Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8K4V4KWWVVHF0HBYHVMX5

The neon glow of a flickering "Happy Birthday, Timmy!" balloon cast jagged shadows across the living room floor as Molly adjusted the strap of her satchel, her fingers twitching with the kind of nervous energy that only came from stealing from people who couldn’t even hold a knife properly. Bill leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his reflection in the window looking suspiciously like a disgruntled raccoon who’d just been denied a trash can. "You sure about this?" Bill asked, his voice dripping with the skepticism of a man who’d once tried to rob a bakery and ended up with a dozen cupcakes and a restraining order. Molly shot him a look that could curdle milk. "I’m sure. Timmy’s parents are the kind of people who buy their kid a present for every holiday *and* his birthday. That’s not a kid, that’s a human Christmas tree. And we’re the forest fire." Bill sighed, rubbing his temples. "Fine. But if we get caught, I’m blaming you. Also, I’m not touching the Lego set. I don’t want to be responsible for another generation of toddlers building castles that look like they were designed by a drunk architect." Molly grinned, pulling a pair of kid-sized gloves from her bag. "Deal. And don’t worry, I’ve got a plan. We go in, we grab the presents, we make sure Timmy gets *one* thing—maybe a cheap toy car—and we’re out before the parents even realize their kid’s room is missing a small army of plastic soldiers." Bill raised an eyebrow. "You’re really going to leave him with a toy car?" "Better than nothing," Molly said, tossing him a small, suspiciously shiny key. "And this’ll open the front door. I hacked it off the mailbox like a pro." Bill caught the key, examining it like it might explode. "You’re a menace." "Yeah, but you love me." Bill groaned. "I love you like a brother. Or a really bad debt." Molly clapped her hands together. "Alright, let’s do this. We go in at exactly 8:17—when the parents will be distracted by cake—and we’re out by 8:22 before the kids even realize their presents are missing." Bill adjusted his mask, which looked suspiciously like a Halloween costume he’d bought in 2018. "And if someone asks why we’re here?" Molly smirked. "We tell them we’re the new Santa’s elves. They’ll believe it. Kids believe anything." Bill shook his head. "This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done." Molly grinned. "And yet, here we are." Outside, the streetlights flickered, casting long shadows over the house. Somewhere inside, a child was laughing, completely unaware that in just a few minutes, his room would be emptied of every single present—except for one tiny, sad toy car, left behind as a cruel joke from the universe.