Run: 2026-09-10-01M25DQ4P2CZ1XGSDV82ZNDPNJ

Molly unfolded a crayon map of the Fitzwilliam birthday party while Bill sharpened a plastic fork against his belt. The fence across the street promised a quick exit, assuming the bouncy castle did not achieve liftoff. They studied the clown's patrol route, the piñata's blind spot, and the pile of presents near the punch bowl. Molly tapped the target: a teetering stack wrapped in dinosaur paper. Bill worried about security: eight toddlers, one magician, and a grandmother who smelled like vengeance. They rehearsed their cover as exhausted parents arriving late with a decoy gift. The plan required stealth, speed, and possibly a juice box bribe. "Balloons?" Bill whispered. "Obstacles," Molly said. "Cake?" "Distraction." "Presents?" "Every last one." "Toddlers?" "Faster than they look." "Grandma?" "Bribe with bingo." "Escape?" "Ball pit." Bill nodded. Then he frowned. The clown remained an unpredictable variable, possibly armed with squirting flowers and no mercy. They would disable him with a stolen napkin and a well-aimed piece of cake. Molly checked her cracked watch, held together by glitter glue. Bill tightened his gloves, which were socks. Somewhere inside, children shrieked with joy, a sound they would convert into profit. They high-fived, missed, and blamed the balloon arch.