Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKAFH5R3G3JSFDPCSN543WZ

Molly pressed her back against the peeling stucco wall of the community center, peering around the corner at the chaos of balloons and glitter spilling from the double doors. "You know, we're technically robbing toddlers," Molly whispered, pulling her knit cap lower. "Toddlers with gift cards and probably collectible dinosaurs," Bill replied, balancing a lopsided sheet cake in his hands like it was an explosive device. Molly eyed the cake. "Is there a patron saint of morally confused burglars?" "If there is, he definitely wears a ski mask," Bill said. His own mask hung around his neck like an aggressive scarf, waiting for its big moment. "Focus, Bill, what’s our entry strategy again?" "We blend in, deliver the cake, liberate the loot." "You baked the cake yourself, which still terrifies me." "Relax, nothing poisons people faster than store frosting anyway." "That sentence was not as comforting as you hoped." "Look, kids love sugar and explosions of wrapping paper." "Explosions of wrapping paper we are absolutely stealing." "Borrowing indefinitely, with a flexible return schedule." "Do you even hear yourself when you rehearse crimes?" "Constantly, and I sound charming and underappreciated." "Underappreciated criminals end up appreciating prison cafeterias, Bill." "Speaking of, try not to glare at the magician." "If he pulls a rabbit, I’m stealing its contract." "Please, steal the rabbit, not our exit strategy tonight." The double doors flew open and a harried woman with frosting on her elbow barreled past them, phone clamped to her ear. She never even glanced at the suspicious pair lurking by the soda machine mural. Molly lifted her clipboard, the fake catering logo slightly crooked, and muttered that they were on in thirty seconds, reminding Bill he was Brad, Cake Technician, First Class. Bill straightened, trying for professional and landing closer to bewildered uncle. He asked what that made her, and she declared herself Lead Distraction Engineer as she squared her shoulders, pasted on a syrupy smile, and marched toward the doors. Inside, the gym had been transformed into a battlefield of streamers, toppled party hats, and sticky footprints. A banner sagged overhead: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AIDEN!!! The extra exclamation points felt personally aggressive. They approached the long table of presents, a cardboard mountain range wrapped in dinosaurs, superheroes, and glittery unicorns. All that consumer grade treasure, completely unguarded except for a sleepy clown scrolling on his phone. She nudged Bill and mentally rehearsed the phases of the operation: cake, chaos, and a mysterious visit from a very larcenous Santa. Bill set the cake down with exaggerated reverence. Kids swarmed, chanting for slices. As the parents converged with napkins and panic, Molly slipped behind the gift table, eyes scanning for the largest haul. In the far corner, an enormous box lurked, wrapped in metallic paper so shiny she could almost see her criminal reflection. The tag read FROM GRANDMA, which meant high probability of something expensive or catastrophically noisy. She grinned. This would be the weirdest heist of their career; Bill had once pickpocketed a mime.