Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ95NGY73TCSXYXH2D9JVCEE

The dented van idled across Willow Creek Lane, an unfortunate smudge against the aggressively pastel façade of number thirty-two. Inside, Molly adjusted her prized pair of industrial-grade binoculars, the cheap plastic biting into her cheekbone with a familiar, dull ache. The air vibrated with the unmistakable soundscape of children's delight: high-pitched yelps, a slightly off-key but enthusiastic rendition of "Happy Birthday," and the sporadic, sudden pops of balloons meeting their doom. Beside her, Bill wrestled with a precarious stack of three glazed donuts, each one threatening to betray him with a sticky tumble. He hummed a tuneless, anticipatory ditty. "See the main prize?" Molly murmured, her voice a low rumble, businesslike. "The pink one looks promising. And the blue one, definitely," Bill replied vaguely, one donut listing alarmingly. Molly’s jaw tightened. "I meant the *T-Rex sarcophagus*. Is it still by the patio table?" Bill craned his neck. "Yep. Big as life. Filled with… potential." "Potential for profit," Molly corrected, exhaling a faint mist. "Cake is seventeen minutes out. That’s our window. We synchronise with the final verse." Bill sighed contentedly and popped a donut. "Diversion?" "Minor. A near-fall by the doors. Enough to draw eyes, not screams. Then we extract." "Extract," Bill mumbled. Molly focused. "Getaway is down the alley. You take the bulk. I’ll manage smaller valuables. Minimal engagement. If questioned, unofficial gift courier." Bill flexed a bicep. "Got it." "And Bill," Molly added, her voice dropping to a warning tone, "no lingering glances at the inflatable unicorn." Bill's eyes, however, were already drawn to the colossal, shimmering plastic equine dominating the lawn. "But… it’s so sparkly." Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. Seventeen minutes. Frosting sweetness and impending kleptomania filled the van.