Run: 2026-09-23-01M36X0YD69SKP142KNJWRW4W3

Molly pressed her face against the frosted window of the community hall, watching a dozen sugar-fueled six-year-olds demolish what appeared to be a piñata shaped like a unicorn. Inside, mountains of wrapped presents sat beneath a table decorated with cartoon balloons. She pulled back and checked her watch. The cake hadn't been served yet, which meant at least thirty more minutes of organized chaos before parents descended to reclaim their precious offspring. Bill studied the fire escape to their left and the caterer's entrance to their right, tapping his tactical pen against his clipboard like a general surveying a battlefield. He'd drawn a crude map of the interior layout based on party supply invoices he'd found in a recycling bin behind the bakery on Fifth. Very thorough. Disturbingly thorough. Molly watched him adjust the angle of a blue dot he'd labeled "grunt table." "The loot goes in the van, not your pockets this time," she said. "What happened in Tulsa was one time," he muttered. Together they moved toward the caterer's door, suitcase of empty gift bags in hand, stepping into the corridor like they belonged there. Behind them a balloon popped, followed by a shriek that could curdle milk.