Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK97RNY7YER8BWNGJYFNEXA

Night had settled over the quiet cul-de-sac, a damp fog curling around the streetlamps. Molly checked a tatty map, tracing the route with gloved fingers. Bill wore a mask that looked suspiciously like a beach towel, but he held his head high as if unveiling a master plan to the universe. They crouched behind a hedge, listening to the distant murmur of the party two blocks away: music, laughter, and the soft thwack of a pinata being whacked with reckless joy. "Molly: If we’re doing this, let’s pretend we know what we’re doing. I’ve memorized a route and a rhyme, and I’ve packed a snack plan that would make a pirate reconsider his ethics." "Bill: A route, a rhyme, and a snack plan. Also a sense of theatrical timing, which I absolutely brought along in a tote bag labeled The Very Important Heist Kit." "Molly: The party is loud and bright, full of balloons and a magician who thinks consent to be part of the show equals consent to be part of the crime scene. We slip in when cake is served and the crowd is busy worshiping sugar." "Bill: After cake, when the candles glow down and kids wander in their sugar halos, the present piles become a playground for opportunity and sticky fingers alike." "Molly: Sticky fingers are cute in a cartoon, not in reality, Bill. We need a distraction that won’t wreck the venue or summon security with a siren’s whine." "Bill: I brought a joke book. If we read a few titles aloud, the room will be too busy giggling to notice us sneaking past the pinwheels and the bouncy castle." "Molly: Or we trigger the piñata and let confetti do the heavy lifting. Not dangerous, just noisy, and noisy can be mysterious." "Bill: No, no. We’ll stage a faux treasure hunt, guide everyone to the backyard, and slip through while the kids chase clues like tiny pirates who forgot their maps." "Molly: You want to lead a scavenger hunt to their own presents? That’s adorable and terrifying at the same time." "Bill: It’s charming and efficient. We grab the stacks of gifts, shove them into a bag the color of red velvet cupcakes, and saunter off with the flair of a magician misplacing his hat." "Molly: A flourish, then a stumble, then a sprint. I’ll pretend I’m chasing you for dramatic tension, and you pretend you’re the master of misdirection." "Bill: Misdirection is my superpower. Also the power to misplace a sense of moral gravity while maintaining a wink and a smile." "Molly: Let’s keep the glamour, the squeaks, and the glitter. Glitter says we were here, footprints say we behaved oddly, and both say we had a plan." "Bill: And the plan is simple: walk in with confidence, collect the loot, and disappear before anyone notices a crumb is missing from the cookies." "Molly: This isn’t a cookie caper, Bill. It’s a children’s party, and we’re supposed to be making memories, not encouraging chaos." "Bill: Then we’ll make memories anonymously. A quick exit, a final bow, and a dashed line into the night, leaving behind nothing but a whispered legend of the night Molly and Bill danced with presents and got away with lots of squeaky, squeaky magic." They rose together, cheeks flushed with bravado and mischief, stepping toward the glow of the party with all the confidence of jesters about to march into a candy parade. The plan hummed between them, ridiculous and bright as a balloon in a draft, and for a moment the world felt precisely as stolen as a treasure tucked inside a joke.