Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY7SJQM36DZ0YSQMKVDQC9B

The backseat of Bill’s rusted-out van smelled like stale coffee and regret. Molly adjusted her wig—third one tonight—and glared at the half-eaten bag of chips between them. “You sure this is the right house?” she muttered, peering through the cracked window at the twinkling lights of the suburban nightmare ahead. “Because if we’re wrong, I swear to God, Bill, I’m gonna push you out of this van myself.” Bill adjusted his fake mustache (also third attempt) and squinted at the GPS. “Nope. Definitely the right house. Mrs. Henderson’s place. She’s got a *party* for her grandkid’s birthday. Like, *all* the presents. The good stuff. The *expensive* stuff.” Molly snorted. “A *children’s party*. You’re telling me we’re breaking into a *children’s party*?” “It’s a goldmine, Mol. Kids get the best toys. Action figures, LEGOs, *video games*. And parents? They don’t even check the wrapping paper half the time.” “Oh, so now we’re *Santa’s* little helpers?” Bill ignored her. “Window’s on the second floor, left side. Security’s a motion sensor light in the backyard. Easy in, easy out.” Molly crossed her arms. “And what, we just *walk in*? Say, ‘Hey, kids, mind if we take all your presents?’” “No, we don’t *walk in*. We *distract*.” “Ah, the classic ‘distraction’ plan. My favorite.” Bill pulled a crumpled flyer from his pocket. “See? It says here: *‘Come one, come all! Magic show at 3 PM!’*” Molly stared. “You’re telling me we’re doing a *magic show*?” “Not *me*. You.” Molly’s eye twitched. “I haven’t done magic since the third grade, and I made a rabbit *disappear*—into my backpack, where it bit me.” “You’ll be fine. Just pull a few tricks, keep ‘em entertained, and while they’re all oohing and ahhing, I’ll be in the living room, *collecting*.” Molly groaned. “And if someone asks *why* we’re here?” Bill grinned. “Then you say we’re *hired help*. Birthday party professionals.” Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. “We are *terrible* at this.” “Nah, we’re *creative*.” Bill tapped the dashboard. “Now, you’ve got your script memorized?” Molly sighed. “‘Watch closely, children, as this coin *vanishes*—’” “No, no, no. The *big* trick. The one where the bird comes out of the hat.” “The *what*?” Bill’s grin widened. “Relax. I got a pigeon.” Molly’s head snapped toward him. “You *what*?” “I found a pigeon. It’s in my jacket.” “Bill.” “It’s fine! Pigeons are *great* for magic. They don’t talk, they don’t judge—” “It’s *alive*.” “Exactly! It’ll be *perfect*.” Molly stared at him, then at the van door, then back at him. “We are *so* getting arrested.” Bill patted her knee. “Nah. We’ll be *celebrity thieves* by morning.” Molly opened the door. “I need a drink.” “Good idea! I’ve got—” “Not *that* kind of drink, Bill.” He paused. “…Tea?” She slammed the door shut and marched toward the Henderson house, muttering under her breath. Bill caught up, adjusting his mustache one last time. “You ready for this, partner?” Molly side-eyed him. “I’d rather rob a bank.” Bill clapped him on the back. “That’s the spirit!”