Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYB78WPRAVDZZFNPSSNN4RZ

The neon glow of a flickering "Happy Birthday!" sign cast jagged shadows across the backyard as Molly adjusted the strap of her satchel, her breath fogging in the crisp autumn air. Bill leaned against the fence, twirling a candy cane between his fingers like a conductor’s baton, his grin as sharp as the blade tucked into his boot. "You sure about this?" Bill asked, his voice dripping with skepticism. "Kid parties are like Fort Knox, but with more glitter and less actual money." Molly rolled her eyes, nudging him with her elbow. "Oh, come on, Bill. You’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge. Besides, where’s the fun in stealing from old men who hoard gold bars? Kids don’t even know what they’re missing until it’s gone." Bill scoffed, tossing the candy cane into the bushes. "You’re forgetting one thing—guilt. I’ve seen what happens to thieves who steal from children. They get *letters*. Handwritten letters. With crayon drawings of their faces on the back." Molly smirked, pulling a tiny, glittery key from her pocket. "Relax, Bill. We’re not stealing *from* them. We’re stealing *for* them. Imagine the look on their faces when they wake up tomorrow and find out Santa *actually* left them a *whole new set of presents* because their parents were too cheap to buy them anything." Bill’s eyebrow shot up. "You’re suggesting we frame this as a *charity heist*?" "Exactly. And if anyone asks, we’ll just say we were hired by the Tooth Fairy to ‘liberate’ all the loose change from under pillows. No one will suspect a thing." Bill groaned, rubbing his temples. "You’re impossible. Fine, but if we get caught, I’m blaming you for this existential crisis." Molly grinned, pulling a pair of kid-sized gloves from her bag. "Deal. Now let’s move in. The cake’s probably already been cut, and I don’t want to miss the *real* treasure—the goodie bags." Bill sighed, but his smirk betrayed him. "You’re a menace, Molly." "Yeah, yeah. Now shut up and let’s get to work." She slipped the gloves on, her fingers twitching with anticipation. "First stop: the piñata. If we can take that down before the kids even realize it’s there, we’ve got a head start." Bill adjusted his mask, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "And if we’re *really* lucky, we’ll hit the punch bowl. I hear that’s where the *real* magic happens." Molly laughed, nudging him again. "Only if you promise not to drink it all." Bill winked. "No promises." With a final glance at the backyard, where laughter and squeals filled the air, Molly and Bill melted into the shadows, their mission clear—steal the night, leave the kids with a story, and make sure no one ever doubted them again.