Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8XC5JFJ86A67T6DFXN1KV

Molly adjusted her ski mask and grinned at Bill, who was already picking the lock on the back gate of the suburban mansion. "Alright, Bill, you got the presents covered, right? Because if we walk out of here with nothing but a handful of crayons, I’m throwing you into the kiddie pool." Bill didn’t look up from the lock. "Relax, Mol. I’ve scoped it out. There’s a whole room dedicated to presents—like, *way* more than any normal kid deserves. I’m talking gold-wrapped everything. It’s practically a crime scene waiting to happen." "Good. Because last time we hit a party, we ended up with a piñata full of *dirt* and a kid who swore he saw a ghost." "Yeah, well, this time we’re not leaving until we’ve got enough loot to buy our own piñata. And maybe a ghost." The gate clicked open. Bill stepped inside, then paused. "You hear that?" Molly strained her ears. "What?" "Singing. Like, *really* bad singing." Molly sighed. "Great. Just what we need—some over-caffeinated mom belting out ‘Baby Shark’ while we’re trying to rob her kid." Bill shrugged. "Eh, at least it’ll cover our footsteps." Molly grabbed his arm. "No, Bill. We *never* do jobs where the victim starts singing along." "Too late. She’s already on the ‘Do Your Ears Hang Low’ part." Molly groaned. "I hate my life."