Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYA36XS50AFQXQ9E1Z1ZV6R

The neon sign outside the *Whimsy Wonderland* party hall flickered like a dying firefly, casting a sickly glow over the sidewalk. Molly adjusted her sunglasses—though it was dusk—and leaned against the brick wall, kicking at a loose cobblestone. "Alright, Bill. You’ve got five minutes to convince me this isn’t the dumbest idea we’ve ever had." Bill wiped his hands on his pants, leaving smudges of glitter from earlier reconnaissance. "Five minutes? Molly, we’re talking *thousands* in unwrapped toys. A kid’s birthday is basically a treasure chest, and we’re the pirates who get to loot it before the parents even realize." "You’re comparing stealing from children to pirate loot? That’s not a metaphor, that’s a crime against literature." "Details. The point is, the security’s a joke. One guy in a vest who thinks he’s *James Bond* but spends more time checking his phone than the door. And the parents? They’re all too busy taking pictures of their kids ‘eating cake’ to notice if we walk in with a shopping cart full of Barbies." Molly crossed her arms. "And what, we just waltz in like we’re here for the cupcakes? ‘Oh excuse me, sir, I was just passing through to liberate all the LEGO sets’?" Bill grinned, pulling a crumpled flyer from his pocket. "We’re here for the *magic show*. ‘Free entry for all guests!’" He held it up. "We get in, we blend in, we hit the presents like a snowstorm hitting a windshield. And by the time anyone realizes, we’ll be long gone, richer, and probably covered in glitter." "Or we’ll be arrested, covered in glitter, and richer in *legal fees*." "Molly, have you *seen* the security guy? He’s got the energy of a sleep-deprived goldfish. We could high-five him and he’d still not notice." She sighed, rubbing her temples. "Fine. But if we get caught, I’m blaming you for comparing me to a *pirate*." "Deal. But if we get caught, I’m also blaming you for not trusting my *genius*." She groaned. "You’re insufferable." "Yeah, but I’m *also* the one who remembers to bring the duct tape." Molly shot him a look. "You’re lucky I like you." Bill clapped his hands together. "Then let’s do this. First stop: the party. Second stop: *my bank account*." He held out a hand. "Shake on it." Molly hesitated, then shook it—before immediately yanking her hand back. "Don’t touch my hand. You’ve been handling those flyers." Bill gasped in mock offense. "Excuse you, these flyers are *magical*." She rolled her eyes. "We’re really doing this, aren’t we?" "Oh, we’re doing this. And when we’re rich, we’re buying you a *real* pair of sunglasses." Molly smirked. "Deal. But if I have to listen to you talk about ‘liberating childhood joy’ one more time, I’m throwing you into the party’s bounce house." Bill grinned. "Worth it."