Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK97BJVTGF78TDD8V1X3H73

Molly pressed her nose against the foggy window. Inside, balloons bobbed, small humans shrieked, and a mountain of wrapped boxes glittered beside a cardboard castle. “This is evil,” Bill whispered. “Deliciously, impeccably evil. I’m so proud of us.” “Focus, Bill,” Molly said. “We’re not here for moral validation. We’re here for loot wrapped in unicorn paper.” “I can’t believe we’re robbing a seven-year-old’s party,” he muttered. “This is my rock bottom.” “Rock bottom was when you tried to mug the ice cream truck and apologized halfway through,” she said. “This is a tasteful side hustle.” He squinted at the banner. “‘Happy Birthday, Chloe.’ Does Chloe look like a biter?” “All kids are biters,” Molly said. “That’s why we’re going in during cake. Sugar fog. Zero situational awareness.” “Walk me through the plan one more time,” Bill said, tugging his beanie lower. “I blacked out in the middle when you said ‘clown suit.’” “Step one,” Molly said, ticking an invisible list. “You’re the magician, I’m the assistant. We go in the back door, which is conveniently propped open by a fire code violation and a Capri-Sun box.” “Every heist I do with you involves a fire code violation,” Bill said. “It’s kind of our thing.” “Step two,” Molly continued, “you do three unimpressive card tricks.” “Unimpressive?” he gasped. “My ‘Is this your card?’ is legendary.” “Bill, you literally ask, ‘Is this your card?’ until they say yes. It’s statistically inevitable, not magical.” “Statistics are the real magic,” he muttered. “While you’re artfully disappointing them,” Molly said, “I ‘accidentally’ knock over the gift table.” “Ah,” Bill said. “Chaos.” “Yes. Tiny screams, frosting everywhere, parental panic. In the confusion, you and I sweep presents into the magician’s trunk.” Bill eyed the trunk beside them. “You sure this thing can hold everything? Some of those boxes are huge. One of them is basically a refrigerator.” “That’s probably just a Barbie Dream Something,” Molly said. “Worst case, we leave Chloe the socks. We’re thieves, not monsters.” “Remind me what we’re actually after,” Bill said. “Because if I get tackled by a sugar-crazed second grader for a scented candle, I’m retiring.” “Rumor is,” Molly said, lowering her voice, “Chloe’s grandma is ‘the generous one.’ Last year she gave a kid a tablet and a drone.” “Grandmas,” Bill breathed. “The true criminal underworld.” “We grab anything tablet-shaped, console-shaped, or suspiciously heavy,” Molly said. “And gift bags. People hide cash in cards. We respect tradition.” “And if a kid asks where the bunny is?” Bill said, picking at his fraying cuffs. “Real magicians have bunnies.” “You pull out your wallet and show them the rabbit-shaped hole where your dignity used to be,” she said. “Now zip up your cape, you look like a sad shower curtain.” He flapped the sequined fabric. “I look whimsical.” “You look like a disco ball lost a fight,” Molly said. “Perfect for distracting them.” Bill peeked in again. “Okay, new issue. There’s a guy in there making balloon animals.” “Competition,” Molly said darkly. “He just made a balloon sword and handed it to a kid the size of a backpack,” Bill said. “We’re going to be hacked to pieces by latex weaponry.” “That’s why you have your ultimate defense,” Molly said. “My charm?” he asked hopefully. “Your lactose intolerance,” she said. “If it goes bad, aim for the cake table. No one crosses the blast radius.” He winced. “That’s… a war crime.” “Fine,” she sighed. “Plan B: cry.” “Cry?” he repeated. “Parents panic around adult tears,” she said. “You start sobbing about how your rabbit left you, I drag you out along with the trunk. Sympathy exit.” Bill considered. “I can cry on command.” “You cry when commercials play sad piano over abandoned puppies,” Molly said. “You can cry on accidental.” He nodded, determined. “Okay. We go in, we dazzle, we grab, we emotionally collapse, we leave.” “Exactly,” Molly said. “Ten minutes, in and out. Like a very confused, ethically flexible birthday fairy.” “On three,” Bill said, hand on the doorknob. “One… two…” He paused. “What now?” Molly hissed. “Do you think,” he said slowly, “we’re both definitely going to hell for this?” “Oh absolutely,” Molly said. “But we’ll have amazing party favors when we get there.” She yanked the door open, and the roar of children swallowed them whole.