Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKRB30T2RFJYDPV7DMRYJFE

Molly crouched behind the inflatable castle, eyes scanning the backyard where balloons bobbed like nervous jellyfish. Bill leaned against the snack table, a half‑eaten cupcake smudging his moustache. The sun was low, casting long shadows that made the garden gnomes look like conspirators. "Do you think the parents will notice us?" Bill whispered, his voice a mix of excitement and dread. Molly glanced at the stack of gift boxes piled under the picnic table. "If they notice, they'll blame the clown. And the clown's got a squeaky nose; he's not exactly a stealth operative." "Right," Bill said, tapping his foot. "We need a distraction. Something that pulls the kids' attention away from the presents." Molly smirked. "I saw a magician's rabbit earlier. We could release it, let it hop around, and the kids will chase it like a runaway hamster." "Or we could rig the piñata to explode with confetti," Bill suggested, eyes glittering. "A burst of color, a burst of chaos." Molly laughed, a soft chortle that blended with the distant squeak of a slide. "Confetti is nice, but the piñata is already full of candy. If it blows, the kids will be too busy eating to notice the missing gifts." Bill nodded, his mind racing. "What about the music? If we cut the playlist, the kids will be confused, and we can slip in." "The DJ is a kid with a tablet," Molly said, tapping her chin. "We could hack his playlist, replace the happy birthday song with a recording of a police siren. That'll send the parents into a panic." "Perfect," Bill grinned, pulling a tiny lock‑pick set from his pocket. "And while they're panicking, we slip out the back door with the loot." Molly crouched low, listening to the faint giggles. "We have to be quick. The party starts in five minutes, and the cake is about to be cut." "Five minutes," Bill repeated, checking his watch. "That's enough time to swap the gift pile with a decoy sack of sand. Then we dump the sand into the kiddie pool and make a clean getaway." Molly's eyes sparkled. "And we leave a note: 'Thanks for the treats, we enjoyed the party!'" Bill burst out laughing. "We should sign it 'Molly and Bill, Professional Party Crashers.'" Molly rolled her eyes. "Don't get too cocky. The parents will be looking for us. We need a cover story." "How about we claim we were hired as balloon artists?" Bill suggested, pulling a balloon animal from his bag. Molly took the balloon, twisted it into a dog, and handed it to Bill. "If they ask, we say we were practicing for the next birthday." Bill nodded, stuffing the balloon dog into his jacket. "And if they ask about the missing presents, we say the kids ate them." Molly laughed again, the sound echoing off the garden fence. "Kids eat anything, even their own toys. That works." The two thieves exchanged a quick high‑five, their eyes gleaming with mischief. The party music swelled, the children squealed, and the inflatable castle bobbed like a buoyant secret. In the chaos, Molly slipped into the gift pile, swapping boxes with a sack of sand, while Bill slipped out the back, his balloon dog tucked under his arm. The night was young, the presents were theirs, and the only thing left was the distant siren, which, as they hoped, would be the soundtrack of their perfect heist.