Run: 2026-09-03-01M1KY0VBMYC70PT1RCHSVBK20

The stolen van smelled of stale donuts and regret. Molly studied the suburban house through binoculars while Bill picked sprinkles off his shirt. A plastic banner flapped on the fence, announcing a sixth birthday in glittery letters. "I still think this is a bad idea," Bill said. "We're supposed to hit vaults, not a bouncy castle guarded by a man in face paint." Molly lowered the binoculars. "That castle is our delivery system. We deflate it, load the loot, and roll it out the back." "It's made of vinyl and despair," Bill said. "Also, how do we explain a bouncy castle in the getaway car?" They crept closer. A clown was tying balloons to the mailbox, his red nose glowing like a warning light. "That clown is armed with balloon animals," Bill whispered. "Last time I got stabbed in the eye by a giraffe. I'm not going near him." Molly rolled her eyes. "You got stabbed by a stapler during an office supply heist." "I know what I saw." Molly checked her watch, then pointed at the front window where a small face pressed against the glass. "Party starts in fifteen minutes," she said. "Here's the plan. I go in as the magician. You're my assistant." "I hate being the assistant." "You're the assistant who carries the loot bag. When I yell 'Abracadabra,' you grab every present and run. Do not stop for cake." "Cake is the only trustworthy thing in life," Bill said. "Also, what if the kids attack?" "Kids are easy. I once told a room of toddlers that nap time was a government conspiracy." A small boy in the window waved at Bill. Bill waved back, then realized the child was pointing at the empty bag hanging from his shoulder. Molly smiled. "Perfect. The assistant is already in character." "I really hate kids." They reached the porch. Molly knocked, adjusted a glittery top hat, and whispered the code word. "Showtime, assistant," she said. "Try not to get adopted." Bill hoisted the empty bag. "If I survive this without a juice box or a felony, I'll consider it a win." "Optimism looks terrible on you." She opened the door. A chorus of small voices screamed. Balloons bobbed under a frosting-smeared ceiling. A dragon piñata hung from the light fixture, and the present table groaned under wrapping paper, ribbons, and gifts that could fund a very nice getaway. Molly stepped into the chaos, smiling like a woman who had done this before. Bill followed, already eyeing the table like a man who had found his nemesis. He leaned toward her, keeping his voice low. The loud music covered a small argument, but not a scream. "Remember the plan," she said. "Grab everything. No cake." Bill looked at the cake, then at the presents. "Define everything." Molly's eye twitched. "Everything that isn't nailed down, frosted, or screaming." Bill grinned. "Even the piñata?" "Especially the piñata. It's filled with candy and poor decisions." Bill nodded. "Now that's a retirement plan, partner."