Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY9468FZA2B1PRH64FHTMZ0

The neon glow of the party store’s sign flickered like a dying firefly as Molly adjusted her oversized superhero cape—one she’d swiped from a Halloween costume bin three years ago and still hadn’t found a use for until now. Bill crouched beside her, his fingers twitching over the lockpick set he’d named *The Ex-Girlfriend* after his last breakup. “You’re sure this is the right place?” he muttered, squinting at the garish balloons bobbing against the window. “Because if we’re wrong, we’re gonna look like the world’s worst party crashers.” Molly grinned, her teeth glinting in the streetlight. “Oh, we’re right. The *Toy Chest* has the biggest haul of unopened presents in three counties. And according to my intel”—she tapped the crumpled napkin in her pocket—“the parents are all too busy getting drunk on punch to notice a couple of ‘lost kids’ wandering around.” Bill exhaled through his nose. “Lost kids. Right. Because nothing says ‘stealth’ like two adults in full Halloween regalia pretending to be eight.” “It’s not regalia, it’s *disguise*,” Molly corrected, fluffing her witch hat. “And it’s working. Look.” She nodded toward the house, where a group of parents stood in a semicircle, laughing as one of them attempted to juggle glow sticks. “They’re all distracted. This is our moment.” Bill eyed the front door, then the side gate, which was propped open with a half-melted candy corn. “That gate’s suspicious. Someone’s either really bad at security or really bad at gate-keeping.” “Both,” Molly said, already slipping through. “Move fast, grab the presents, and meet back at the van. Oh, and try not to trip over any kids.” Bill hesitated. “What if we get caught?” Molly paused mid-step and turned back, her eyes wide with mock horror. “Bill. We are *professional* thieves. We do not get caught.” “Says the woman who once set off a fire alarm by sneezing.” “That was an *allergic reaction*!” Inside, the living room was a kaleidoscope of streamers and confetti, the air thick with the scent of cake and cheap balloons. A piñata dangled from the ceiling, its paper face already torn in places, like it had been through a war. Molly spotted the presents immediately—a mountain of wrapped boxes under the tree, some still in their original packaging, others already torn open by eager little hands. “Jackpot,” she whispered. Bill, meanwhile, had already zeroed in on the snack table. “You realize we’re stealing from children, right?” “No, we’re stealing *for* children,” Molly said, snatching a wrapped Lego set. “Think of it as redistributing wealth. Some kid’s gonna get this, just not the one who was supposed to.” A child’s giggle cut through the noise, and they both froze as a small boy in a dinosaur costume toddled past, clutching a half-eaten cupcake. Bill’s eye twitched. “We need a better plan.” Molly sighed. “Fine. You distract the parents. I’ll grab the presents.” “How?” “Tell them you’re the clown.” Bill blanched. “I *hate* clowns.” “Then improvise!” Molly hissed, already moving toward the tree. “Just don’t let them see your face!” Bill took a deep breath, then marched toward the group of parents, who were now watching a video on someone’s phone. He cleared his throat. “Uh. Hey. So. About the clown—” Molly didn’t stick around to hear the rest. She worked quickly, stuffing presents into her oversized bag—dolls, action figures, a suspiciously expensive robot that probably cost more than Bill’s car. She was just reaching for a giant stuffed unicorn when a hand clamped down on her shoulder. She turned slowly, her smile never wavering. “Oh! Hi, Mom!” The woman blinked. “You’re not—” “A kid?” Molly gasped, clutching her chest. “No way! I mean, I *look* like one, but no, I’m actually here to—” “Help with the piñata,” Bill said, suddenly appearing beside her, his voice an octave higher than usual. “It’s *really* hard to hit.” The woman stared at them, then at the bag in Molly’s hands. “What’s in there?” Molly’s grin faltered. “Uh. Snacks?” Bill nodded eagerly. “Yeah! Snacks! For the kids!” The woman’s eyes narrowed. “You two aren’t the clown, are you?” Molly and Bill exchanged a look. Then, in unison: “Nope!” A beat of silence. Then the woman sighed, shaking her head. “Just… don’t break anything.” Molly saluted. “Scout’s honor.” As they slipped out the back door, Bill muttered, “We are *never* doing that again.” Molly adjusted her witch hat. “Liar.”