Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYAS9TG2D4TFFGXZGR2HTBK

The neon glow of a flickering *Open* sign cast long shadows across the sidewalk as Molly adjusted the brim of her too-tight beanie, squinting at the three-story mansion looming ahead. "You’re telling me this place is *literally* a fortress of candy and glitter?" she muttered, kicking a loose cobblestone with her polished loafer. "Because if this is just a regular house with a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign, I’m walking away and you’re buying me a drink." Bill, perched on the hood of a stolen golf cart (because *of course* he’d stolen a golf cart), wheezed out a laugh. "Oh, Molly, my sweet, *disappointed* partner. You’ve been reading too many fairy tales. This isn’t a ‘fortress’—it’s a *trap*. A *deathtrap* for anyone who doesn’t know the lay of the land. Look." He gestured with a gloved hand toward the security cameras mounted like suspicious eyes on every corner. "There’s one every twenty feet, and half of them are motion-activated. The other half are just there to make us feel small." Molly sighed, rolling her eyes so hard she nearly dislodged her contact lens. "Great. So we’re breaking into a *child’s birthday party* like a couple of ninjas, but the real enemy is *the cameras*." She plucked a tiny, glittery ribbon from her pocket—a souvenir from a previous job—and twirled it between her fingers. "You ever think about how ridiculous it is that we’re robbing a room full of kids who can’t even *see* us? It’s like robbing a bank where the tellers are all under five." Bill grinned, his teeth flashing white against his shadowy face. "Oh, I *love* that. We’re the silent, sneaky villains in a story they’ll never know about. The *real* heroes of this party." He leaned in, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "But here’s the thing, Molly. The *real* prize isn’t the presents. It’s the *pie*. I’ve heard tell there’s a three-layer chocolate fudge with sprinkles that look like *actual* jewels. And I *need* that pie." Molly blinked. "You’re stealing a *pie*?" "First of all," Bill said, waving a hand dismissively, "it’s *art*. Second, it’s *proof* we were here. Third—" He paused, then grinned. "—I *like* pie." Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. "You’re an idiot. But fine. We do this. But if we get caught, I’m blaming you for the pie." Bill saluted her with his water bottle. "Deal. Now, here’s the plan—" A sudden *beep-beep-beep* cut him off as the golf cart’s alarm blared to life. Bill groaned, slumping against the steering wheel. "Oh, *come on*. Not now." Molly’s eyes narrowed. "You *did* steal this thing, didn’t you?" Bill held up his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, fine. I *may* have hotwired it. But it’s *classic*! It’s got *character*!" She sighed, already pulling out her lockpicks. "We’re doing this the hard way. And if we get caught, I’m telling the kids you’re the one who ate their homework." Bill’s grin returned, sharper than ever. "Worth it."