Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY9FR6PA03N8PSZJW4JMDQZ

The neon glow of a flickering "Happy Birthday!" balloon cast long shadows across the living room floor as Molly adjusted the strap of her backpack, her fingers twitching with the kind of nervous energy that only came from stealing from people who couldn’t even hold a knife properly. Bill leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his reflection in the window looking suspiciously like a disgruntled ghost. "You sure about this?" Bill asked, his voice low enough to avoid the ears of the birthday boy’s overzealous parents, who were currently arguing over whether the cake should be cut first or the presents opened. "Kids are *messy*. Like, I’ve seen a three-year-old throw a tantrum over a missing Cheerio. We’re basically robbing a sugar-fueled warzone." Molly shot him a look that could curdle milk. "They’re not *that* messy. And if they are, we’ll just blame it on the dog. Every house has a dog. It’s a universal scapegoat." She pulled a tiny, well-groomed poodle-shaped keychain from her pocket and jingled it. "See? Already got the alibi." Bill groaned. "That’s the *worst* alibi ever. That thing looks like it was stolen from a Hallmark card." "Better than your ‘I was attacked by a sentient toaster’ excuse from last time," Molly shot back, already crouching by the front door. "Now, the plan—we go in, grab the presents, and *gently* place them in the trunk of my car. No screaming, no running, no—" "Oh, come *on*," Bill interrupted, holding up a hand. "You’re telling me you’ve never *accidentally* tripped over a toddler’s toy truck and sent it flying into a wall? Because I’ve done it. Twice. With a *Rubik’s Cube*." Molly ignored him, already fumbling with the doorknob. "The parents are too busy arguing to notice. We’ve got, like, three minutes before the cake gets cut and the chaos begins." She peeked inside, then hissed. "Oh, *great*. The kid’s already got a sword made of pool noodles and a cape made of a bath towel. This is going to be *harder* than robbing a bank where the tellers are all in tutus." Bill grinned. "You’re just saying that because you’re scared." "Scared?" Molly scoffed, but her voice wavered just a little. "I’m *thrilled*. This is *glorious*. We’re stealing from the innocent! The *pure*! The ones who believe in magic and unicorns!" She took a deep breath, then turned to Bill with a sudden, desperate gleam in her eyes. "You ready?" Bill hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. But if we get caught, I’m blaming you for the dog keychain." Molly smirked. "Deal." She pushed the door open just enough to slip inside, then froze. The birthday boy was mid-scream, waving his pool-noodle sword at a pile of presents like it was the Excalibur of doom. Molly and Bill exchanged a look—then bolted.