just gross." Between them, spread across a card table like the blueprints to Fort Knox, lay a crumpled piece of paper with a crayon drawing of a birthday cake. "This is our target," Bill said, tapping the drawing with the seriousness of a general. "Timmy Fitzgerald's seventh birthday party. Twenty-three presents. Confirmed." Molly squinted at the paper. "Bill, this is a child's drawing." "Reconnaissance comes in many forms, Molly." "You bribed a six-year-old with a juice box for this, didn't you." "Capri Sun. And he threw in intel on the security situation for free." Molly rubbed her temples. "There is no security situation. It's a birthday party. The security is a bouncy castle and possibly a clown." "Never underestimate a clown, Molly. Clowns see everything. It's the makeup. Distracts you from their watchful eyes." "You've been burned by a clown before, haven't you." "That's not relevant to the mission." Molly sighed and pulled up a chair, sitting backward on it like she'd seen in movies, which made Bill roll his eyes because she did this every single time and it wasn't nearly as cool as she thought. "Fine," she said. "Walk me through the plan." Bill straightened, clearly thrilled someone finally asked. "We go in disguised as entertainment. I've got a magician costume." "You don't know any magic tricks." "I know one." "Pulling a quarter from behind a kid's ear doesn't count as magic if you're also stealing his birthday presents at the same time, Bill." "It's called misdirection. It's a classic technique." "It's called theft with extra steps." Bill ignored this and unrolled a second piece of paper, this one an actual blueprint, thank God. "Presents are stacked here, by the gift table. We've got a window between cake-cutting and the piñata. Maybe four minutes." "Four minutes to grab twenty-three presents." "I never said it'd be elegant." "You never say anything's elegant. Last week you called eating a burrito over a trash can 'fine dining.'" "It was efficient." "It was sad, Bill." He cleared his throat, deciding not to engage with that. "The getaway vehicle is the ice cream truck." Molly blinked. "We don't have an ice cream truck." "I'm working on it." "Bill." "I said I'm working on it!" "You can't steal an ice cream truck to steal a bunch of Beyblades and Barbie dolls from seven-year-olds." "When you put it like that it sounds bad." "It is bad! It's the whole plan!" Bill considered this, chewing his lip. "Okay, new idea. What if the presents steal themselves?" Molly stared at him. "That's not a plan, that's a wish." "It's a wish-based plan." "There's no such thing." "There is now." He grinned, entirely too pleased with himself, and Molly buried her face in her hands, already regretting every decision that had led her to this warehouse, this table, and this man. "We're really doing this, aren't we." "Cake's at three," Bill said. "Wear something that doesn't scream 'kidnapper.'" "I hate you." "You brought snacks though, right?"