Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKAM25Z2FE3W7DGAE7EQDSV

Molly: Tonight's heist is a children's party, sprinkles included, perhaps. Bill: Then we practice silence, like cats wearing velvet mittens. Molly: No alarms, no fuss, just nimble fingers and charm. Bill: We charm the party balloons, they soften our entry. Molly: The presents are glittering traps, but we wobble through. Bill: Visualize confetti as smoke, confusing security with color tonight. Molly: The cake, we borrow a candle to light courage. Bill: Courage is cheap, like crackers, and twice as crackling. Molly: If we trip, the party favors will applaud us. Bill: Then we vanish, leaving only giggles and sticky icing. Outside, the winter party throbbed with neon balloons and the whoosh of a distant blender. Molly checked a pocket map drawn in crayon, while Bill polished a stolen grin. The hall smelled of cinnamon and cartoon optimism, a place where mischief wore a party hat. They crouched behind a stack of unused piñatas, listening to distant feet and a tambourine heartbeat. Molly whispered that their reputation depended on drama more than speed, and Bill agreed with a shrug that rattled his sleeve. The night stretched, ridiculous and affectionate, as if the moon were supervising a very small, very loud caper.