Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYB2JDT5M3QX9DYFVAG82C0

Dusk leaked over the backyard, painting the trampoline pink and a clinging balloon with stripes. Molly squinted through the fence, spotting a mountain of wrapping paper—some still tied, some torn, glitter dusting the grass. Bill adjusted his latex gloves—stained with last week’s toaster heist, a crumb of blueberry muffin wedged in the crease. “Presents,” she said, nodding, “are just wrapped chaos. Underneath? Toys. Snacks. Maybe a lollipop that tastes like regret.” He scoffed. “Chaos that’s *paid* for, thank you. Remember the toy store heist? That teddy bear had a remote control in its chest. Now that’s a *feature*, not a bug.” She snorted, flicking a pebble at his arm. “This is easier. Kids leave their loot unattended. They’re too busy arguing over a neon lollipop to notice us. We’ll be in and out before the piñata even breaks.” Bill leaned in, voice tight. “What if a parent sees? Last time, I spent two hours in a bush listening to a dad monologue about *Teletubbies* while his kid screamed. Teletubbies, Molly. I still hear Lala’s laugh.” “Relax,” she said, twirling a hair tie—duct tape, for extra grip. “We’ll hit the piñata first—boom, distraction. Cake second—emergency chocolate rations, just in case. Presents third. And if we get caught? Blame the dog. Everyone loves a dog.” He hesitated, then grinned, a dimple popping. “You’re a menace, Molly.” “Baby, I’m *brilliant*.” A toddler’s shriek—“My cupcake! My only cupcake!”—cut through the air, followed by a parent’s coo. Molly pulled a black ski mask over her face, lips rising under the fabric. “C’mon. Let’s make the kids cry *and* leave with winning snacks. Priorities, Bill.” They melted into the shadows, leaving a half-eaten cupcake on the fence, frosting smearing the wood.