Run: 2026-07-01-01KWEA2NBD62MS1EHGC748A98K

The warehouse smelled of stale coffee and desperation, which suited Molly and Bill just fine since that described their careers accurately. Spread across the table between them was a hand-drawn map of the Hendricks residence, complete with a suspiciously detailed rendering of a bounce house. Bill traced a finger along the fence line. "Bounce house is our blind spot." Molly nodded, chewing the end of a pencil like it owed her money. She'd spent three days casing this job—a seven-year-old's birthday party with, according to her sources, an obscene pile of gifts stacked in the garage. Nintendo Switches. Drones. A hoverboard, for God's sake. Seven-year-olds didn't need hoverboards. Molly needed a hoverboard. "Clown's a problem," Bill added, sliding a photograph across the table. The clown in question had a face like a fist and forearms like a dockworker. "We wait till the piñata," Molly said. "Everyone's distracted. Kids swinging bats, parents filming, clown's corralling the mob. That's our window." Bill studied her, unconvinced. "You want to rob children." "I want to rob their parents," Molly corrected. "The children are collateral." Bill sighed, already reaching for his balaclava. Some jobs you didn't love. You just needed the money.