Run: 2026-10-08-01M4DYZGZ8YXW92C6VFG3RDW60

Molly pressed her eye to a gap in the hedge and peered across the street. Balloons bobbed from every window of the yellow house. A bouncy castle wheezed on the lawn like a sleeping whale, and a banner over the porch announced HAPPY 7TH BIRTHDAY, TYLER! Inside, forty sugar-fueled children shrieked at a pitch that could shatter glass. Molly considered this a blessing. Noise covered footsteps, and footsteps were how presents got stolen. Somewhere behind the house, a dog barked twice, then thought better of it. Bill crouched beside her, clutching a clipboard covered in crossed-out sketches. He licked his thumb, flipped a page, and frowned at a diagram showing a clown being launched out of a cannon over a row of garden gnomes. "Talk to me," he whispered. "Presents are stacked by the front window. Sixty boxes, maybe more." "Excellent." He tapped the clipboard. "And security?" Across the lawn, a silver-haired grandmother patrolled the gift table with a referee's whistle around her neck and the grim focus of a border guard. Beside the cake, a dad in a Hawaiian shirt kept asking everyone if they'd seen his phone. "Grandmothers are the worst. They have eyes in the back of their heads." "Which is why you're the distraction." Molly tapped a sketch of a figure wearing enormous shoes. "You walk in as the clown and honk. I slip through the kitchen and fill the wagon." Bill looked down at his own feet, which were crammed into clown shoes two sizes too big. "I've practiced my honk for three weeks." Behind them, a red wagon sat in the leaves. Its wheels were wrapped in duct tape, and someone had painted STEALTH on the side in glitter paint that was already flaking off. "How many presents?" "All of them." "Molly, that's sixty boxes." "That's why we brought the wagon." "The wagon squeaks." "It's a stealth wagon." "It squeaks like a rusty gate." Molly sighed, unzipped her backpack, and pulled out a jar of peanut butter with the calm determination of a surgeon reaching for a scalpel. "Then we grease the wheels." "With peanut butter?" "For emergencies." "Peanut butter is not an emergency." Molly unscrewed the lid and sniffed it thoughtfully. "Neither is a squeaky wheel. Stop panicking." Bill opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. Over by the bouncy castle, a magician pulled a rabbit from his hat. The rabbit bit him. Bill winced in sympathy and nearly dropped his clipboard. "Molly, what's our abort signal?" "Pinata." "That's a terrible code word." "Every kids' party yells it. Nobody notices us running." Bill considered this with the seriousness of a man weighing a life-changing decision. Then he nodded, adjusted his red nose, and gave it one experimental honk. Somewhere in the yard, a toddler burst into tears. "Right," he whispered. "Let's go rob a seven-year-old." "Shh. Seven-year-olds notice everything." Molly froze, peanut butter jar still in hand. "I can hear you," said a small voice from right beside them. "And those presents are mine."