Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY9H7D0VTGD82EZTC687VM5

The neon glow of the party store’s sign flickered like a dying firefly as Molly adjusted her oversized sunhat, the kind grandmas wear to block out the sun—or suspicion. Bill crouched beside her on the sidewalk, his fingers twitching around a lockpick set that looked more like a child’s toy than a tool for crime. The street was quiet, save for the distant wail of a siren, which Bill immediately dismissed with a wave of his hand. “That’s not for us,” he muttered, though his voice wavered just enough to betray his nerves. “Probably some poor sap who got pulled over for jaywalking.” Molly squinted at the store window, where a life-sized cutout of a clown juggling balloons grinned down at them. “You sure about this, Bill? Last time we hit a kid’s birthday party, we ended up with glitter in our hair for a week.” Bill scoffed, though his grin was more nervous than confident. “That was *one* time. And it was your idea to use the confetti cannon.” “Self-defense,” Molly said, patting the small canister of glitter she’d tucked into her belt. “Besides, this place is *begging* to be robbed. Look at all those presents under the tree. It’s like a piñata made of cash and toys.” Bill peered through the window, where a gaggle of kids in matching superhero capes were tearing into wrapped gifts. “Yeah, but what if one of them sees us? You ever seen a five-year-old’s scream? It’s like a banshee with a lollipop.” Molly shrugged. “Then we move fast. We’re in, we’re out, we’re gone before they even realize Santa got distracted.” Bill exhaled sharply, his breath fogging up the glass as he pressed his face closer. “You realize we’re talking about *children*, right? Tiny humans who still believe in magic and hugs and—” “And presents we’re about to take,” Molly finished, cutting him off with a smirk. “Come on, Bill. When’s the last time you had fun?” Bill hesitated, then sighed. “Fine. But if I get finger-painted on, I’m holding you personally responsible.” Molly clapped her hands together. “Attaboy. Now, the back door’s unlocked—” “You *checked*?” “Of course I checked. I’m not an amateur.” “You’re *always* an amateur.” “—and there’s a side entrance that leads straight to the gift table. We go in, we grab everything, we’re out before the cake’s even lit.” Bill rubbed his temples. “And how do we explain the lack of presents to the parents?” Molly grinned. “Easy. We blame the mailman.” Bill groaned. “You’re *terrible* at this.” “But I’m *consistent*.” The two thieves exchanged a glance, then nodded in unison. Molly pulled a pair of oversized sunglasses from her pocket and slid them on, while Bill adjusted his fake mustache—one he’d drawn on with a Sharpie in the car. They took a deep breath, then pushed open the back door, stepping into the warm, sugary chaos of a children’s party. The moment they did, a child’s voice piped up from the other room. “Mommy, is that Santa?” Molly froze. Bill’s eye twitched. “Uh,” Bill whispered. “Maybe we should’ve brought more disguises.”