Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8XYC1765S2T9NGJQTNJCD

The neon glow of the party store’s *Kids’ Carnival* sign flickered like a dying firefly as Molly adjusted her oversized *Winnie the Pooh* onesie, the fabric clinging to her like a second skin. Bill, disguised as a slightly sweaty Santa—complete with a wobbly beard and a belt that kept slipping—leaned against the alley wall, his breath fogging in the cold air. He nudged a half-melted candy cane between his teeth and muttered, *"This is either the most brilliant plan or the fastest way to get arrested by a very confused five-year-old."* Molly hissed, *"Shut up and focus."* She’d spent the last hour memorizing the security layout: a single, easily bribed intern at the front desk, a motion sensor that only worked when the wind blew just right, and—most importantly—a mountain of presents under a flimsy tablecloth. *"We go in at 3:15, when the parents are distracted by cupcakes and the kids are too busy screaming to notice us."* Bill adjusted his fake belly, which jiggled suspiciously with every movement. *"And if someone asks why Santa’s carrying a crowbar?"* *"You’re not,"* Molly said, tapping the duffel bag at his feet. *"You’re ‘checking for naughty list updates.’"* She pulled a crumpled receipt from her pocket. *"Also, I forged the guest list. You’re on it as ‘Santa Claus (VIP).’"* Bill squinted at the scribbled name. *"That’s not how forgery works."* A distant giggle echoed from inside the store. Molly’s eyes gleamed. *"Too late. Showtime."* She grabbed his arm and yanked him toward the door, where a sticker on the glass read *NO ADULTS ALLOWED (EXCEPT SANTA).* Bill sighed, straightening his hat. *"I hate my life."*