Run: 2026-02-25-01KJBFEM0534QWS9128NPC8STG

Molly tapped the grease-stained blueprints spread across the hood of the rusted van. Rain slicked the metal, blurring the black ink into gray smudges. The engine ticked as it cooled in the alleyway shadows. The air smelled of wet asphalt and diesel fuel. “This is the layout?” Bill asked, squinting at the diagram through the falling drizzle. “Every inch,” Molly said, tracing a red line with a gloved finger. “The living room is the vault. The cake table is the distraction.” Molly’s eyes narrowed with determination. “We’re stealing plastic dinosaurs?” Bill looked up, water dripping from his nose. “For real?” “It’s about the principle, Bill. And the resale value of limited edition Lego sets.” She adjusted the strap of her duffel bag. “Kids cry when they lose their toys.” He wiped his hands on his jeans. “Adults cry when they lose money. We’re just balancing the ledger.” Molly grabbed a marker from her pocket. “You go in through the garage. I’ll slip under the fence.” “The fence has a dog.” Bill shivered in the cold wind. “A pug, Bill. A pug named Mr. Wiggles.” She smiled confidently. “Mr. Wiggles bites.” He looked skeptical. “He chews squeaky toys. He’s harmless.” Molly circled the front door on the paper. “We need a diversion. Something loud but not alarming.” “I have a kazoo.” He reached into his jacket. “A kazoo?” She raised an eyebrow. “It’s musical. It confuses people.” He held it up. “No kazoos. We use the piñata.” She crossed it out. Bill frowned, looking at the dark house across the street. “The piñata?” “You smash it. Candy flies everywhere. Chaos ensues. We grab the gifts while they chase the M&Ms.” “That’s genius. And cruel.” He shook his head slowly. “It’s efficient.” She closed the folder. Bill leaned against the van, lighting a cigarette. “What if they catch us?” “Then we tell them we’re the gift elves. They’ll buy it.” “They won’t.” He took a drag. “They’re six. They believe in everything.” Molly checked her watch. “We leave in ten. Gear up.” Bill checked his watch nervously. “I need a mask.” He flicked the ash. “You look like a criminal already. Save the cash.” She tossed him a black ski mask. Bill sighed, putting it in his pocket. “What about the parents?” “They’re at the bar. They don’t care.” She pointed at the glowing windows. “That’s sad.” He looked at the ground. “That’s Tuesday.” Molly tossed him a burlap sack. “Fill it. Don’t take the cheap stuff.” “What counts as cheap?” He caught the sack. “If it’s not wrapped in foil, leave it.” She checked the tire pressure. “Understood. Foil only.” He nodded. “And Bill?” She opened the door. “Yeah?” He stepped closer. “Don’t eat the candy.” She looked him in the eye. “I make no promises.” He grinned. Molly opened the van door. The engine roared to life, shaking the pavement. The van hummed quietly in the darkness. “One last thing,” Bill said, pausing at the step. “What?” She started the engine. “Do we leave a note?” He looked back at the house. “No notes. We’re ghosts.” She shifted into gear. “Ghosts don’t steal Legos.” He climbed in. “We’re not ghosts. We’re professionals.” She pulled away. “Professionals don’t target birthday parties.” He buckled up. “Professionals adapt.” She merged into traffic. Bill climbed into the passenger seat. He buckled his seatbelt tightly. She gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white. “Ready?” Molly asked, gripping the wheel. “Born ready.” He checked his pockets. “Liar.” She glanced at him. “Maybe.” He looked out the window. The van pulled onto the wet street, tires hissing. The street was empty except for a stray cat. “If we get caught,” Bill said, watching the lights. “We won’t.” She focused on the road. “If we do, I’m blaming the pug.” He laughed. “Deal.” She turned the corner. Molly smiled. The city lights reflected in the puddles below. “Think they’ll have cake?” He asked softly. “Chocolate.” She kept driving. “Good.” He sat back. “Eat it later.” She warned. “Yes, boss.” He closed his eyes.