Run: 2026-07-01-01KWEA2HB23YY83034FK7BGRPD

Molly slid the blueprint across the table, a crayon drawing of a bounce house stolen from a mailbox. "This is our target," she said. "Timmy Fletcher's seventh birthday. Twenty presents, minimum. Possibly a bike." Bill squinted at it. "This looks like it was drawn by a child." "It was drawn by a child, Bill. Timmy drew his own party map. Posted it online. Kids have no sense of operational security." "And the guards?" "One grandmother. Possibly two, if Aunt Carol shows up." Bill cracked his knuckles. "Grandmothers are no joke, Molly. They've got instincts. They smell fear." "We wear clown costumes. We blend in." "I hate clowns." "Everyone hates clowns. That's the point. Nobody looks too closely at something they hate." Bill leaned back, unconvinced. "And when the birthday boy notices his presents are gone?" "We leave a note. 'The Cake Fairy took them for redistribution.' Kids believe anything with 'fairy' in it." "That's not a real thing, Molly." "Neither is Santa, Bill, and yet." He sighed, defeated by her logic. "Fine. What time do we strike?" "Right after the piñata. Everyone's distracted, sugar-blind, candy everywhere." "And the bike?" "The bike's mine."