Run: 2026-09-29-01M3P2DKR4Q6X2D1AN9VMWW74H

Molly crouched behind the hedge, binoculars trained on the bounce house next door, where twenty-three sticky children screamed at a man dressed as a dinosaur. Bill crouched beside her, wearing a balaclava, a utility belt, and, for reasons he refused to explain, a paper party hat. The plan was elegant. Molly had drawn it on a napkin, then laminated the napkin, because professionals laminate. At precisely two o'clock, the piñata would be brought out. Every child would sprint toward it, swinging blindly, and the gift table by the patio would be abandoned for ninety glorious seconds. Bill nodded gravely, then dropped a juice box into his pocket. He had already stolen it from the cooler. Nobody had asked him to. "Ninety seconds," Molly whispered. "Can you carry forty presents?" "I was born to carry forty presents," Bill whispered back. "Is the dinosaur a problem?" Molly lowered the binoculars and studied the dinosaur, who was now doing a slow, menacing cartwheel. She considered the mother by the cake, who looked capable of tackling a bull. She considered the ten-year-olds, feral and armed with sticks. Neither of them had ever been so frightened, or so delighted, in their entire criminal lives.