Run: 2026-09-02-01M1GQKMCJA3MS8CJKWGN0BQ4Y

Molly lowered her binoculars from behind the recycling bins, professionally. Across the street, eight six-year-olds were conducting basic training on a bouncy castle. "The perimeter is soft," she murmured. "No cameras. One clown." Bill consulted the dossier from three weeks of surveillance: a napkin with a smiley face on it. The target was little Tyler's backyard bash, presents estimated at thirty-two units, including one hoverboard, street value ninety dollars. His crew had cracked vaults in Geneva. This should be trivial. It was not trivial. The clown made balloon animals resembling nothing on God's green earth and had made eye contact with Bill twice. Somewhere, a piñata swung like a pendulum, counting down their window. Cake at three, then presents, then screaming intense enough to scramble comms. Molly had planned for screaming. She had not planned for the mother circulating with juice boxes, offering them to strangers, warm and merciless. "We go in at nap-adjacent," she said. "Watch the clown. The clown sees everything." Bill nodded, sweating. He'd once held his breath four minutes in a Prague vault. He could survive one child's party. Probably. And then the clown waved at him. Bill flinched. Pure amateur hour. The clown knew it.