Run: 2026-03-18-01KM079TW93TS1VVFMPF4H6NTY

Molly crouched behind a potted palm like it was trained security. The palm, unfortunately, was plastic and had the personality of a traffic cone. Across the patio, a row of helium balloons bobbed in lazy celebration. The house lights were twinkling in that aggressively cheerful way that made you want to confess to crimes you’d never committed. Bill shuffled beside her, wearing a disguise that could only be described as “suspect ingenuity.” He’d wrapped a striped tablecloth around his head like a pirate had tried to become a substitute teacher. “Okay,” he whispered, “we slip in, grab the presents, and leave before someone claps loudly enough to summon law enforcement.” Molly peered through the curtains. Kids’ laughter burbled from inside, along with the unmistakable shriek of someone discovering magic tricks. “No clapping,” she said. “That’s how you get attention.” Bill lifted a small toolkit from his bag. It rattled like a regret. “I have anti-clap devices.” “You have a party favor,” Molly corrected. “It’s multi-purpose!” Molly checked their plan written on a napkin. It read: STEP ONE: DO NOT SCREAM. STEP TWO: DO NOT STEAL THE BATMAN BALLOON. STEP THREE: ??? STEP FOUR: PROFIT. “Where did we put the part about not screaming?” Bill pointed to a line at the bottom where the ink had been smudged into a sad fingerprint. “Right here. It just got… scared.” Molly exhaled. “Bill, we’re stealing from a children’s party.” Bill gave her a wounded look. “We’re stealing the presents that belong to us in spirit.” “That is not a thing.” “It is a thing if you believe hard enough.” A door opened in the distance, and Bill flinched so hard his tablecloth hat slid sideways. “Shh—” Molly hissed. A cheerful adult’s voice floated out. “Presents go here! Whoever brings the candles, don’t touch the cupcakes—those are special!” Bill leaned in close to Molly, eyes wide with opportunity. “Special cupcakes. That means special security.” Molly nodded toward the entryway. A sign taped to the door read: PLEASE REMOVE SHOES (THANK YOU FOR BEING KIND). “Shoes,” she murmured. “That’s their weak point. People who are kind always forget rules.” Bill grinned and snapped his fingers. “Good. I’ll pretend to be kind.” “Try not to be allergic to it,” Molly said. Bill held up a bag. “I brought shoe covers.” Molly blinked. “You brought… shoe covers.” “Yes! See?” He shook them like evidence. “I am prepared to be suspiciously considerate.” Molly stared for a long moment, then sighed. “Fine. But if a kid asks your name, you say it’s ‘Mr. Balloon.’” Bill saluted with the tablecloth hat, which promptly fell off. He caught it mid-fall like a magician who only failed sometimes. “Done. I will be Mr. Balloon.” They waited for the patio door to close again, listening to the soft chaos inside: paper rustling, a distant thump that could have been a pinata or could have been an adult trying to keep a secret. Molly leaned toward the latch. Her lock pick kit looked like it belonged to a watchmaker, if the watchmaker were a raccoon. “Alright,” Molly whispered. “We go through the dog-door.” Bill frowned. “We can’t.” “We can,” Molly said, already measuring the gap. “It’s for a small dog.” Bill squinted at the sign near the door: SMALL DOG ONLY. “You sure?” Molly’s grin turned sharp. “Bill, I’m small. Mentally.” Bill sighed. “That’s the worst reason I’ve ever heard.” Molly slipped her fingers into the latch. “If anyone asks, we’re here to deliver a missing gift.” Bill blinked. “What if they already have all the gifts?” “Then we are returning the missing one,” Molly said. Bill nodded slowly, as if this made sense to his soul. “Inception robbery. I love it.” The lock clicked. Molly eased the patio door open with the careful confidence of someone who had ruined many expensive plans and learned from each failure. Warm air spilled out, smelling like sugar and optimism. From inside, a child’s voice called, “Look! Here comes the present table!” Bill’s eyes widened. “Present table. That’s our target.” Molly straightened, ready to move. “Remember the rule,” she said. Bill swallowed. “Don’t scream.” Molly glanced at the tablecloth on the floor. “Also, don’t trip over your own feelings.” Bill picked up the hat and tucked it under his arm. “Feelings are slippery.” They slipped through before anyone could notice the dramatic lack of surprise. As they entered, Molly whispered, “Stay close.” Bill whispered back, “I’m like a shadow.” Molly whispered, “A shadow with shoe covers?” Bill whispered, “A very kind shadow.”