Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY7RK3K6PHASQBVRQDKYTJ2

Molly leaned against a dumpster, one sneaker scuffing a half-eaten hot dog bun, and flipped through a crumpled notebook. "3:15 sharp," she said, not looking up. "Lila’s gonna be too busy herding toddlers to notice we’re not here for the snow cones." Bill adjusted the lopsided clown wig perched on his head—too big, too pink, with a frill that kept falling into his mouth. "You sure we need the wigs? What if Mrs. Hargrove recognizes you? She saw you last week when you ‘accidentally’ stole her mail order cheese puffs." "*Accidentally*?" Molly scoffed, closing the notebook. "Mrs. Hargrove thinks the mailman’s a raccoon with a clipboard. She won’t connect the dots. Clowns blend in. Kids love clowns. Clowns steal presents. Kid logic, innit?" She winked, then paused, squinting at Bill’s shoes. "Why’re you wearing those? They look like they’re made of wet cardboard." "Supposed to be ‘party hats on feet,’" Bill mumbled, lifting one. "Lila’s kiddo’s into ‘sensory fashion.’" He tripped over his own shoelace and collapsed into a pile of empty soda cups. "See? Blends in." Molly snorted, pulling a lockpick from her pocket. "Listen, the presents are in that storage closet by the bounce house. Red label, ‘Gifts for Special Kids’—code for ‘way too nice for her own brats.’ We take the crossbows, the art sets, the talking toaster. She’ll cry over a lopsided piñata. Who cares?" Bill sat up, brushing a Cheeto from his shoulder. "What if the toaster’s broken? What if the kids—" "—have better toasters?" Molly interrupted, grinning. "They’re *three*. They’ll forget the toaster’s gone by bedtime. Priorities, Bill. This isn’t about the toaster. It’s about…" She paused, miming a deep voice. "‘Redistributing joy to those who can make better use of it.’" "Redistributing *my* snack stash," Bill muttered. "You stole my last Skittle two weeks ago." Molly kicked a soda can. It rolled toward a group of teenagers smoking by a lamppost. "And what’s *your* plan if we get caught? Hide behind a piñata? ‘Sorry, officer, I was just practicing my balloon animal skills!’" Bill brightened. "I *am* pretty good at those. Last year, I made a penguin for Little Timmy. He didn’t cry." Molly groaned, but she was smiling. She tucked the lockpick back and pulled a roll of streamers from her bag—also fake, also pink. "Here. For your ‘sensory fashion.’" Bill caught it, unrolling to reveal a glittery dinosaur. "Sweet. Thanks." "Don’t thank me yet," she said, checking her watch. "We’ve got ten minutes. You handle the door—distract the hostess by asking for ‘extra napkins.’ I’ll pop the lock. We grab the big boxes, hook a left at the lollipop machine, and out the side gate before the piñata drops. Easy." Bill chewed on the frill of his wig. "Easy. Right." Molly poked him in the chest. "Relax. The only thing that could go wrong is if a toddler saw us." Something clattered. They froze. A little girl in a princess dress stood at the alley entrance, staring. Her pigtails were lopsided, her tiara askew. "Uh," Bill said, too loudly. "Nice tiara." The girl stared. Then she pointed at his wig. "Clown!" "Clown!" Molly echoed, before she could think. "Clown *princess*?" The girl giggled, which turned into a snort. She turned and ran, yelling, "Mommy! Clowns!" Bill buried his face in his hands. "We’re *ruined*. She’s gonna tell Mrs. Hargrove. Mrs. Hargrove’s gonna ban clowns. Which means I’ll never be able to make dinosaur balloons again." Molly grabbed his arm, trying not to laugh. "Watch it. We’ve got a *job* to do. And if all else fails, I’ll blame it on the dinosaur streamers." They crept toward the party, the girl’s giggles fading behind them. Bill adjusted his wig, and Molly tucked the notebook under her arm. "Right," she said. "Crossbows first." "Crossbows first," Bill agreed, then winced. "Do you think the dinosaur streamers count as a disguise too? For the toaster?" Molly rolled her eyes, but she was grinning. "Just… *move*. Before I change my mind." They melted into the crowd. Somewhere, a piñata creaked.