Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK2ZY60MJT9W8JNY58ZY69P

The rain slicked the black asphalt of the suburban driveway, reflecting the garish glow of plastic lawn flamingos dressed as pirates. Molly crouched behind a hydrangea bush that smelled faintly of wet dog and despair, adjusting her night-vision goggles which were currently set to infrared. Beside her, Bill fidgeted with a lock-picking set that looked suspiciously like cheap Halloween props bought at a discount store. They stared at the house, a fortress of giggles and sugar crashes now silent under the moonlight. The target was the living room, specifically the mountain of wrapped boxes beneath a tree that twinkled with aggressive cheerfulness. "We need a distraction," Molly whispered, her voice tight with the thrill of the job. "Something big." Bill nodded, wiping sweat from his forehead despite the chill. "I brought the smoke bombs." "No smoke," she hissed. "It's a kids' party aftermath. The parents will smell it before we even touch the wrapping paper. We need silence. We need ghosts." "Ghosts don't steal Legos, Mol." "Professional ghosts do." She pointed toward the side door where a spare key was hidden under a fake rock shaped like a turtle. It was the kind of security measure that made their hearts sing with contempt. Bill crept forward, his movements surprisingly graceful for a man wearing a sweater covered in holes. He lifted the turtle, retrieved the key, and inserted it into the lock. The mechanism clicked with a sound that seemed to echo across the entire neighborhood. Both thieves froze, waiting for a dog to bark or a light to flip on, but the house remained dormant, breathing softly in its sleep. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of stale cake and balloon rubber. They moved through the hallway, avoiding the scattered toys that lay like landmines on the carpet. A stuffed bear with one eye missing seemed to watch them from the corner, its button gaze accusatory. Bill stepped on a squeaky chicken toy and winced as it let out a pathetic squeak that sounded like a dying mouse. "Sorry," he mouthed, freezing in place. Molly rolled her eyes and gestured for him to keep moving. They reached the living room, and there it was: the jackpot. Boxes of every size and shape, adorned with bows that cost more than their hourly rate. Bill's eyes widened behind his mask, reflecting the colorful paper. "This is it," he breathed, reaching for a large box labeled 'Super Duper Robot.' "We're rich, Mol. Richer than we ever dreamed." "Grab the big ones first," she commanded, pulling a large duffel bag from her backpack. "Leave the small stuff. We don't have time for socks and books." They worked with frantic efficiency, shoving boxes into the bag. The rustle of wrapping paper sounded like thunder in the quiet house. Bill grabbed a box shaped like a castle and tried to stuff it in, but it got stuck. "It's too big," he grunted, pushing harder. "Stop forcing it!" Molly snapped. "You'll tear the bag. We lose everything if the bag breaks." "I'm trying!" "Try smarter, not harder, Bill. Remember the training." "What training? We watched a YouTube video yesterday!" "And it said to be adaptable!" She yanked the box free and tossed it onto the pile, then zippered the bag shut just as a floorboard creaked upstairs. Both thieves dropped to the floor, hearts hammering against their ribs. Silence stretched out, heavy and suffocating. Then, the sound of a child rolling over in bed followed by a soft snore. They exhaled simultaneously, a shared rush of relief washing over them. "Let's go," Molly whispered, hoisting the heavy bag onto her shoulder. "Before the sugar Rush wears off and the kids wake up early." They slipped back out into the rain, vanishing into the night with their loot, leaving behind only the faint smell of wet dog and the mystery of the missing presents.