Run: 2026-09-02-01M1GR7Z744YK2S7SRBBG0D1TN

Molly unrolled the blueprint across the card table of their surveillance van, smoothing the crumpled crayon drawing with a general's gravity. "Timmy Henderson's seventh birthday. Saturday. Two p.m." Bill polished his monocle. "Security?" "A bouncy castle. One intern in a dinosaur costume." "Armed?" "Juice boxes, probably." The van smelled like stale coffee and poor life choices. Bill studied the diagram—stick figures, a lopsided cake, a sun wearing sunglasses. "The presents?" "Gift table, west side, near the piñata. Guarded by Grandma." He paled. "Grandmas are lethal." Molly nodded grimly. "Grappling hooks. We rappel from the oak tree during cake." Bill drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Can't we just ring the doorbell and eat cake like normal people?" "They'd suspect childless adults." "We could borrow children." Molly raised an eyebrow. "Whose?" Silence. Twenty years of vaults, museums, and one regrettable dolphin aquarium, and here they were. He circled the dinosaur. "Fine. We distract the intern with balloon animals." "You make balloon animals?" "I contain multitudes, Molly." He snapped on leather gloves for effect. She rolled up the crayon blueprint, hiding a grin. "Operation Sugar Rush is a go. And Bill? Nobody cries. Except us, maybe, mourning what we've become."