Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYAFEV436ZSCWHPSH5NWJ68

The neon glow of a flickering *Party Time* sign cast jagged shadows across the sidewalk as Molly adjusted the strap of her duffel bag, her breath fogging in the crisp autumn air. "Alright, Bill," she said, nudging him with her elbow. "We’re about to pull off the heist of the century—or at least the heist of the *very* small century. Kids’ presents. Glitter. And, you know, the emotional trauma of a hundred parents who’ll never see their $500 LEGO sets again." Bill wiped his hands on his jeans, leaving smudges of what might’ve been dirt or might’ve been the last of his lunch. "I like the way you think, Molly. But we’re not just stealing toys. We’re stealing *joy*. The kind of joy that makes parents spend their life savings on a single plastic dinosaur that’ll end up in a closet by next week." "Exactly!" Molly grinned, pulling a pair of kid-sized sunglasses from her pocket and sliding them onto her face. "We’re not just thieves. We’re *social engineers*. We’re making sure the rich get richer—by taking their money and giving it to us. And the kids? They’ll just think it’s magic." Bill groaned, rubbing his temples. "You realize we’re breaking into a *children’s party*, right? Like, there’s going to be *sugar*, *screaming*, and at least one kid who’s going to spot us before we even get the door open." Molly waved a hand dismissively. "Pfft. Kids are easy. They’re distracted by balloons, cake, and the fact that their parents are paying someone else to entertain them. We’ll be in and out before the piñata even gets hit." Bill pulled out a crumpled map of the neighborhood, squinting at it like it held the secrets of the universe. "Okay, but how do we get in? The place is surrounded by parents who think they’re *security* because they’re wearing khakis." Molly tapped her chin, then pulled a tiny key from her pocket—one she’d "borrowed" from the neighbor’s mailbox earlier that day. "Easy. We use the *back door*. The one that leads to the kitchen. And if anyone asks, we’ll just say we’re there to *deliver cupcakes*." Bill blinked. "You *deliver cupcakes*?" "Sometimes," Molly admitted. "It’s a skill." Bill sighed, but there was a glint in his eye. "Alright, but we’re doing this *my* way. You distract the kids with a magic trick, I’ll slip in through the kitchen, and we’ll grab the presents before the parents even realize we’re there." Molly gasped, clutching her chest. "A *magic trick*? Bill, I haven’t done a magic trick since I was twelve and pulled a rabbit out of a hat that was actually just a very confused guinea pig." Bill smirked. "Then we’ll improvise. You’ll *pretend* to be a magician. I’ll be the assistant who ‘accidentally’ lets the presents fall out of the bag." Molly’s eyes lit up. "Oh, this is going to be *gold*. We’ll call ourselves *The Amazing Molly and the Mysterious Bill*—" "—And then we’ll vanish into the night like ghosts," Bill finished, adjusting the strap of his own bag. "Just don’t let the kids see your face. Last thing we need is a bunch of wide-eyed five-year-olds pointing us out to their parents." Molly grinned, already mentally rehearsing her performance. "Deal. But if this goes wrong, I’m blaming you for not bringing enough candy to bribe the kids." Bill rolled his eyes. "You’re lucky I love you." Molly gasped, clutching her chest again. "Bill! That’s *romantic*." He shot her a look. "Shut up and let’s go steal some presents before the parents figure out their kids are missing their favorite toys."