Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKRGKDKRZ89AXH9VBZQFHJV

Night settled over the cul‑de‑sac like a cheap blanket, smothering the streetlights and turning the rows of neatly trimmed hedges into conspiratorial shadows. A line of pastel balloons bobbed on a thin rope, swaying in the breeze as if they were waiting for a cue. The smell of frosting and cheap perfume drifted from the open back door of a suburban house where a children’s birthday party was in full swing. Molly crouched behind a garden gnome, her black leather gloves glinting in the moonlight, while Bill slipped in behind her, his trench coat flapping like a misguided cape. “Molly, you sure this is a good idea?” Bill whispered, his breath forming tiny clouds that vanished as quickly as his confidence. “Absolutely,” Molly replied, tapping a finger to her chin. “The parents will be too busy fighting over cake to notice a few missing toys.” “Do we have a plan for the kids?” Bill asked, eyes darting toward the flickering porch lights that illuminated a chaotic scene of children with painted faces and oversized party hats. “Yes. We go in through the back gate, slip past the clown, and grab the gift table before the piñata is smashed,” she said, sketching a quick map on a napkin. “The clown?” Bill raised an eyebrow. “Is he armed?” “Only with balloon animals,” Molly smirked. “He’ll be too busy twisting a giraffe to spot us.” “How many presents are we talking about?” Bill counted on his fingers, his mind already tallying the loot. “About twenty, maybe thirty. Enough to fund our next vacation to the Bahamas,” Molly said, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Do we have an exit strategy?” Bill asked, glancing at the garden hose that curled like a snake. “Yes, the hose leads to the street. We’ll slip out behind the garden gnome, then blend into the night,” she replied, pulling a small rope from her pocket. “Sounds like a circus,” Bill muttered, shaking his head. “It is,” Molly laughed. “But we’re the ringmasters.” They moved silently, the grass whispering under their boots. Children darted between tables, clutching cupcakes and plastic swords, while adults clinked glasses and pretended to care about the latest gossip. A clown with a red nose and oversized shoes waddled near the cake, blowing bubbles that floated like lazy balloons. Molly slipped the rope around the garden gnome’s base, securing it with a quick knot. Bill checked the back gate; its lock was rusted but still stubborn. “Ready?” Bill whispered, his voice a low growl. “Ready,” Molly answered, her grin as wide as a birthday cake. They slipped through the gate, the night swallowing their shadows. The clown turned, his eyes widening as he spotted the two intruders. He squealed, “Hey! No touching the presents!” Molly rolled her eyes. “Relax, we’re just here for the gifts, not the frosting.” Bill ducked behind a table, grabbing the biggest box and tossing it onto a nearby lawn chair. “One down,” he whispered, “and the rest are ours.” The children’s laughter rose like a chorus, oblivious to the heist. Molly and Bill exchanged a quick high‑five, their hearts pounding with the thrill of the caper. As the clown tried to rally the kids, Molly slipped a hand into the gift pile, feeling the smooth plastic of toys and the weight of a shiny new bike helmet. “We’ve got the loot,” she whispered, “now let’s vanish before the birthday song starts.” Bill glanced at the clock on the wall, noting the seconds ticking down. “Two minutes left,” he said, and they both sprinted toward the garden hose, pulling the rope taut. The hose slipped through the gate, and they vanished into the darkness, leaving behind a bewildered clown, a half‑eaten cake, and a party that would soon discover that the best gift was the one that never arrived.