Run: 2026-02-16-01KHM5CA87G4N3827QN1096MJW

The moon hung low over the quiet suburban street as Molly and Bill crouched behind a hedge, eyeing the brightly lit house across the lawn. The sounds of children’s laughter and a kazoo rendition of “Happy Birthday” drifted through the open windows. Bill adjusted his black beanie and squinted at the party through a pair of binoculars. “D’you think they’ve got a guard dog?” he whispered. Molly rolled her eyes. “It’s a six-year-old’s birthday party, Bill. Even if they did, it’d be a golden retriever named Cupcake.” “Fair point,” Bill conceded, lowering the binoculars. “Still, we gotta be careful. Kids are unpredictable. One minute they’re crying over spilled juice, the next they’re throwing cake like it’s a grenade.” Molly checked the time on her stolen smartwatch. “Alright, here’s the plan. You’ll go in disguised as the clown they hired.” Bill blanched. “I’m terrified of clowns.” “Perfect. Then you’ll blend right in—you’ll be sweating like the rest of them.” She shoved a red nose and rainbow wig into his hands. “Meanwhile, I’ll slip in through the back, grab the presents, and meet you by the getaway car.” Bill frowned. “What getaway car? We took the bus.” “Details, Bill. Focus.” Molly tightened the straps on her black gloves. “Remember, the real trick isn’t stealing the loot—it’s surviving the sugar-fueled chaos.” Bill sighed and tugged on the wig. “I look ridiculous.” “You look like a man who’s about to make six grand in Hot Wheels and Legos.” She clapped him on the shoulder. “Now go on. Do your honk.” Bill scowled but reluctantly squeezed the red nose. It let out a pathetic squeak. Molly groaned. “That’s the worst clown impression I’ve ever heard.” “Oh, like you could do better?” She grabbed the nose and honked it with a flourish. A perfect, circus-worthy *honk-honk* echoed through the night. Bill blinked. “How’d you do that?” “Trade secret,” she said, tossing it back. “Now move. And try not to trip over any toddlers.” Bill muttered under his breath as he trudged toward the front door. Molly slipped around the side, dodging a cluster of helium balloons tied to the mailbox. She peered through the kitchen window—clear. Inside, Bill’s disguised voice carried over the noise. “Uh, hello, kiddos! Who’s ready for… clown stuff?” A chorus of screams answered him. Molly smirked and jimmied open the back door. The living room was a warzone of wrapping paper and frosting-smeared faces. A mountain of presents sat beneath a banner that read *HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ETHAN!* She was halfway to the pile when a tiny voice piped up behind her. “Are you Santa’s helper?” Molly froze. A small boy in a superhero cape stared up at her, clutching a half-eaten cupcake. “…Yes,” she said smoothly. “And I’m here to, uh, quality-check the presents.” The boy gasped. “Wow! Can I help?” Molly glanced at Bill, who was now juggling oranges with the panic of a man who’d never juggled before. She sighed. “Sure, kid. Grab the end of that ribbon.” As they dragged the loot toward the door, Molly made a mental note: next heist, no clowns, no kids, and definitely no kazoos.