Run: 2026-02-25-01KJBDSH2EFHVXFM89FB6S5DJV

The minivan smelled like stale popcorn and desperation. Molly tapped the steering wheel, her eyes locked on the suburban house glowing with fairy lights. Balloons bobbed in the front yard like colorful buoys marking a treasure chest. Bill sat in the passenger seat, fidgeting with a balaclava that was too small for his head. He pulled the fabric down over his nose, looking miserable. "Do we really have to wear the masks?" Bill asked. "It's standard procedure," Molly said, checking her watch. "Kids talk. Parents talk. We don't want witnesses." "But they're six-year-olds, Molly. They don't talk." "They scream. That's worse." Bill sighed, adjusting the elastic behind his ears. "I feel bad. It's a birthday party. You know, the theme is dinosaurs." "Tyrannosaurus Rex doesn't care about the theme, Bill. It cares about meat. And we are the T-Rexes of this neighborhood." Molly opened the glove box, revealing a chaotic nest of zip ties, lockpicks, and a half-eaten granola bar. She tossed the granola bar to Bill. He caught it, looking at it like it was a grenade. "Is that the plan?" he asked. "Steal the toys while the parents are distracted by cake?" "Exactly. We go in through the side window. You create a diversion. I grab the loot." "What kind of diversion?" "I don't know. Scream like a banshee? Pretend to be a lost dog?" Bill unwrapped the granola bar. "Can't we just buy them stuff?" "We're broke, Bill. We haven't eaten since Tuesday." "That's a low bar." "It's a survival bar." Molly killed the engine. The silence was heavy, broken only by the distant sound of Happy Birthday singing. "Look, if we pull this off, we can retire. No more van smells. No more balaclavas." Molly grabbed a duffel bag from the back seat. It clinked with the sound of metal tools. She asked if he was ready. He said no. She said fear kept him sharp. Bill took a bite of the granola bar. It tasted like sawdust. He asked what if they had security. Molly said it was a birthday party in Ohio and the security was a mom with a Tupperware container. He said that was terrifying. Molly pushed the door open. The night air smelled of cut grass and sugar. She told him to remember no touching the cake because it was sticky. They stepped out of the van, silhouetted against the porch light. Bill checked his pockets one last time, asking if he should tell his mother he loved her if he got caught. Molly noted his mother thought he was an accountant, which was a lie she didn't need to correct. She winked, adjusting her gloves, and told him to go steal some Legos. Bill followed her toward the house, tripping slightly on the curb. He noted Legos were heavy. Molly said guilt was heavy too. He said that wasn't how physics worked. She said it was in this van. They reached the window. Molly peered inside. Laughter spilled out. Bill looked at the presents stacked high under a tree. He looked at Molly. She looked at him. She whispered go. He nodded, raising his fist. Molly raised hers. They bumped fists. Then they climbed the trellis.