Run: 2026-02-16-01KHM62KC3H952A8TPKR1QBXS1

The storage closet of Molly and Bill’s hideout was cramped, lit by a single flickering bulb, and smelled faintly of expired cheese. Maps of suburban cul-de-sacs were taped haphazardly across the walls, each marked with red Sharpie. Molly adjusted her neon-green ski mask while Bill licked frosting off a stolen cupcake wrapper. "Focus, Bill," Molly sighed, slapping the wrapper out of his hand. "Relax," he mumbled, wiping crumbs on his pants. "Kids' parties are chaos—parents arguing over juice boxes, toddlers screaming, nobody’s watching the gift pile." Molly tapped a photo of Little Timmy Thompson’s backyard pinned to the wall. "Security detail: one golden retriever with a wagging tail, three sugared-up six-year-olds on a sugar crash, and Timmy’s dad, who’s probably nursing a beer in the garage." Bill grinned. "Perfect. We show up in clown costumes—blend right in." "Clowns aren’t subtle." "Neither is robbing a birthday party," he countered. Molly groaned but grabbed a red rubber nose from a bin. "Fine. But if we get tackled by a pack of kindergarteners, I’m blaming you." Bill tossed her a glittery balloon. "Deal." They high-fived, knocking over a stack of party hats. The heist was on.