Run: 2026-10-08-01M4D9XXQPB1HAF0SY28GETR41

The back alley behind Maple Street smelled of wet cardboard and ambition. Molly crouched beside the recycling bins, squinting through binoculars at the bouncy castle glowing in the Hendersons' backyard. "Eleven presents," she whispered. "I counted them through the kitchen window. Eleven, Bill. Wrapped in gold paper with little ribbons." Bill adjusted his ski mask, which had slipped over one eye. "And the party is for how many kids?" "Seven. Maybe eight if the one in the dinosaur costume counts." "Seven kids, eleven presents. That's basically a fair trade." "Bill, we're not stealing from children." "We're stealing from a birthday for a boy named Tobias, who is turning six, and whose mother is keeping the gifts on a card table next to the punch bowl. He's getting a lot of presents for one kid anyway. It's practically charity." Molly lowered the binoculars. "You're not wrong, but the clown is a problem." "Clowns are always a problem. Which clown?" "The one with the balloon animals. He's been staring at the side gate for twenty minutes." "Maybe he's just hungry." "Maybe he's a professional. Look at those shoes. Those aren't party shoes, Bill. Those are running shoes." Bill squinted. "Those are clown shoes." "Clown shoes that can run." "Fine. Plan B. We wait until the cake comes out. Everyone rushes to the patio, nobody watches the gifts." "Plan B is the cake? Plan A was the piñata." "The piñata was a disaster." "The piñata was your idea." "And it nearly worked! Who knew a donkey could be that dense?" Molly sighed and pulled a folded map from her coat. "Okay. Here's what we do. You go over the fence with the rope. I'll wait at the bottom of the driveway with the wagon." "Why do we need a wagon?" "Because eleven presents don't fit in a backpack, and I'm not carrying them like a wedding bouquet." "Good point. What if someone sees me?" "Then you do the thing." "What thing?" "The thing where you say you're the magician's assistant and you're searching for a lost rabbit." "That worked once." "It worked on a grandmother." Bill grinned under the mask. "She gave me a cookie." "Focus. Once you're inside, grab only the gold ones. Don't open anything." "Why not?" "Because last time you opened a gift, it was a whoopee cushion, and you laughed so hard the whole neighborhood turned on their porch lights." "It was a very good whoopee cushion." "Bill." "Fine, fine. Gold ones only. No peeking." He cracked his knuckles and stood. "And if the clown comes at me?" "Then you throw him a balloon and run like your life depends on it." "Molly, what if it does?" She pulled her mask down and checked her watch. "Then at least we'll have cake."