Run: 2026-09-03-01M1KZJ8M7PCB7STMVXEVWEBBS

Molly pressed her face to the living-room window, fogging the glass with an eager puff of breath. Inside, a swarm of sugar-crazed five-year-olds rampaged beneath a banner that read Happy Birthday, Prince Binkles the Corgi. Bill crouched beside her, his ski mask already pulled down despite the fact that it was indoors and seventy-two degrees. “Remind me again why we’re stealing from a dog’s birthday party?” Bill whispered. Molly didn’t look away from the mountain of brightly wrapped packages stacked around the cake. “Because that dog has better taste than you, Bill. I saw the registry. There’s a pony-ride coupon and a solid chocolate rocket ship.” Bill adjusted his mask. “Solid chocolate? At a kids’ party? That’s basically currency. We could trade it for a getaway car.” “Exactly. The parents are in the kitchen refilling punch, and the entertainer quit. The only thing between us and those presents is a guy in a knockoff Spider-Man suit stuck in the bounce house.” “Stuck how?” “Inflated pride, mostly. Plus the door zipper broke. He’s been asking the piñata for help.” Bill nodded solemnly. “Tragic. What’s the plan? Front door or window?” “Window, obviously. You’re going to boost me through that bathroom window, I’ll unlock the back door, and then we sweep in dressed as clowns.” Bill blinked. “Clowns?” Molly pulled two red noses from her bag and tossed him one. “It’s a children’s party, Bill. Nobody questions a clown. They’ll assume we’re part of the entertainment.” “They’ll also assume we’re there to steal presents.” “Only if we act suspicious. Do what I do: balloon animals, weird handshakes, and no sudden moves toward the gift table until the piñata breaks.” Bill tugged the nose onto his ski mask. The effect was horrifying. “I feel ridiculous.” “You look like a birthday miracle. Ready? One—” “Wait,” Bill hissed, grabbing her sleeve. “What if the dog barks?” Molly rolled her eyes. “Binkles is wearing a tiara and eating frosting. He’s not going to bark. He’s going to judge us silently, like a tiny monarch.” “Fine. But if I get glitter on my suit, I’m billing you.” “Noted. Three.” “This is our dumbest plan yet,” Bill muttered. Molly smirked. “Not even close. Remember the lobster disaster?” Bill cupped his hands. Molly stepped up, slipped through the narrow window, and landed with a soft thud beside an inflatable rubber duck. She froze, listening to the distant chaos of squealing children and a grown man sobbing inside a bounce house. Seconds later the back door clicked open. Bill slipped inside, his clown nose glowing faintly in the hallway light. Together they crept toward the laughter, the gifts, and the greatest threat of all: a sticky three-year-old with a firm grip on a juice box, no fear of authority, and a suspiciously adult-looking stare that said she had already memorized both their faces for the police sketch artist. The smell of frosting and chaotic joy hung thick in the air, a sugary fog that made Bill’s ski mask itch again.