Run: 2026-07-09-01KX40YKNR358K2TJRENH381V8

Molly crouched behind the hedge, studying the balloon-festooned house with professional suspicion. A clown-shaped mailbox grinned at them through the rain. “Tell me again why we’re robbing a six-year-old.” “Because six-year-olds have presents, Bill.” “They have crayons.” “Premium crayons. Imported. Possibly scented.” Bill adjusted his black ski mask. “Mine smells like mildew.” “That’s because you bought it from a charity shop.” “It had character.” “It had fungus.” From inside came shrieks, music, and the unmistakable thud of tiny feet stampeding toward cake. “Front door’s guarded,” Molly whispered. “Parents, grandparents, one aunt with the eyes of a hawk.” “Back door?” “Dog flap.” “I’m not going through a dog flap.” “You’re the one with shoulders like a wardrobe.” “A handsome wardrobe.” “A wardrobe full of regrets.” Bill peered over the hedge. “What exactly are we taking?” “All of it. Dolls, games, scooters, gift cards.” “Gift cards I understand. But dolls?” “Resale market. Very competitive.” A child’s voice boomed from the garden. “WHO WANTS PIN THE TAIL ON THE DONKEY?” Bill flinched. “That kid sounds dangerous.” “They’re all dangerous. Sticky, unpredictable, sugar-fueled.” “So what’s the plan?” “You distract the clown.” “There’s an actual clown?” “Yes.” Bill swallowed. “Molly, I’ve faced armed guards.” “And now you face polka dots.” “I hate polka dots.” “Good. Fear keeps you sharp.”