Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY7X86YBMTFW7WGD9MSXJHS

The neon glow of the party store’s sign flickered like a dying firefly as Molly adjusted her oversized sunhat, the kind grandmas wear to hide their bald spots. Bill crouched beside her, his fingers twitching over the lockpick set in his pocket like a pianist about to play a symphony of doom. The street was quiet, save for the distant wail of a police siren—probably just some poor sap getting pulled over for jaywalking, but Bill’s ears twitched anyway. “You sure this is the right place?” Molly whispered, though the question was more for her own sanity than anything else. The storefront was all pastel balloons and plastic tablecloths, the kind of place that smelled like glitter and regret. “Because if we’re wrong, we’re gonna look like a couple of perverts casing a kindergarten tea party.” Bill didn’t look up from the lock. “I’m never wrong. Also, I *did* case it yesterday. Remember? You were the one who ate all the evidence—those mini cupcakes from the display.” “Self-defense,” Molly said, licking frosting off her thumb. “Sugar’s a valid weapon.” A child’s giggle echoed from inside, followed by the unmistakable sound of a piñata being bashed to pieces. Molly’s stomach did a little flip. “Okay, new plan. We go in, grab the presents, and get out before anyone notices we’re not here to blow bubbles.” Bill finally glanced at her, his dark eyes gleaming with the kind of excitement only reserved for people who enjoyed breaking the law. “Or we could just wait for the parents to pass out on the punch.” Molly sighed. “You’re no fun. Also, that punch is probably spiked with something illegal. We don’t need *more* charges.” A shadow moved past the window—someone inside, probably a parent checking on the kids. Bill’s hand shot out, gripping Molly’s wrist. “Stay down,” he hissed. She rolled her eyes but ducked lower, pressing her face into the cold pavement. The scent of fresh-cut grass and something suspiciously like baby powder wafted toward them. A woman’s voice, cheerful and exhausted, drifted out: *“Who wants more cake? No, not you, Timmy, you’ve already had three slices. Yes, I *know* you’re not actually hungry, but—”* Bill’s fingers stilled on the lock. “She’s got a point. Three slices *is* too much.” Molly elbowed him. “Focus.” The lock clicked. Bill grinned like a kid on Christmas. “Told you I was never wrong.” They slipped inside, the sudden burst of music and laughter nearly deafening after the quiet of the alley. Molly’s eyes watered from the sheer *brightness* of it all—streamers, confetti, a clown balloon animal that looked suspiciously like a very confused dog. A table groaned under the weight of presents: a doll with a missing arm, a toy car missing its wheels, and—Molly’s heart skipped—a brand-new, still-sealed video game console. Bill was already moving, his gloved hands darting toward the pile. “Jackpot.” “Bill, *wait*—” Molly hissed, but it was too late. He’d already snatched up a stack of gifts, his arms full like a raccoon who’d hit the jackpot at a dumpster. A child’s voice piped up from behind them. *“Hey! That’s my present!”* Molly turned slowly. A little girl in a sparkly dress stood there, her pigtails slightly askew, her eyes wide with betrayal. Behind her, a woman—presumably the mom—was mid-sentence to another parent, but her gaze had locked onto them like a heat-seeking missile. Bill froze. “Uh. Hi.” The little girl crossed her arms. “You’re not supposed to take those.” Molly crouched down to the kid’s level, pulling out her most disarming smile. “You know what? You’re right. We *are* bad guys. But here’s the thing—” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a single, slightly crumpled candy from her earlier snacking session. “We were gonna leave this for you. As a… apology gift.” The kid stared at the candy like it was a live grenade. “That’s not a present.” “Nope,” Molly said, popping it into her mouth. “But it’s *delicious*.” Bill, ever the professional, cleared his throat. “We’ll just… take the *other* presents. The ones you don’t want.” The little girl blinked. “I *do* want them.” “See?” Molly whispered to Bill. “Kid’s got priorities.” Bill sighed, already setting the presents back down. “Fine. But if we’re doing this, we’re doing it *right*.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of dollar bills, which he slapped onto the table. “For the trouble. And the moral lesson.” The mom finally noticed them, her expression shifting from confusion to outrage. “What in the *world*—” Molly grabbed Bill’s arm and yanked him toward the door. “We’ll take the moral lesson with us!” They bolted out the back, the sound of the mom’s shouts fading behind them as they rounded the corner. Bill skidded to a stop, pressing his back against the brick wall and gasping for air. Molly leaned against him, grinning. “Well. That could’ve gone better.” Bill wiped sweat from his brow. “Next time, we hit a *teen* party. Less judgment, more snacks.” Molly nodded. “Deal. But only if we can bring the clown balloon animal.” Bill groaned. “I *hate* you.” She laughed, already scanning the street for their next target. Somewhere out there, another party was waiting—and another pile of presents just begging to be liberated.