Run: 2026-03-18-01KM07MDKH8VBZGA4QE3W7VY74

The rain lashed against the grimy window of the abandoned bakery where Molly and Bill huddled over a crumpled party invitation. The paper, speckled with grease stains from last night’s stolen burger wrappers, bore the unmistakable logo of *Party Palace Inc.* and the address of the upcoming event: a fifth birthday for one "Timothy P. Whiskers" Turner. Molly traced the glittery embossed letters with one nicotine-stained fingernail. "Blue dinosaur cake. Character plates. Good lord, they went all out." She sniffed, then sneezed into her sleeve. Bill adjusted his too-tight elf costume, the polyester itching like fire. "We gotta move fast. This thing’s tomorrow night. By tomorrow afternoon, every kid in Bigtown’s got his mitts on a Play-Station knockoff they’ll forget in a week." Molly grinned, teeth glinting under the flickering fluorescent bulb. "And by tomorrow evening, those same kids will be too busy licking frosting off their fingers to notice their presents walking out the door." She tapped the invitation. "Three hundred bucks’ worth of toys, all in one room. With no alarm. Just a hall monitor named Linda who texts her boyfriend every ten minutes." Bill scratched his fake beard—a matted thing that smelled vaguely of pickles. "But how? We can’t just waltz in. Even I know security’s tighter now after the Great Balloon Incident of last February." Molly rolled her eyes. "That was three clowns and one bad piñata, Bill. I’m talking about the good stuff." She pulled out a folded blueprint from the Santa suit pocket. The edges were singed from where she’d accidentally set it next to a hotplate last week. "See here? The back door’s propped with a two-by-four. One good kick and it’s open. And here—" she stabbed a grease-penciled X onto the kitchen floor, "—right under the table where the presents live until the cake comes out. We go in through the service hallway, grab the haul, out the employee exit. Easy." Bill squinted. "Service hallway’s got a motion detector." "Not for long." Molly produced a small orange device from her other pocket. It looked like a children’s toothbrush, but with wires. "I liberated this from a mall Santa’s toolkit. One press of the big red button, and every detector in a twenty-foot radius thinks a raccoon just committed a felony. Permanently." Bill’s eyes widened. "You stole from Santa? That’s like robbing God." "Nah," Molly said, twisting a wire. "God’s got better loot. Santa’s just a mid-level manager with a PR problem." She handed the device to Bill. "You hold this near the detector when we go in. I’ll do the heavy lifting." Bill stared at the thing like it might bite. "Why me?" "Because you’ve got the elf outfit," Molly said. "Even motion detectors fall for Christmas spirit." She clapped him on the back, sending a puff of glitter exploding into the air. "Cheer up, Santa’s little helper. Tomorrow night, we’re not criminals. We’re… holiday angels."