Run: 2026-09-23-01M36T4YQYZFMTK5JCX5AGR83Z

Molly pinned the diagram to the wall of their studio apartment and stepped back, arms crossed. Bill squinted at it through a mouthful of stolen sandwich bread. The plan was elegant. Saturday afternoon. Maple Street. The Hargrove residence would be host to a birthday party for a seven-year-old named Dash. Fourteen confirmed attendees. Each one bringing at least one wrapped gift. Minimum haul: fourteen presents. Maximum: immeasurable, if grandparents came bearing checks. Molly had spent three afternoons surveilling the location. The yard had a wooden fence. The garage had a window that didn't lock. The adults would be in the kitchen drinking cheap wine and pretending to enjoy each other's company. The children would be on the lawn chasing a rented pony. Bill coughed a crumb across the room. "The window won't give us a lick of trouble," Molly said. "Better than the front door," Bill said. "And the pony?" "A natural distraction. Brilliant." Molly nodded and uncapped a red marker. She drew a thick circle around the living room where the presents would accumulate like colorful treasure. Then she drew an X through it. Bill admired her boldness. They rehearsed nothing else. They were never the rehearsing type. Ever.