Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY7V9NC652QRN488MW2TVGA

The warehouse was dim, lit only by the flickering glow of a single bulb dangling from a rusted chain. Molly adjusted her ski mask, her breath fogging the glass of her sunglasses—because, as she’d explained to Bill earlier, *vibe*. He leaned against a crate of deflated balloons, arms crossed, looking like a man who’d just been told he had to wear a tutu. “You’re sure about this?” Bill muttered, eyeing the invitation in his hand. It was covered in glitter and smelled faintly of apple juice. “We’re really breaking into a *kids’ party*?” Molly tapped her foot. “It’s not a kids’ party, it’s a *target-rich environment*. You ever seen what rich parents spend on their brats? Gold-plated toy soldiers, designer juice boxes—” “—and a piñata full of cash,” Bill finished, nodding sagely. “Right. Because nothing says ‘professional’ like a guy in a ski mask swinging at a clown.” “It’s not a clown, it’s a *dragon*. And it’s *our* dragon now.” She pulled a small, crumpled map from her pocket. “See? The piñata’s right by the snack table, which is right by the window, which is right by—” “—the fire escape,” Bill groaned. “Which is right by the neighbor’s very aggressive Chihuahua.” Molly waved a hand. “We’ll handle the Chihuahua. You got the distraction?” “Yeah, yeah, I’ll ‘accidentally’ set off the sprinklers while ‘helping’ put out a ‘fake’ fire.” He mimed throwing a lit match into a trash can. “Very subtle.” “It’s *art*, Bill.” She grinned, adjusting her gloves. “Now let’s go make some kids very confused about where their presents went.”