Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXPC4A2TXWVYYJFQ4NSF83Y

Molly adjusted the glittery unicorn horn strapped to her forehead and squinted at the clipboard in her hands. "Alright, Bill, let’s go over this again. The party starts at three, which means we’ve got exactly forty-seven minutes to get in, grab the loot, and get out before the sugar crash hits and those kids turn into tiny, screaming banshees." Bill, dressed in a suspiciously clean clown costume, frowned at his oversized shoes. "I still don’t see why I have to be the clown. Clowns are creepy. Have you ever met a clown who wasn’t at least *a little* unhinged?" "Because, my dear Bill, you’re the one with the face for it. Also, you’re the only one who can pull off that nose without looking like you’re smuggling a cherry under there." Molly tapped the clipboard. "Now, focus. The parents are distracted by the magician, the kids are hyped up on cake, and the presents are all piled up by the gift table like a buffet of unguarded treasure." Bill sighed, adjusting his rainbow wig. "Fine. But if one of those kids tries to hug me, I’m out. I didn’t sign up for emotional labor." Molly rolled her eyes. "You’re a thief, not a therapist. Just smile, hand out balloons, and for the love of all things criminal, *do not* make eye contact with the parents. We don’t need some overprotective dad remembering your face when the cops come knocking." Bill pulled a balloon animal out of his pocket—a sad, lopsided giraffe. "What’s this for?" "Distraction. If anyone gets suspicious, you start twisting balloons into questionable shapes and suddenly no one’s looking at me slipping the presents into the giant piñata I brought." Bill held up the giraffe. "This looks like it lost a fight with a lawnmower." "Exactly. It’s so bad it’s *memorable*. They’ll be talking about your ‘art’ for years, not the fact that half the gifts vanished." Molly checked her watch. "Alright, we’ve got ten minutes. You go in first, act like you’re part of the entertainment. I’ll follow in five, dressed as a very concerned aunt who ‘just stopped by to drop off a gift.’" Bill groaned. "I hate this plan. What if the magician recognizes me from that time I tried to pick his pocket at the county fair?" Molly patted his shoulder. "Then you improvise. Tell him you’re his biggest fan. Tell him you’re his long-lost twin. Tell him you’re a time traveler here to prevent the invention of balloon animals. I don’t care, just keep him busy." Bill took a deep breath. "Fine. But if this goes sideways, I’m blaming you." Molly grinned. "That’s the spirit. Now go be terrifyingly cheerful." Bill waddled toward the party, his oversized shoes squeaking with every step. Molly counted to thirty before adjusting her cardigan and grabbing the piñata—a suspiciously lumpy, gift-shaped piñata. She muttered under her breath, "Alright, kids. Let’s see what Santa *really* brought you this year."