Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKA58KAR5BZTWG0KC3R7YNQ

Molly pressed her back against the brick wall and peered over the hedge. Beyond it, the suburban backyard glowed with fairy lights and helium balloons shaped like dinosaurs. At least twenty kids ran screaming in sugar-fueled chaos while parents hovered by a folding table and an inflatable castle heaved in the corner like a sleeping dragon. “Bill,” Molly whispered, “of all the targets in the city, you picked a war zone run by toddlers.” Bill crouched beside her, squinting past a row of pink cupcakes. “Molly, look at those gift bags. Unicorn paper. Glittery bows. That is the glint of high-end plastic inside.” “We’re stealing plastic?” she asked. “Have we fallen this far?” “Vintage limited-edition action figures,” he said. “Parents overcompensating for guilt. That’s not plastic, that’s unregulated currency.” Molly watched a kid wipe frosting on another kid’s face, then lick it off. “You know they bite, right? Like actual tiny piranhas with juice boxes.” Bill fished a folded flyer from his pocket: “Savannah’s Super Sparkle Seventh Birthday!” He jabbed a finger at it. “Seven-year-olds are distracted by cake. This is the most vulnerable point in their security cycle.” “Their security cycle?” Molly said. “They’re in paper crowns.” “Paper crowns,” Bill said, “can conceal Bluetooth trackers. You think big. I think small and terrifying.” One of the parents started shouting something about the piñata. A blindfolded child stumbled past with a bat. Molly flinched. “You did not tell me there would be blunt weapons.” “That bat is our cover,” Bill said. “During piñata chaos, you slip under the gift table, I create a diversion.” “What kind of diversion?” she asked. “Because the last one involved a fire extinguisher and a priest.” “I call this one Operation Allergic Clown,” Bill said, grinning. “I knock over the cooler, soak the clown, balloons go wild, parents panic. You roll away with the loot. Easy.” Molly’s gaze drifted to the clown, who was shaping a balloon sword for a child already holding two. “He looks like he enjoys his job,” she said. “I can’t rob a man who voluntarily does that.” “We’re not robbing him,” Bill said. “We’re redistributing society’s misplaced generosity.” “From children,” Molly said. “To us.” “Trickle-up economics,” Bill replied. She sighed. “What about alarms? Nanny cams? Helicopter moms with night-vision baby monitors?” Bill pointed to the inflatable castle. “The bounce house is the real perimeter. Look at it, Molly. That’s a parental black hole. Once the kids go in, nobody looks anywhere else. We go in, we come out, we’re legends.” “Or we go in and never come out,” she muttered. “Death by static electricity and shrieking.” From the yard, a chorus of kids yelled, “Piñata! Piñata!” Parents started herding them toward a tree where a cardboard unicorn hung, innocent and doomed. “Showtime,” Bill said. “You ready?” “No,” Molly said. “But my rent is due, so let’s traumatize some birthdays.” They slipped through the side gate. Immediately, a small boy in a cape blocked their path, staring up at them like a suspicious raccoon. “Think fast,” Molly hissed. Bill bent down. “We’re the… gift inspectors,” he said. “Quality control for presents. Very official.” The boy narrowed his eyes. “Where are your capes?” Molly tugged at her black jacket. “Stealth capes,” she said. “Invisible. Extra expensive. Only for elite inspectors.” The boy gasped. “Cool,” he whispered, then sprinted away to tell absolutely everyone. Molly winced. “You just escalated us from suspicious to legendary.” “Legends don’t get questioned,” Bill said. “They get obeyed.” They reached the tower of gifts: a mountain of shiny paper and irresponsible spending. Molly dropped to her knees and slipped beneath the folding tablecloth, disappearing into a world of chair legs and discarded wrapping paper. Above, Bill cleared his throat loudly. “Attention,” he called. “I need everyone to step back from the gifts. There’s been a… ribbon malfunction.” Molly, under the table, whispered to herself, “Ribbon malfunction? Really?” Kids surged closer instead of back. Bill tried again. “A dangerous ribbon malfunction. With, uh, glitter contamination. Very serious.” Parents groaned but started tugging kids away, muttering about laundry. Molly grinned in the dim little cave, untying bows with professional speed and sliding boxes into a duffel bag like a reverse Santa Claus. “Bill,” she whispered, “you might actually pull this off.” A cupcake toppled off the table above and splatted next to her hand. “Correction,” she whispered, scooping another box into the bag. “We might drown in frosting first.”