Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8R5S8R2TSJX123MS8SYH6

The neon glow of a flickering "Happy Birthday!" sign cast jagged shadows across the backyard as Molly adjusted the strap of her satchel, her breath fogging in the crisp autumn air. The party was in full swing—laughter bubbled like soda pop, a DJ’s bassline thumped through speakers, and the scent of cupcakes and sunscreen clung to the evening. Perfect. A goldmine of presents, all neatly stacked under a tree like a thief’s wet dream. Bill sidled up beside her, his fingers twitching like he was already counting the cash in his head. "You sure about this?" he muttered, nudging her elbow. "Last time we hit a kid’s party, we got chased by a piñata." Molly grinned, her teeth flashing white against the dim light. "That was *one* piñata. This time, we’re in and out before the cake even hits the table." She gestured toward the house. "See those parents? They’re all too busy texting their friends about how ‘adorable’ their kid is to notice a couple of shadows slipping through the bushes." Bill scoffed, but his eyes darted toward the back door, which was propped open just enough to let in a sliver of golden light. "You’re assuming they left it unlocked. What if there’s a *security system*? Or a *dog*?" Molly rolled her eyes. "Bill, it’s a *children’s party*. The only security is a bowl of punch and a guy in a superhero costume who’s probably napping in the corner." She crouched low, peering through the window. "Look—someone’s left their phone charging on the counter. Classic. They’re all too busy pretending to be cool to remember basic safety." Bill groaned. "You’re *insufferable*." "Yeah, but you love me." She stood, brushing off her knees. "Alright, here’s the plan. You distract the parents while I go in through the kitchen. You got the—" "*Distraction*?" Bill interrupted, holding up a small, squirming object wrapped in a red ribbon. "I *borrowed* this from the pet store. It’s a *guinea pig*." Molly stared. "You’re *kidding*." Bill grinned. "Nope. Name’s Gerald. He’s got *charisma*." "Bill, we are *not* bringing a guinea pig into a children’s party." "Why not? He’ll be the *hit*. Kids love animals. Parents will be too busy cooing over Gerald to notice us pilfering their gifts." He patted the creature’s head. "Gerald here has *stage presence*." Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. "This is the dumbest idea you’ve ever had." "Probably." Bill shrugged. "But it’s *creative*." She sighed, but a slow smirk tugged at her lips. "Fine. But if we get caught, I’m blaming you and Gerald." Bill clapped his hands together. "Then let’s do this. Gerald, my man—*showtime*." With a dramatic flourish, Bill unrolled the ribbon, letting Gerald scurry onto the grass. The guinea pig froze, then—with the confidence of a seasoned performer—began to nibble on a nearby leaf. The parents, mid-conversation, turned in unison, their faces lighting up. "Oh my gosh, look!" one squealed. "A *baby bunny*!" Bill grinned like a madman. "Told you he had *charisma*." Molly groaned, but she was already moving, slipping through the bushes toward the house. "This is going to be *disaster*." Bill called after her, voice echoing with false cheer. "But what a *disaster*!"