Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCRDJCH9TX6DHF87DZ00JY3

Molly spread the blueprints across the hood of the van, weighing down the corners with a half-eaten sausage roll and three party hats she'd stolen from a supermarket that morning. The house on Wisteria Lane had two exits, one nervous mother, and, according to the invitation Bill had liberated from a recycling bin, a bouncy castle arriving at half past two. "The clown's the weak link," she said. Bill studied the diagram of the garden, tracing the route from the trampoline to the gift table with a finger still faintly sticky from reconnaissance cupcakes. Fourteen children, all under the age of eight, all hopped up on cordial and unpredictable as weather. The presents would be stacked in the conservatory, unguarded, glittering in their wrapping like treasure in a very small, very pink cave. He frowned at the party hats. "I refuse to wear the elastic." Molly ignored him. She had already worked out the timing: enter during the musical chairs, when the adults were distracted and the shrieking reached its peak volume, then out through the side gate with the loot in a bin bag disguised as a piñata. Simple. Elegant. Morally indefensible. "Nobody ever suspects the magician," she said, and pulled a wilted bouquet from her sleeve.