Run: 2026-07-25-01KYD7WWHKQAXW944GCJH7THES

The van smelled like old fries and regret, which was standard for their operation. Molly spread the blueprints of the suburban house across the dashboard while Bill ate a stolen granola bar meant for a kindergartner. Outside the community center, balloons bobbed against the windows like inflated warnings. A banner reading Happy Birthday Leo sagged heroically. "We are not robbing a six-year-old's birthday party, Bill." Bill looked wounded, which was his default expression when caught being unethical. "Technically we're robbing the parents who bought the presents, which is morally different." He unfurled a crumpled invitation he had clearly taken from a trash can. It was glittery and sticky. "There are juice boxes in there, Molly. Juice boxes and tiny hot dogs. It's a gold mine." Molly stared at him. She had worked with Bill through museum jobs, bank jobs, and one disastrous zoo job involving a peacock. This was a new low, even considering the peacock incident. "And twenty screaming children, a clown, and a mother who runs a CrossFit gym." Bill, however, was already in motion, pulling two sequined vests from a duffel bag that also contained rope, lockpicks, and what appeared to be Capri-Suns. "That's why we need disguises. I'm thinking magician's assistant and slightly taller magician's assistant." She held up a vest. It jingled. "Your last disguise was a fake moustache that fell into the soup. We got banned from Olive Garden." The memory still haunted them. The manager had been very clear about unlimited breadsticks not including unlimited disguises. "This time is different. I've rented an actual bounce house to smuggle the loot out." Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. The parking lot was filling with minivans. Each one delivered another small screaming accomplice to the party. "You want to put stolen Lego sets into a bounce house full of children?" He said it like it was Ocean's Eleven. Molly considered pushing him out of the van, but he was holding the only copy of the exit plan, which was drawn in crayon. "No, we wait until naptime. Or cake time. Kids are useless during cake time." Inside, someone started playing musical chairs badly. A child shrieked with victory. Bill cracked his knuckles dramatically and immediately hurt his hand. "Fine. But if I have to sing Happy Birthday, I'm keeping the goodie bags." "Deal. You handle singing, I handle stealing." "Okay." The plan was terrible. It relied on elastic walls, sugar crashes, and Bill not getting distracted by frosting. Yet somehow, it was also exactly the kind of dumb plan that had always worked for them. Molly sighed, zipped up the ridiculous vest, and checked that the back door was still propped open with a tricycle. The pile of wrapped presents glowed under the buffet table like a small, poorly guarded treasure chest. Outside, the clown car honked. Molly looked at Bill, at the bounce house, at destiny, and regretted every life choice that led here. Still, the Lego sets were limited edition. Very limited.