Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYB0ZHKTQQKYJPNX7BH6TMC

The back alley behind Sweet Pea’s Party Palace smelled like burnt sugar and regret, the kind of regret that comes from staring at a security camera blind spot for the third time in a row. Molly adjusted her ski mask, the elastic digging into her forehead like a guilty conscience, and nudged Bill with the toe of her sneaker. He was crouched beside a dumpster, picking at a half-eaten meatball sub like it owed him money. “You’re gonna get crumbs on the mask,” Molly whispered, though she was pretty sure he already had. Bill swallowed a mouthful, then wiped his fingers on his jeans. “Worth it. This sub’s got more grease than a greased-up getaway car.” Molly glanced at the party windows, where the glow of a piñata bathed the room in confetti-colored light. “We’re not here for the food. We’re here for the *presents*.” Bill grinned, his teeth flashing white against the black fabric. “Ah, but the food’s just a bonus. Like stealing the silverware at a wedding—technically not the main prize, but you do it anyway.” Molly sighed, shaking her head. “You’re a menace.” “And you love me.” She didn’t deny it. Instead, she pulled a pair of wire cutters from her pocket and tossed them to him. “Cut the lock. Quietly.” Bill caught them with a flourish, then immediately dropped them. “Shit—” “Bill.” “It’s slippery.” “It’s *metal*.” He snatched them up again, his fingers fumbling. “I’m not used to this kind of precision work. Last time I did a lockpick, it was on a bike shed, and the guy who owned it was *very* drunk.” Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. “We are *not* doing this for the bike shed guy.” “Fair. But still. This is a *party*.” Bill leaned closer, his breath smelling faintly of garlic and bad decisions. “Kids everywhere. Balloons. Cake. A clown who’s probably packing.” Molly’s eyes narrowed. “You think there’s a clown with a gun?” “Not *packing* a gun. *Packing* like… extra balloons. Or a secret stash of candy.” “That’s not how ‘packing’ works.” “You sure? Because last Halloween, I saw a guy at a costume party who had a *whole* briefcase full of fake spiders. That’s packing.” Molly ignored him and focused on the lock. “Just cut it.” Bill huffed, then got to work. The snip of the cutters was sharp, but the lock gave with a satisfying *click*. He stood, brushing off his hands. “See? Easy.” Molly didn’t move. “You just made enough noise to wake the dead.” Bill shrugged. “Worth it.” She grabbed his arm and yanked him toward the door. “We go in quiet. We grab the presents. We get out before the clown starts juggling knives.” “Or before the kids notice we’re not actually here to play Pin the Tail on the Donkey.” Molly shot him a look. “We are *not* playing Pin the Tail on the Donkey.” “Yet.” Inside, the party was in full swing. Kids shrieked over a piñata shaped like a dragon, their parents sipping punch like it was the last drink before the apocalypse. Molly and Bill moved like shadows, sticking to the edges of the room. A little boy in a superhero cape nearly ran into Bill, who froze mid-step. “Whoa!” the kid said, staring up at him. “You’re a ninja!” Bill’s eyes darted to Molly, who was already shaking her head violently. “Uh,” Bill said, voice cracking. “Nope. Just… a guy who really likes balloons.” The boy’s face lit up. “Cool! Do you have any balloons?” Molly lunged forward, scooping the kid up before Bill could answer. “Time for a nap, buddy! Come on, sleepyhead!” She carried him toward a nearby couch, where a tired-looking mom was already dozing. Bill mouthed *“What?”* at her. Molly mouthed back: *“You’re terrible at this.”* Bill grinned. “But I’m *fun* at it.” She set the kid down gently, then turned back to the presents. They were piled under a table, wrapped in bright paper and ribbons like a treasure chest of childhood dreams. Molly’s fingers twitched. “Alright,” she said, crouching down. “We work fast. You grab the big ones, I’ll get the small. And *no* talking.” Bill nodded solemnly, then immediately whispered, “What if we get caught?” Molly didn’t answer. She was too busy stuffing a stack of presents into her bag. Bill, meanwhile, was already arguing with himself. “No, no, we can’t take the Lego set. That’s *too* obvious. But the stuffed unicorn? Classic. The action figures? Easy resale. The—” “Bill.” “—dollhouse? That’s a *statement*.” “Bill.” He sighed, then grabbed a handful of presents and stuffed them into his own bag. “Fine. But if we get caught, I’m blaming you for not letting me take the clown’s wig.” Molly didn’t respond. She was too busy counting her winnings. The presents were heavy, the kind of weight that made her smile. Outside, the night air was cool. The dumpster still smelled like regret, but theirs was the sweet kind—the kind that came from a job well done. Bill stretched, then looked at Molly. “So. Same time next week?” She shook her head. “Next week, we’re hitting the toy store. Bigger score.” Bill’s eyes lit up. “With the clown?” “No clowns.” “Bummer.” Molly started walking toward their getaway car, a beat-up sedan that had seen better days. Bill fell into step beside her. “You know,” he said, “if we ever get caught, we could always say we were just here for the cake.” Molly stopped mid-step. “We were *not* here for the cake.” Bill grinned. “Yet.” She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. Because really, what was the point of a heist if you couldn’t enjoy the little things? Like stealing all the presents. And maybe, just maybe, a slice of cake.