Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYB6B3SDPPVRQBZ4SZD6V0M

The neon glow of a flickering neon sign outside *The Sugarplum Ballroom* cast long, wobbly shadows across the cracked sidewalk. Molly adjusted the wide-brimmed hat perched atop her head, squinting at the building through the mesh of her sunglasses. Inside, the sound of squealing laughter and the occasional crash of a falling cup drifted out like a siren song for the desperate and the daring. Bill sidled up beside her, his breath smelling faintly of pickled herring and bad decisions. "You sure this is the place?" he asked, poking at the door with a butter knife he’d "borrowed" from a diner earlier that morning. "Last I checked, kids don’t throw parties in places that smell like a dumpster fire." Molly swatted his hand away. "It’s a *children’s* party, Bill. They’re not exactly known for their air quality standards." She leaned in, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Besides, the security’s a pair of overgrown babysitters with more energy drinks than brains. Piece of cake." Bill groaned. "You keep saying that. What if the cake’s got, like, *sprinkles*? What’s the plan for sprinkles?" "Bill, focus." Molly pulled a crumpled map from her pocket, unfolding it with dramatic flair. "We go in through the kitchen—there’s a back door, barely latched. Once inside, we split up. You handle the presents under the tree while I deal with the piñata. Then we’re out before the parents even realize their kids have been replaced by tiny, confused ninjas." Bill’s eyes widened. "You’re stealing *both* the presents *and* the piñata?" "Of course. Why leave anything behind? Unless you’ve got a sudden urge to start a piñata-based side hustle." Bill rubbed his temples. "You’re impossible. What if the piñata’s one of those *surprise* ones? Like, what if it’s full of *dirt*?" Molly sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Bill, if it’s full of dirt, we’re getting *paid* in metaphorical gold. Now move. The bouncer’s starting to look suspicious." Bill hesitated, then nodded. "Alright, but if we get caught, I’m blaming you for the piñata." Molly grinned. "Deal. And Bill?" "Yeah?" "Don’t forget the glitter. They always have glitter." Bill groaned again, but this time, it was with amusement. "You’re a menace." He adjusted the bag slung over his shoulder—filled with what Molly insisted were "essential tools"—and followed her toward the back alley, where the night’s real work began.