Run: 2026-09-23-01M36SEK0JHF05ADQ8TB00G9F9

Molly crouched behind the hedge like a shrub with ambition, binoculars fixed on a bounce house that sighed under six screaming children. Bill adjusted a fake mustache that had already quit. Beyond the fence, a pony glared beside a tower of presents wrapped in paper bright enough to signal ships. Their whole plan depended on cake and terrible timing. "We move only when they cut the cake," Molly whispered. Bill swallowed hard. "I am not wrestling that clown." She tapped a napkin map stained with lunch: side gate, past the piñata, snatch the pile, vanish before anyone followed the ribbon trail. "And do not pet the pony," she added. He nodded, which covered most of his duties. A balloon popped and both of them flinched like experts. They compared watches that disagreed by eleven minutes, then agreed time was optional. The presents waited in a shiny heap, innocent and already doomed. Somewhere a kazoo launched the worst song either thief had ever personally financed. Molly lowered the binoculars. The pony had not blinked. Bill shifted the mustache to the other cheek, hoping disguise was mostly confidence. Neither of them mentioned that the gate was probably locked, since optimism beat equipment.