Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY7SS4D8EV7RCMSA3SPTB34

The backseat of Bill’s rusted-out van smelled like stale coffee and regret, which, for Bill, was just another Tuesday. Molly adjusted the rearview mirror—because even in a heist, vanity wasn’t dead—and ran a finger along the edge of the crowbar resting on her lap. The party was in full swing at the Johnson’s suburban mansion, all glitter cannons and screaming kids, the perfect distraction. “You sure about this?” Bill muttered, peeling the wrapper off a candy bar he’d found in the glove compartment. “Last time we hit a kid’s birthday, we got chased by a six-year-old with a Nerf gun.” Molly smirked. “That was *one time*. And also, you tripped over a piñata.” “It was *booby-trapped*!” “With sprinkles.” Bill groaned, crumpling the candy bar wrapper. “We’re not thieves. We’re *gift liberators*.” “Semantics.” Molly tapped her temple. “The security system’s a joke—motion sensors that go off when a kid sneezes, and the alarm’s so loud it’s basically a party favor. We go in, we grab the presents, we’re out before the cake’s even cut.” Bill squinted at the blueprint spread across his knees. “You drew this?” “No, I *photoshopped* it from the realtor’s website. The ‘playroom’ is actually the storage closet where they keep the presents. And—” she leaned in, “—the piñata’s got a safe inside it.” Bill blinked. “You’re kidding.” “Would I kid about piñatas?” “Yes.” Molly ignored him. “We go in through the back patio—window’s unlocked, kid left it that way. You distract the parents with a fake ‘emergency’—” “Like what?” “Like you ‘forgot’ to bring the cupcakes.” Bill frowned. “I *did* forget to bring the cupcakes.” “Exactly. Then you ‘remember’ them in the car and ‘accidentally’ drop them on the floor. Chaos ensues. Meanwhile, I slip in, grab the presents, and—” “And what? The piñata’s full of candy, not a vault.” Molly grinned. “The *other* piñata. The one shaped like a dragon. It’s got a lock.” Bill stared. “You’re telling me there’s a *dragon piñata* with a safe inside it?” “Yes.” “That’s not a heist. That’s a *metaphor*.” Molly rolled her eyes. “Fine, forget the dragon. Just the presents. But we’re not leaving without the piñata. It’s *art*.” Bill rubbed his temples. “We are so getting caught.” “Nah.” Molly adjusted her beanie. “Worst case, we blame it on the clown.” Bill perked up. “The clown?” “Yeah. You know, the one who ‘accidentally’ let all the presents out of the bag.” Bill nodded slowly. “That’s… actually brilliant.” Molly beamed. “I know.” Bill hesitated. “What if the clown’s in on it?” Molly paused. “…We’re not checking.” Bill sighed, pulling out a walkie-talkie. “Alright, but if I end up in jail for life because of a *dragon piñata*, I’m haunting you.” Molly patted his shoulder. “Relax. By midnight, we’ll be rich, the kids’ll get *more* presents, and the Johnsons will think they’ve been robbed by a very confused clown.” Bill took a deep breath. “God help us.” Molly cracked her knuckles. “God help the Johnsons.” Outside, the sound of laughter and shattering glass drifted from the party. Bill checked his watch. “We’ve got twenty minutes before the cake’s lit.” Molly grinned, grabbing the crowbar. “Then let’s go steal some joy.”