Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCXE96QW1FXVVVVPBF55V6N

Molly twisted her glitter mask tighter against her cheeks. "Bill, sit up. The party starts in twenty minutes, and you still smell like that gas station hot dog." Bill peeled himself off the dashboard of their rusted van, a juice box stuck to his elbow. "That hot dog was my lunch, Molly. Maybe my dinner." "Luxury is for people who don’t steal Hatchimals." She spread a crumpled blueprint—actually a child’s drawing of a dinosaur eating a house—across his lap. "Target is forty-seven Maple Drive. Balloons are tied to the mailbox, which means gifts are stacked like a pyramid of greed inside." Bill glanced at the drawing, then at the giraffe party hat shoved onto his head. The neck dangled past his chin, tickling his collarbone. "I can’t wear this. I look like a depressed zoo exhibit." "You look like entertainment." Molly checked her reflection in the rearview mirror, adjusting a tiara that read Birthday Princess in pink rhinestones. "The theme is jungle safari. I’m Princess Sparkle-toes, jungle diplomat. You’re Giraffe Gary, balloon artisan." "Giraffe Guy has dignity." "Giraffe Guy has cargo pants big enough for a drone." She pointed to his thighs, then back to the map. "Here’s the timeline. Two-fifteen, enter during the magician’s rabbit failure. Two-thirty, cake ceremony distracts parents with sugar. Two-forty-five, we hit the present table while everyone sings that horrible birthday song." Bill shuddered. "That song makes my teeth hurt." "Focus." She pulled a walkie-talkie from her purse and tossed it to him. "Channel four. Code word is cupcake. If you hear me say cupcake, drop everything and run." "Why cupcake?" "Because if I yell we’re robbed, parents panic. If I yell cupcake, you think dessert and move your feet." Bill clipped the radio to his belt beside a plastic sword he’d found in a dumpster. "What about security? Dogs? Cameras?" "Mr. Henderson has a chihuahua named Princess. She barks at leaves." Molly started the engine, which coughed like a lifelong smoker. "No cameras. The dad works in accounting. He thinks a password is enough." She steered onto Maple Drive past lawns with inflatable zebras. "Gifts are in the living room, left of the bouncy castle. Black garbage bags in the duffel. No talking to children unless necessary." Bill adjusted the giraffe head, which had slid over his left eye. "What if they talk to me?" "Then you’re a giraffe. Giraffes don’t talk. They observe. Maybe chew imaginary leaves." "I’m allergic to leaves." "Bill." "Fine." He pulled out a notebook with Heist Notes scribbled in crayon. "Entry is front door, unlocked because parents are trusting idiots. Distraction is piñata? Wait, you said magician." "Magician is cover. Piñata is our window. When that donkey explodes, candy hits the floor, kids swarm like piranhas. That’s our sixty-second window to clean the table." Bill scribbled, then paused. "How do we carry it all?" "Same way we always do. Charm, speed, and your surprisingly large pants." Molly parked behind a hedge and killed the lights. "Now practice your balloon animal." "I told you, I can’t do balloons." "Then practice running." She hopped out, tiara glinting, and Bill followed, the giraffe neck bobbing with every step. "This is humiliating." "This is retirement planning," Molly said, holding up a black duffel. "One score and we’re done. Beach in Mexico. No more giraffes." Bill stared at the house where cheerful music spilled into the yard. "What if there’s cake?" "We steal that too."