Run: 2026-02-16-01KHK9X8VN4776WZDG1QRD1W5T

Molly crouched behind the hydrangeas like they were tactical shrubbery and not the overwatered vanity project of a suburban dad. Across the lawn, a rainbow of balloons bobbed over the fence, advertising the crime scene with cheerful enthusiasm. Somewhere inside, children shrieked with the kind of joy that sounded suspiciously like a small animal being unzipped. Bill eased up beside her, breathing like he’d jogged here even though they’d parked half a block away for “operational reasons” and also because he was afraid of reversing. “I can smell the frosting from here,” Bill whispered. “That’s your nerves,” Molly said. “Or your breath. Either way, keep it out of my ear.” He peeked through the leaves. “Look at all those streamers. It’s like the house is celebrating its own vulnerability.” Molly adjusted her knit cap, the one with the tasteful skull on it. “Focus. Presents. Bags. Exit. No improvisation.” Bill nodded solemnly, then immediately improvised. “What if we go in as clowns?” “No.” “Magicians?” “No.” “Sad divorced uncles who brought a gift but forgot their child at home?” Molly stared at him. “That’s too close to real life. Also, you’d start talking about your fantasy football league and we’d never make it to the loot.” Bill sighed and produced a crumpled map drawn on the back of a pizza coupon. It showed the yard, the fence, and a series of arrows labeled “FUN ZONE,” “CAKE SITUATION,” and “PRESENT MOUNTAIN.” The words “BOSS LEVEL: PINATA” were circled three times. “I’ve done recon,” Bill said. “You watched a birthday party through binoculars,” Molly corrected. “Same thing. The presents are stacked by the sliding doors. Easy access. We grab, we go.” Molly listened. The music inside shifted to a jaunty song about sharks having a dance party. She hated how catchy it was. “What about adults?” “Two,” Bill said. “One is grilling like it’s a competitive sport. The other is taking pictures and saying ‘Hold still, sweetie’ like it’s a threat.” “And the dog?” Bill hesitated. “There is… a dog.” Molly narrowed her eyes. “Define dog.” “Small. Fluffy. Looks like a mop that got promoted.” “So, an alarm system with anxiety.” Bill nodded. “It barks at leaves. It barks at shadows. It barked at a balloon and then apologized.” Molly reached into her bag and pulled out a squeaky toy shaped like a bone. “Bribery. Works on dogs and certain judges.” Bill leaned closer. “So we hop the fence, cross the patio, snatch the pile, and slip out.” “Not slip,” Molly said. “We glide. Like professionals. Like swans.” Bill glanced at her boots. “Swans with steel toes.” Molly checked her watch. “Ten minutes until the cake comes out. That’s peak distraction. Kids become frosting goblins. Adults film. The dog gets crumbs and forgets it has a job.” Bill’s eyes shone with greedy innocence. “Do you think any of the gifts are for us? Like, accidentally?” “We’re stealing them,” Molly said. “So yes. They become for us.” Bill swallowed. “What about… morals?” Molly let the question hang for a second, as if considering the nature of right and wrong in a world filled with piñatas. “We are not villains,” she said. “We are reallocators. Besides, half those boxes are probably educational toys. We’re rescuing the children from learning.” Bill brightened. “Public service crime.” “Exactly,” Molly said. “Now, key details: no stepping on balloons. They’re land mines with party hats.” “I hate balloons,” Bill murmured. “They pop like judgment.” Molly traced the fence line with her finger. “Entry point is behind the shed. There’s a loose board. We go one at a time. Quiet. Controlled. Like ballet.” Bill looked down at his own belly. “Like… modern ballet.” They both watched as a child in a paper crown ran past the window, pursued by another child wielding a plastic sword. The sword was bent, but the intent was lethal. Molly exhaled. “Remember, we’re not here to get involved in whatever tiny monarchy they’re running.” Bill said, “If a child challenges me to a duel, I’m not losing to someone who can’t pronounce ‘Wednesday.’” “You will,” Molly said. “You will lose with dignity and then you will run.” Bill tightened the straps on his backpack. “Okay. Grab presents. Avoid dog. Avoid balloons. Avoid children.” “And if anything goes wrong,” Molly added, “we abort. No heroics.” Bill nodded, then whispered, “Molly?” “What.” “This is the biggest job we’ve done.” Molly watched the balloons sway, the fence line gleaming in the sun like a grin. “It’s not big,” she said. “It’s just… brightly colored.” From inside came a chant: “Cake! Cake! Cake!” Molly stood, brushing leaves from her sleeves. “That’s our cue,” she said. Bill rose too, nervous and excited, like a man about to rob a candy store that fought back. “Operation Present Avalanche?” Molly pulled the squeaky bone from her pocket and gave it a test squeak. “Operation Present Avalanche,” she confirmed, and they moved toward the fence with all the stealth two adults could manage while tiptoeing past a garden gnome that looked like it had already called the police.