Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY9YGKZD7JE6RPQHQZG0FEB

The neon glow of the party hall pulsed like a bioluminescent warning sign, casting jagged shadows across the polished floor. Molly adjusted her gloves—too tight, but better than nothing—and peered through the window, her breath fogging the glass like a spy’s secret. Bill leaned against the frame, arms crossed, his usual smirk replaced by the kind of tension that came from knowing you were about to commit a crime that would make Santa’s elves look like amateurs. “You sure this is the right place?” Bill asked, voice low but laced with that familiar, slightly nervous chuckle. “I mean, it’s got *kids*. And presents. And—” “And *parents*,” Molly cut in, rolling her eyes. “But we’re not here for the parents. We’re here for the presents. And the presents are *gold*, Bill. Literally.” Bill groaned, rubbing his temples. “You’re not helping. I’m thinking about the security cameras. The motion sensors. The *parents* who might actually *care* about their kids’ safety.” “Relax,” Molly said, pulling out her phone. She tapped a few times, then held it up. “See? The cameras are all set to motion detection. They only trigger when someone moves. And we’re *not* moving. We’re *standing still*.” Bill scoffed. “You’re telling me you’ve got a plan that involves *not* moving?” “Exactly,” Molly said, grinning. “And if they do catch us? We’ll just say we were *sneaking* in to steal the presents for the *children*.” Bill groaned again, but this time, it was more amused than annoyed. “You’re insane.” “And you’re *useful*,” Molly shot back. “Now, let’s go. The party’s in full swing, and if we move fast, we can get in, grab the presents, and be out before anyone notices.” They slipped through the back door, the hinges groaning like a guilty conscience. The party was a blur of laughter, candy canes, and the occasional shriek of a child who’d just discovered a new toy. Molly crouched behind a stack of chairs, her eyes scanning the room. Bill, ever the optimist, was already counting the presents on the table—twenty-four of them, all wrapped in glitter and wrapped in *our* future. “Okay,” Bill said, voice tight. “This is it. We’re in.” Molly nodded. “Now, *move*.” They burst into the room like a pair of mischievous ghosts, the parents’ heads snapping toward them in unison. Molly grabbed a present from the table, her fingers brushing against the ribbon—*golden*, just like she’d promised. Bill, meanwhile, was already on the move, slipping into the shadows where the presents were stored. “Wait,” Molly called, her voice barely audible over the chaos. “We’re not done yet.” Bill turned, grinning. “What now?” “Now,” Molly said, pulling out a small, shiny key, “we’re stealing the *keys* to the party.” Bill blinked. “The *keys*?” “To the *lockers*,” Molly explained. “The ones where the *real* presents are kept. The ones that say *‘For the Best Kids’*.” Bill’s eyes widened. “You’re *serious*.” “Dead serious,” Molly said, already slipping the key into the lock. “Now, *go*.” They vanished into the night, the party’s laughter fading behind them like a bad dream. And as they made their way through the empty streets, Molly couldn’t help but laugh—because nothing was ever this easy.