Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYB4NKF5H5EC5JXAA0ZNB3M

The back alley behind the Bright Star Community Center smelled like burnt hot dogs and regret. Molly adjusted the strap of her duffel bag, her fingers brushing against the cold metal of the lockpicks inside. Across from her, Bill leaned against a dumpster, chewing on a toothpick like it was the last one on Earth. "You sure about this?" Bill asked, spitting the toothpick into the alley. "Kids’ party? We’re basically Santa’s worst nightmare." Molly grinned, pulling out a pair of latex gloves and snapping them on. "Santa’s got a workshop full of elves. We’ve got *one* distracted mom and a piñata that’s probably full of candy, not gold." Bill groaned. "I hate candy. It’s sticky. And loud. Kids scream when they open presents. It’s gonna be like a goddamn symphony of betrayal." Molly shrugged. "Then you can handle the distraction while I work the main event. Simple." Bill wiped his brow with the back of his hand. "Simple? Molly, the last ‘simple’ job you planned involved a fake mustache, a fire extinguisher, and a very confused baker." "That was one time!" "With the croissants!" Molly sighed. "Look, the security here is *nothing*. Some guy in a polo who’s probably counting down the minutes until he can leave. We go in, we grab the presents, we’re out before the cake gets cut." Bill crossed his arms. "And what if there’s a security camera?" Molly pulled a tiny device from her pocket—a bug, really, but she called it her "party favor." "Already taken care of. Little friend of mine’s been feeding me the layout. There’s a blind spot by the snack table. Perfect for a quick in-and-out." Bill rubbed his temples. "You realize we’re stealing *toys*, right? Like, actual *toys*. Not diamonds. Not rare manuscripts. Just—" "High-value, low-weight goods," Molly interrupted. "And think about it—who’s gonna miss a few presents at a kids’ party? The parents are too busy herding chaos to notice." Bill groaned again. "I hate kids." Molly clapped him on the shoulder. "You’ll love them in five minutes. Now, we go in at 3:47. That’s when the mom’s supposed to be ‘helping’ the birthday kid blow out the candles. We hit the present table, you create a diversion—maybe ‘accidentally’ knock over the punch bowl?" Bill’s eyes widened. "I am *not* cleaning up purple punch." "Then don’t spill it on *yourself*." Molly checked her watch. "3:45. Let’s move." They slipped through the side door, which was propped open with a milk crate labeled "DO NOT TOUCH (IT’S FOR THE GAMES)." Inside, the room was a whirlwind of balloons, laughter, and the occasional shriek when a kid opened a present they didn’t like. Molly spotted the present table immediately—a mountain of wrapped boxes under a banner that read "OPEN ME (I PROMISE IT’S NOT A TRAP)." She nudged Bill. "Your stage is now." Bill took a deep breath, then let out a dramatic cough. Every head in the room turned toward him. "Uh—excuse me!" he called, waving his hands. "Somebody call 911! There’s a *bee* in the cake!" The room erupted. Kids screamed, parents gasped, and the birthday kid started crying. Molly didn’t wait. She grabbed a duffel bag from under the table and started stuffing presents into it—big ones, small ones, even a few that looked suspiciously like they might contain electronics. "Molly, we’re not taking the *entire* table!" Bill hissed, dodging a flying balloon. "Priorities," she said, tossing a giant stuffed dinosaur into the bag. "We’re leaving room for the good stuff." A woman in a floral dress grabbed Bill’s arm. "Did you see a bee?!" Bill pointed wildly. "Over there! Near the piñata!" The woman bolted. Molly seized the moment, shoving the last of the presents into the bag. She zipped it shut just as the birthday kid’s mom turned around. "Oh! You’re the—" Molly grinned. "Cake tester! Yeah, just making sure everything’s up to code." She held up a half-eaten cupcake. "Delicious." The mom blinked. "Oh. Well, thank you." Molly and Bill bolted for the door, the duffel bag bouncing between them. Behind them, the party descended into chaos as someone finally spotted the bee—who was, in fact, just a very confused bumblebee that had wandered in through an open window. Outside, Bill collapsed against the alley wall, wheezing. "We are *never* doing that again." Molly dusted off her hands. "We’re doing it again next weekend. There’s a *Lego* party at the mall." Bill groaned. "I hate you."