Run: 2026-03-03-01KJTYP3QB7JC5S0VTY8AG875G

The backyard string lights glowed pink through the oak hedge, and Bill’s sneakers scuffed a patch of clover so loudly he clamped a hand over his own mouth, eyes wide as plastic party favors. Molly’s gloved fingers slapped his forearm, her flashlight beam dipping low to avoid catching any passing eyes. “Quiet, you dork. The last thing we need is a kindergartener tattling that the guy who looks like a lost hiker just stepped on their piñata.” Bill yelped, yanking his foot back from the toppled terra-cotta gnome. “I didn’t mean to step on it! It’s not my fault garden décor sits in the middle of the grass like a booby trap. Do they want people to trip over it?” Molly didn’t dignify that with a full response, just nodded at the picnic table where a stack of wrapped presents glinted under the string lights, covered halfway by a lopsided checkered tablecloth. The party’s clown—balding, sweat stains streaking his red jumpsuit—was currently tying a unicorn balloon to a toddler who’d just smeared cake on their own forehead. “So when do we make our move? Let’s grab all the presents!” Bill whispered, fumbling in his fanny pack and pulling out a crumpled Hello Kitty tote bag. “I brought a loot bag! My niece had it, it’s perfect—” “Put the Kitty tote away before someone recognizes it as the one you left at the grocery store last week with your stolen granola bars.” Molly’s flashlight flicked toward a group of adults clustering by the lemonade pitcher, none of them paying attention to the yard. “We’re not grabbing all the presents, that’s too obvious. We wait five more minutes. When the clown moves over to the bounce house to fix the popped dinosaur balloon, that’s our window. We dash over, grab the high-value stuff, the Lego sets and the art easel, and haul ass back to the van—leave the crayon packs and the stuffed animals no one will miss immediately.” Bill’s face fell. “But what about the giant stuffed bear? That’s worth at least 40 bucks!” “Bill, we’re not stealing a teddy bear from a crying kid. Last time you tried that, you got chased by a mom with a rolling pin.” She nudged his shoulder with her elbow. “We’re taking the stuff in sealed boxes, so no kid spots one gone before we’re gone.” Bill pouted, adjusting his baseball cap. “That’s no fun. I wanted to take all the presents. We could sell them at the flea market!” “We could also get arrested for grand theft party favors if we take all of them.” Molly’s flashlight caught the clown pause, then start lurching toward the bounce house, adjusting his red nose mid-stride. “There he goes. Your distraction—go.” Bill’s face paled. “Me? Now? But I forgot my ‘normal person’ voice! What if I sound like a criminal? ‘Excuse me, sir, can I have a balloon… for stealing?’” “Stop talking and go.” Molly shoved him gently toward the crowd of kids, and he stumbled forward, knocking over a plastic yard flamingo as he went. “Uh—hi!” Bill called, waving awkwardly at the clown as he reached the group. “Could I get a… a pretzel balloon? Please?” The clown blinked, then grinned, patting a nearby folding chair. “Sure thing, partner! Want it extra knotty?” Bill froze, staring at the clown’s oversized red shoes, while Molly slipped toward the picnic table, snatching the two largest wrapped boxes before anyone noticed the knocked-over flamingo.