Run: 2026-09-29-01M3P2GZ5X3V9P8YCYX7B085AR

The bouncy castle in the Hendersons' backyard sagged like a punctured soufflé. Molly Pruitt crouched behind the hydrangeas and studied it with the calm of a woman who had once stolen a chandelier during a wedding. Tonight's target was forty-three birthday presents belonging to a seven-year-old named Tyler. Beside her, Bill Tanner adjusted his black balaclava. Perched on top of it was a cone-shaped party hat. "Why are you wearing that?" Molly whispered. "Cover," said Bill. "If we're spotted, I'm the entertainer." "The party ended at four. The entertainer left hours ago." "Then I'm the late entertainer." Molly pinched the bridge of her nose and unrolled a map across her knee. It was drawn in crayon, because Bill had lost the pens. She clicked her penlight and tapped a large orange rectangle. "Presents are in the living room, past the sliding door. Parents are in the kitchen loading the dishwasher. The only real threat is the dog." "What kind of dog?" "A golden retriever named Biscuit." Bill swallowed. "I brought a sausage." "Of course you did." He produced it from his jacket, wrapped in a napkin that read *Happy Birthday, Tyler!* Molly stared at it for a long moment. "That's from the party, isn't it?" "I got hungry during recon." Inside the house, the dishwasher hummed. Through the glass, the presents glittered in a heap of foil and ribbon, and somewhere in that pile, Molly knew, sat a remote-control monster truck worth at least sixty dollars. She felt the old thrill rise in her chest. Nobody would ever suspect a professional of stooping this low, which was exactly what made it genius. They crept across the lawn, bellies low, Bill's party hat bobbing in the moonlight like a nervous traffic cone. Molly slid the patio door open an inch at a time. It gave a tiny squeak. They both froze. Biscuit lifted his enormous head from a dog bed, looked at them, and thumped his tail twice. Bill tossed the sausage. Biscuit accepted it as a fair and reasonable bribe and went back to sleep. "Amateur hour's over," Molly breathed. "Grab the bags." They had just begun stuffing wrapping paper and plastic dinosaurs into a duffel when a small voice spoke behind them. "Are you the piñata people?" Tyler stood in the hallway, wearing dinosaur pajamas and clutching a stuffed narwhal. Molly's mind raced through six escape routes and discarded all of them. "Yes," she said smoothly. "We're here to inspect the presents." Tyler frowned at Bill's hat. "He's the entertainer." "Late entertainer," Bill said, with tremendous dignity. "Union rules." Tyler considered this, nodded gravely, and shuffled off to bed.