Run: 2026-09-24-01M39W840J9BAPR3TFYFK66JVB

Molly pressed binoculars to her face and studied the backyard through a gap in the hedge. Balloons bobbed. A pony wearing a party hat stamped ominously near the fence. Their disguises hung in the van behind them—one ladybug costume, one dinosaur costume, both sized generously. "Twenty presents, minimum." Bill crouched beside her, chewing a granola bar he'd lifted from a gas station that afternoon. Practice, he called it. "The pony's a problem." "The pony," Molly said, "is a morale issue. I'm worried about the clown." Bill's jaw stopped mid-chew. He'd had an incident with a clown in Reno. Neither of them discussed Reno anymore. They agreed, silently and forever, to route around clowns. A seven-year-old staggered past carrying a box bigger than himself toward a table already sagging under wrapping paper. Somewhere a child screamed with joy. Somewhere a mother yelled about cake. "We go at cake time. Chaos peak." Bill nodded and wrote PLAN on his wrist in Sharpie. He'd lost three heists to inadequate note-taking. Molly checked her watch as the birthday boy unwrapped a shiny new bike and the crowd oohed on cue. She felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. Professional nothing. "Bill, are you crying?" "No."