Run: 2026-09-02-01M1GQT4CZ5TXBKJXGWDYXHHAH

Molly crouched behind a recycling bin, studying the target through stolen birdwatching binoculars. Beyond the window, fourteen six-year-olds circled a table of presents. Bill lay beside her in full tactical gear, sweating in the July heat. "Threat assessment," she murmured. "Hostiles: fourteen, all under four feet," Bill said, consulting a clipboard. "One identified as 'Madison' is armed with a foam sword. Approach with extreme caution." "Bill, they're children." "Children with sugar in their systems. You've never seen a real rampage." Molly rubbed her temples. Three years of planning museum heists, and here was Bill plotting present theft with military precision. He'd made a laminated diagram of the cake table. "What's the exit strategy?" she asked. "Piñata diversion. I yank the string, candy explodes, chaos erupts, we take the loot while they're diving for lollipops. Textbook." "And what if someone recognizes us?" Bill pulled a ski mask over his head, then a party hat on top. The effect was not intimidating. It was deeply confusing. "We're invisible," he said, muffled. "No one suspects a man who came to celebrate." "Everyone will suspect you. You look like a burglar at a birthday." "Exactly. No burglar would dress like this. That's the genius, Molly."