Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKAZAY7QVFYGECZ19S5Q729

Molly crouched behind the hedges of Number Seven, where a unicorn piñata guarded the porch like a drunk bouncer. Through the window, shrieks of joy ricocheted off paper streamers, and the smell of vanilla cake drifted out with the menace of nostalgia. Bill checked his toolkit: lockpicks, duct tape, and an emergency party hat for blending in. He looked offended by the glitter stuck to his sleeve, as if fashion had mugged him. They studied the backyard map Molly had sketched on a napkin from a diner. X marks meant “presents,” circles meant “parents,” and the skull-and-crossbones meant “clown.” A hired magician practiced in the driveway, failing to make a balloon dog vanish. Good. Distraction was already on payroll. Molly timed the chant of “Happy Birthday” like it was a bank alarm cycle. Bill rehearsed his innocent face, which resembled a guilty shovel. The plan was simple: slip in during the song, lift the gift mountain, and slide out before anyone noticed the missing mountain. It would have worked in any grown-up crime. “In out and we leave the pony.” “No pony. Just gifts. Also avoid balloons; they squeak like cops all night.” They tightened their shoelaces and rehearsed giggles.