Run: 2026-03-11-01KKFDZWTJYE3E0E7HFS588W4H

Crouched in the spiky azalea bush two yards from the Henderson’s split-level, Molly pried a thorn the size of a staple out of her jeans while Bill fumbled with a fanny pack bulging with overkill heist gear. The backyard hummed with 7-year-old Lila’s unicorn birthday chaos: a half-deflated Pegasus piñata swung from an oak, the party clown twisted neon balloons into tiny dogs, and Lila’s tech CEO mom flipped burgers on the grill, far too distracted to spot two grown adults hiding in her shrubbery. Bill had sworn every present stacked under the patio table held an unopened iPad or Lego set, easy to flip for enough cash to pay back the $1200 he owed Molly for bailing him out of a botched convenience store heist. He tugged night vision goggles over his eyes, clipping his ear, and Molly sighed so hard her bangs fluttered. “These thorns are attacking my tactical cargo pants, Mols, we got a breach on the bush’s west flank,” Bill hissed, shifting his weight and stepping directly on her instep. Molly slammed her elbow into his ribs, hard enough to make him yelp. “Your tactical cargo pants are from Target, the only breach is you stepping on my foot for the third time. Shut up before the Henderson’s golden retriever comes over and chews your ear off. Put those stupid goggles away.” Bill pushed the goggles onto his grass-smudged forehead, waving a hand like he was fending off a grave insult. “Night vision works in day too! It’s multi-use, I watched a YouTube tutorial. What if the present closet is dark? We need to be prepared.” “You look like a confused raccoon who robbed an army surplus store,” Molly muttered, peeking around the bush to check the patio clock. The clown finished his set, clapping red pom-pom hands as kids cheered, and Lila’s grandma hauled a frosted unicorn cake through the kitchen door. “That’s our window. Side gate’s unlocked, we’ve got three minutes to stuff every present in the duffel and get out before they start singing. I’m not sticking around to let some kid draw a mustache on my face mid-chorus.” Bill fumbled the duffel out of his backpack, its strap catching on a branch and yanking him backward into a pile of lawn clippings. A six-year-old pointed their way, yelling there was a monster in the azaleas, and Lila’s mom yelled back that he’d be stuck wiping cake off the floor if he didn’t stop making excuses. Molly hauled Bill upright, a burr stuck in his hair, as the golden retriever trotted toward them, tail wagging. She pulled a mason jar holding a very confused goldfish out of her pocket, shoving it into his free hand. “If we get caught, we’re the long-lost Canadian aunt and uncle who brought her a pet. Move. Now.” (Word count: 498, dialogue share: 31%)