Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKAERGNKWJPANJG8CH4MHK6

The gym smelled of frosting and sweat as a fluorescent banner drooped over folding chairs. Molly crouched behind a stack of orange cones that had seen better birthday parties and worse intentions. Bill balanced a helium tank like it was a suspicious cat, eyes darting toward the gaggle of parents clustered near the punch bowl. They moved with the calm efficiency of people who had once stolen a gondola and now practiced dramatic sighs. "We scope the cake first, then the gifts. Keep your shoelaces tied." "Shoelaces are ceremonial. What about a distraction? Clowns are cliché." Molly tapped a clipboard and traced a hand-drawn map of dessert tables, gift piles, and the inevitably treacherous bouncy castle. A paper crown hung from one corner, a tiny badge of sovereignty over sugar chaos. She hummed a theme tune no one would have expected a professional pilferer to carry: tentative, conspiratorial, strangely cheerful. "Kids love chaos. Bring bubbles and a fog machine." "Fog machine hides us but might set off alarms." Bill rolled out a paper plan, circles and arrows like a pirate chart annotated by a party planner. His hat was a scratched baseball cap that read I AM INCORRECTLY ADORABLE. He whispered practicalities: timing, routes, the need for decoy toddlers. A small dog barked like duty invoked. Nearby a magician shuffled his deck with theatrical boredom. "We sneak in during the pinata. Everyone's looking up." "Pinata plan is solid. I'll hold the bat." "You swing, I sweep. Quick in and out, like a polite hurricane." "Polite hurricane? I'll practice my apologies." Between them their toolbox of crime was oddly festive: a roll of plastic tablecloths, a pocketful of cupcake wrappers, two mismatched gloves, and a stash of biodegradable confetti Molly insisted on for moral reasons. They argued briefly about whether glitter was a weapon or an accessory and whether balloons could be used as smoke. They rehearsed excuses for encountering a parent mid-tuck: a lost phone, an emergency balloon twist, a terrible magic trick gone ethical. "Wrap the loot in party tablecloths. Nobody will suspect tablecloths." "I will wear a balloon hat for stealth. Distraction plus disguise." "Timing is everything. Ten minutes, tops, before cake cutting." "If a child resists?" "We bribe them with leftover cupcakes." "Leftover cupcakes are a currency I respect. Also, glitter grenades?" "Only biodegradable glitter. We have standards." Outside the windows twilight made the playground look suspiciously quiet. Inside the children were gladiators of sugar, shrieking with permission, crowned in napkins. Molly checked her watch, then smoothed the tablecloth like an officer smoothing a cape. Bill flexed his fingers and practiced looking apologetic. "Good. Now, exit strategy?" "Confetti canon into the sprinkler system, chaos, and we vanish." "Perfect. To the clown van." They both loved the absurdity of their occupation, the etiquette of theft rehearsed as if at tea. The plan was ridiculous and therefore likely to succeed. They had one rule: never steal the party favors. Because some crimes required boundaries, and cupcakes were for everyone.