Run: 2026-02-16-01KHM5JB3Y4EKEFPSVHRZHRXH7

Molly spread the colorful map across the table, her finger tracing the route to the backyard party. Bill, peering over her shoulder, gulped audibly. The plan was absurd, but the payoff—a mountain of brightly wrapped toys—was irresistible. He pointed a shaky finger at a sketched clown face. "Security?" he squeaked. Molly snorted. "Relax. It's just a hired entertainer named Bubbles, completely harmless." She continued outlining the operation: during the musical chairs meltdown, Bill would create a diversion with a flock of trained pigeons (borrowed, questionably, from a park). Molly, disguised as an overly enthusiastic aunt, would load the gifts into a wagon disguised as a toy train. Bill wiped his brow, his anxiety manifesting in a series of involuntary twitches. "What if the pigeons rebel?" he whispered, eyeing the crude bird drawings on the map. Molly shrugged. "Then we improvise. Remember the hamster job? That was a total disaster." Bill shuddered at the memory. The risks were high: sticky fingers, tantrums, and the ever-present danger of a pinata-related injury. Molly checked her equipment: a sack lined with glitter, a whistle to signal the pigeons, and a pair of oversized sunglasses. Bill practiced his casual stroll, which resembled a man fleeing a bee. They reviewed the escape route—through the neighbor's sprinklers—and the alibi: they were simply lost party guests. The clock ticked toward party time. Both thieves took a deep breath, contemplating the chaos of children and the sweet sound of tearing wrapping paper. It was, they hoped, a piece of cake.