Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8SS17QYR0D68NQ9MG2B6D

The neon glow of the party balloon arch pulsed like a drunk firefly outside the window, its cheerful chaos a siren call to Molly’s greed. She leaned against the peeling wallpaper of their safehouse—a former laundromat with the scent of bleach and regret—while Bill adjusted the strap of his duffel bag, which was already stuffed with a stolen fire extinguisher (for "emergencies") and a bag of stolen candy (for "moral support"). "Ten thousand reasons why this is a terrible idea," Bill muttered, poking at a half-melted lollipop with a toothpick. "Eleven thousand if we count the fact that we’ll be arrested by a guy who still believes in Santa." Molly smirked, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger like a thief’s charm. "Bill, my love, we’re not stealing from the kids. We’re liberating *their* parents’ hard-earned cash from under the tree. It’s like robbing a bank, but with more glitter and less paperwork." Bill groaned, rubbing his temples. "And what, exactly, is our exit strategy when we’re surrounded by a hundred hyperactive five-year-olds wielding sparklers like flamethrowers?" She grinned. "We don’t have one. That’s the fun part." Bill sighed, but his eyes lit up. "You’re impossible. And I love you." Molly winked. "Good. Because in thirty minutes, we’re stealing Christmas."