Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCQZR2WGCAVQGKN77Z76ESY

Molly spread the plan across the van's hood, smoothing it with the reverence of a surgeon, though it was drawn in crayon because Bill had lost the pens again. The Hendersons' back garden, rendered in waxy orange. A bouncy castle. A trestle table. And there, stacked in a glittering ziggurat beside the paddling pool, the target: forty-one wrapped presents for one seven-year-old named Tobias. Bill chewed a sausage roll he had already stolen, as a warm-up. "Bouncy castle's the choke point," Molly said. He nodded, spraying pastry. In his lap sat a wig, a red nose, and shoes long enough to require their own postcode. "I'll be the clown." "You'll be the diversion. Clowns get photographed." She circled the garden gate twice in orange, then drew what appeared to be a dog and, after consideration, gave it fangs. The Hendersons owned a chihuahua named Mr. Biscuit, and Molly had learned in her twenty years of professional larceny that the small ones were always the problem. Bill produced a bag of balloons and began inflating one with the grim focus of a man defusing a bomb. It squealed free of his fingers, farted across the windscreen, and died on the dashboard. Molly closed her eyes and counted, silently, to eleven.