Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKA4MFWHEH4PVB7ZK1SX7WN

The living room smelled of frosting and cheap confetti when Molly peered through the slightly ajar door. A chorus of plastic laughter floated past the threshold, little voices ricocheting like ping pong balls off a cardboard castle. Molly wiped a smear of lipstick from her collarbone and checked the sky. It was raining in polite droplets, ideal for a hasty vanishing act. Bill lurked behind a hedge, craning his neck around a plastic flamingo like a detective in a sentry hat. He mouthed the word plan and then frowned at his shoelace. The party was small and furious, toddlers charging cushions like tiny battering rams. Presents sat on a low table, paper rustling like currencies in a fairy market. Molly tilted her head, listening to the rhythm of birthday songs and the thud of tiny jump feet. She felt absurd, like a cat at a dog show, plotting which disguise would be least insulted. Bill tapped his watch — a novelty watch with a spinning clown — and gestured to an open window that smelled faintly of soap and crayons. Molly could see gift tags fluttering like tiny flags, names promising plastic dreams and socks sprinkled with glitter. She imagined the hush they would leave in their wake, parents murmuring about missing surprises, kids shrugging and moving on toward cupcakes. There was an art to stealing party favors, she decided, equal parts dexterity and theatricality. The moon peeked between clouds, a conspiratorial spectator nodding approval. Molly pressed her palm to the frame and whispered, not to Bill but to herself, This will be ridiculous, and therefore perfect. A balloon banged against the curtains, a trumpet of helium announcing the next clownish interval, and Bill signaled with his thumb, ready? The hedgerow seemed to hold its breath as they readied their audacious, unnecessary, joyful crime. Molly smiled a sly crescent and flicked a paper crown from her bag. Bill adjusted his collar, checked a bulging pocket for rope, candy, and an emergency kazoo. They moved like burglars who loved children, nimble as pie thieves, determined to convert wrapping into souvenirs of mischief tonight. "Molly: Tonight we steal joy and wrapping paper." "Bill: All the presents, nothing left for the piñata." "Molly: There will be cake frosting boulevards and helium mines." "Bill: Timing is key. We slip in during the pony show." "Molly: I parachute in with a balloon bouquet decoy." "Bill: I'll carry a sack that looks like Santa's laundry." "Molly: We'll trade glitter for footprints, and sugar for silence." "Bill: What about children? We can't abduct cake; just presents." "Molly: Keep it light, Bill. We are invisible to toddlers." "Bill: You're the distraction. That's your job description now." "Molly: I have glitter bombs and a kazoo orchestra queued." "Bill: Good. I'll be the exit strategy in a trench coat." "Molly: Remember, presents are ephemeral but bragging rights are eternal." "Bill: We grab the gifts and leave a sticker that reads Party Poachers." "Molly: Also, free balloons for all, for alibi and chaos."