Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY96K3KM272SY8KK6RT4BJH

The neon glow of a flickering "Happy Birthday!" balloon cast long shadows across the backseat of Bill’s beat-up van as Molly adjusted the strap of her duffel bag, her fingers tapping an impatient rhythm against the leather. The party was in full swing inside the McAllister mansion—laughter, cake, and the unmistakable jingle of Santa’s sleigh playing on a loop from the speakers. Perfect. "Alright, listen up," Molly said, leaning forward so her breath fogged the van’s grimy window. "We’re in. The security’s a joke—just some overpaid guy in a polo watching the front door like he’s guarding the Tower of London. And the parents? They’re all too busy texting their friends about how ‘adorable’ their kids are to notice a couple of us slipping in the back." Bill wiped a smudge of grease from his cheek with the back of his hand, his grin widening. "You’ve done your homework, Molly. I’ll give you that. But here’s the thing—I don’t like kids. Not one bit. What if we get caught with a handful of candy and a toddler screaming ‘THIEF’ in our faces?" Molly rolled her eyes. "First of all, we’re not stealing *candy*. We’re stealing *presents*—big, shiny, expensive things. And second, we’re not going near the kids. We’re sneaking in, grabbing the good stuff, and out before anyone even realizes we’re there. It’s a heist, not a hostage situation." Bill crossed his arms. "And how exactly are we getting past the cake table? Because I’ve seen those cupcakes. They look like they’ve got more frosting than a circus tent." "Distraction," Molly said, pulling a small, flat box from her bag. "I got us some of those little party favors—the ones with the glow sticks and the noise makers. We’ll toss a few in the air, make a ruckus, and while everyone’s diving for them, we hit the tree. Easy." Bill eyed the box skeptically. "You’re telling me we’re using *kids’ toys* to rob a kids’ party?" "Bill, I’m telling you we’re using *kids’ toys* to rob a kids’ party *without getting caught*." Molly’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "And if we’re lucky, we’ll walk out with enough loot to fund our retirement in a tropical island. No more heists, no more looking over our shoulders. Just us, the beach, and a very confused parrot." Bill let out a low whistle. "You’re either the most brilliant criminal I’ve ever met or the most delusional. I’m not sure which." Molly smirked. "Both, probably. But either way, we’re doing this tonight. And if we don’t, I’m leaving you behind to fend for yourself in a world where you’ll have to actually *talk* to children." Bill groaned, but there was a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Fine. But if we get caught, I’m blaming you for this whole ‘glow stick distraction’ idea." Molly grabbed his arm, squeezing just enough to make him flinch. "Bill, my love, if we get caught, I’m blaming *you* for not trusting my genius. Now let’s go steal some presents before the cake gets eaten." She popped the van’s door open, the night air rushing in as she stepped out, already pulling on her gloves. "And for the record? I *do* like kids. Just not *their* kids."