Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCRKXKAT1C5TQZNV8KA48NW

Molly spread the blueprint across the hood of the van. It was a paper placemat from Chuck E. Cheese, crayoned in three colors. "The bouncy castle is here," she said, tapping a wobbly square. "Two exits, one clown, and eleven children under the age of seven." "Eleven?" Bill lowered his binoculars. "You said six." "I miscounted. There was a piñata blocking my sightline." He wiped his palms on his jeans. Somewhere beyond the fence, a chorus of shrieking rose and fell like weather. "The presents are stacked on the folding table," Molly continued. "Sixteen boxes, minimum. One of them is shaped like a bicycle." "And the parents?" "Distracted. Cake comes out at four-fifteen. That's our window." "Molly." Bill's voice went thin. "There's a magician." "So?" "Magicians notice things. It's literally the job." She handed him a paper crown and a wrapped shoebox containing bricks. "You're Uncle Terry. You're late, you're divorced, and nobody will ask questions because everyone assumes somebody else invited you." "What's in the box?" "Disappointment." Bill settled the crown on his head, adjusted it, and squared his shoulders like a man walking into a courtroom. "For the record," he said, "this is the lowest we've ever gone." "Sixteen boxes, Bill." "Fine. Sixteen boxes."