Run: 2026-02-25-01KJBDZWND7FNHTRN4FNWRPASB

Molly adjusted her neon pink disguise, which consisted of nothing but a tutu and a fake mustache. She looked absolutely ridiculous in the moonlight. Bill, sitting in the driver's seat of the unmarked van, chewed on a toothpick. The house ahead was decorated with balloons. The van was parked behind a hedge. The moon cast long shadows. "Are you sure about this?" Bill asked, glancing at the clipboard. "We usually stick to diamonds or bonds." "Diamonds are boring," Molly said, tapping her earpiece. "Look at the inventory. Action figures, dolls, a tricycle. It's a goldmine of nostalgia." Bill sighed, rubbing his temples. "Nostalgia doesn't pay the rent, Molly. Parents pay for this stuff. They expect it to be there." "Exactly," she grinned, pulling out a grappling hook. "They expect it. That means they won't look for it until tomorrow." "We're stealing birthday presents?" Bill shook his head. "This feels wrong. What if the kid cries?" "Let the kid cry," Molly said, checking her watch. "It builds character. Besides, we're not taking the cake. The cake is evidence." Bill leaned forward, squinting at the backyard. "Security is light. Just a dad in a clown suit and a mom with a camera. No alarms." "The clown is a distraction," Molly whispered. "He's dancing. We go in through the window." "I can't do this," Bill muttered. "I'm a professional thief, not a Santa Claus." "You're a partner," Molly corrected, handing him a bag. "And you're getting fifty percent of the loot. Think of the resale value." "Who buys stolen toys?" Bill asked, taking the bag reluctantly. "Collectors," she lied smoothly. "Rare editions. Limited runs. That tricycle is vintage." Bill looked at the house again. A child was blowing out candles inside. "They're singing now. We have to wait for the cut." "No time for singing," Molly said, opening the van door. "We hit them during the song. Chaos is our cover." "Chaos?" Bill stood up. "We're stealing from a six-year-old's party." "It's about the principle," Molly said, stepping onto the grass. "No one expects a heist at a birthday." "I feel dirty," Bill said, following her. "You're getting paid," Molly replied. "Don't get sentimental." Bill kicked a balloon. "If I see a unicorn, I'm leaving." "Deal," Molly said. "But if you see a unicorn, that's the lead item." "You're impossible," Bill grumbled, pulling a mask over his face. "I'm efficient," she corrected, unlocking the back gate. "Ready?" "Ready," Bill said, though he looked like he wanted to go home. They moved toward the sliding glass door. The music swelled. Molly checked her lockpick. Bill checked his bag. The air smelled of vanilla and impending crime. The engine hummed quietly in the background. The party lights flickered wildly. "On three," Molly whispered. "One." "Wait," Bill stopped. "What about the parents?" "They're busy," Molly said. "Two." "I still think this is wrong," Bill said. "Three." Molly kicked the door open. They rushed inside. "Happy birthday," Bill yelled, grabbing a box. "To you," Molly shouted, tossing a doll into the bag. They ran out as the clown turned around. The clown stopped dancing, confused by the sudden disappearance. "Nice work," Molly panted. "I hate my job," Bill said. "Drive," she ordered. Bill slammed the door shut. "I hate my job," Bill repeated.