Run: 2026-10-06-01M48VMJ6SN94KH9DX0ECWFQK8

The warehouse smelled like rust and forgotten dreams, which Molly found oddly comforting. She spread the blueprints across a crate of expired party favors, her finger tracing the route to the gift table. "Bill, you're staring at the bounce house again." Molly didn't look up. "It's a fortress, Bill. Inflatable walls. One wrong move and you're bouncing into the punch bowl." Bill adjusted his tactical vest, which was currently holding seventeen juice boxes and a half-eaten granola bar. "I'm strategizing. The bounce house is our extraction route. In and out, no witnesses, except approximately forty children under the age of eight." "Children are terrible witnesses. They'll describe you as 'the tall man with the suspiciously adult eyes.'" "That's ageist." "That's observation." Molly finally looked up, her dark hair escaping its clip. "Besides, we need the element of surprise. They'll never expect professional criminals at a six-year-old's birthday party." Bill nodded solemnly. "Disguises?" "We're going as parents." "Which parents?" "The ones who RSVP'd 'maybe' three weeks ago and never followed up. Classic deadbeat move. Nobody questions the parents who look vaguely guilty about the cake situation." Bill scratched his chin. "What about the presents? Forty kids, Molly. That's a mountain of wrapping paper and potential felony charges." "Exactly why we need precision." Molly tapped the blueprint. "Gift table is here, by the window. We create a distraction at the pinata—" "Oh, I love this. I've always wanted to hit a pinata." "You're not hitting the pinata. You're *near* the pinata when it accidentally falls. The birthday boy cries. Parents rush over. We're at the gift table, bags open, presents flowing." "And if the birthday boy doesn't cry?" Molly smiled, sharp and sudden. "Have you met children, Bill? That pinata is coming down. I've seen less stable structures at county fairs." Bill studied her with something approaching admiration. "You've thought this through." "I've thought about everything except the clown." "The clown?" "There's a clown. Four o'clock. Apparently 'Mr. Bumbles' does magic and balloon animals." Molly's voice dropped to a whisper. "I don't trust anyone who makes living things out of rubber." "He's just a performer." "He's a wildcard. Unpredictable. The kind of variable that turns a clean job into a three-year sentence." Molly stood, rolling the blueprints with practiced efficiency. "We need to neutralize Mr. Bumbles before he arrives." Bill's eyes widened. "You want to—" "I want to *distract* him. You're going to be his assistant. Volunteer. 'Oh, Mr. Bumbles, I'd love to help you set up!' You'll be so helpful, so eager, that he'll never suspect you're casing his escape routes." "My escape routes?" "His. Same thing, really." Molly grabbed her bag, checking its contents with mechanical precision. Rope, gloves, a collapsible gift bag that expanded to the size of a steamer trunk. "Bill, I need you to understand something. This is a children's party. There will be cake. There will be juice. There will be that specific sound children make when they're having too much fun." "And?" "And you will not eat the cake. You will not drink the juice. You will not, under any circumstances, accept a balloon animal shaped like a dog." Bill touched his chest, wounded. "I have a weakness for balloon dogs." "You have a weakness for *crime*, Bill. The balloon dogs are a distraction. A trap set by the party industry to catch amateurs like us." "Professionals like us." "Exactly." Molly headed for the door, pausing to look back. "One more thing. If we get caught—" "If?" "When. Optimism is for amateurs. If we get caught, you tell them I forced you. You were just following orders. You have a family, Bill. A future." Bill straightened his tactical vest. "I don't have a family." "You will. After we split the take. New identities. Tropical location. You'll meet someone. Have children of your own, even. And you'll tell them about the time you almost stole presents from a birthday party, and they'll think you're the coolest parent ever." Molly smiled, and for a moment, the warehouse didn't smell like rust anymore. It smelled like possibility. "Meet you at the bounce house, Bill." "Wouldn't miss it, Molly." She disappeared into the shadows, leaving Bill alone with his juice boxes and his dreams of a future he hadn't planned but suddenly wanted very much.