Run: 2026-03-18-01KM07P9F4WE5HT8K0ZK2QWPJN

“Molly, are we sure this is the right address?” Bill whispered, holding a clipboard like it was a weapon. “It says ‘Happy Birthday, Kiddo!’ with a little balloon. That could mean literally anything.” “It means children,” Molly hissed, patting the pocket of her hoodie where a tiny crowbar was doing nothing productive. “And children mean presents. Presents mean money. Money means we’re not eating emergency pretzels for dinner.” Bill frowned. “Pretzels are good.” “Pretzels are fine,” Molly said. “But they’re not exactly caviar.” Bill crept closer to the front window and peered through the blinds. “I see balloons. I see a cake. I see… an inflatable dinosaur.” “Dinosaurs are just big marketing,” Molly said. “Now listen. You distract the guardians with your charming… criminal aura.” “My criminal aura is very refined,” Bill said. “I brought cologne. It’s called ‘Lawful Neutral.’” “That’s not a thing.” “It is when you’re me,” Bill replied. He pulled out a small vial. “Smells like cedar and poor decisions.” Molly adjusted a headlamp that made her look like a miner who’d lost his moral compass. “Okay. My job is to enter through the back, because adults always assume the back door is safer. It is, technically, for them. Not for us.” Bill nodded gravely. “I always thought safety was a scam.” “Everything is a scam,” Molly said. “Now, do you have the present-bag?” Bill lifted an empty tote like a magician producing disappointment. “It’s collapsible.” “Perfect,” Molly said. “We’ll fill it with gifts and exit before the party turns into… what’s it called? A sugar avalanche?” “Candy-based weather event,” Bill offered. “Exactly,” Molly said. “And if anyone asks, we’re… delivery.” Bill’s eyebrows shot up. “Delivery of what?” Molly smiled sweetly, like a knife wearing lipstick. “Suspense. We’re here to drop off the rest of the presents.” Bill stared. “But there’s no way to know what’s missing.” “There’s always something missing,” Molly said. “Reality is incomplete. I can work with that.” Bill leaned in. “What if the birthday kid catches us?” Molly scoffed. “The birthday kid will be too busy opening gifts and screaming ‘Wow!’ like it’s cardio.” Bill squinted. “What if the parents have those doorbell cameras?” Molly tapped the side of her glove. “I brought a little bag of interference dust.” “That’s not how cameras work.” “It’s how cameras work for people who panic,” Molly said. “They’ll think it’s a glitch. Or a ghost. Ghosts are always blamed. It’s in the handbook.” Bill swallowed. “I didn’t know you had a handbook.” “I have many handbooks,” Molly said. “This one is mostly tabs and threats.” Bill pointed toward the front door. “Okay, distraction. What do I do when they open it?” “You ring,” Molly said. “And you say, ‘Hello! We have an urgent package for the birthday celebration!’ Then you look confused, like you lost the map.” Bill smiled. “I’m excellent at looking confused. People mistake it for sincerity.” Molly checked her watch. “Timing matters. In three minutes, the kids will be herded toward the backyard for games. That’s when the adults start paying attention to… loudness.” Bill nodded. “I can work with loudness. I’ve practiced my ‘surprised’ face.” “Do not practice on me,” Molly warned. “I won’t,” Bill said. “I would never.” Molly tugged on the lockpick kit. “If all goes well, we’ll steal all the presents in under two minutes.” Bill clapped once, quietly, like a villain auditioning. “Two minutes. That’s reasonable.” “It’s ambitious,” Molly corrected. “Two minutes is where miracles live and so do criminals with good shoes.” Bill looked down at his sneakers. “They have grips. They’re basically professional.” Molly exhaled. “Okay. You ready?” Bill lifted the cologne vial like a toast. “Ready. Prepared. Also mildly terrified, but mostly ready.” Molly grinned. “That’s the spirit. Go ring the bell.” Bill approached the door, then turned back. “Molly?” “What?” “If there’s a dinosaur-themed gift bag… I’m keeping the little plastic dinosaur.” Molly paused. “Agreed. But only if it squeaks. If it doesn’t squeak, it’s not a dinosaur. It’s a lizard with ambition.” Bill nodded, then whispered, “Squeaks are justice.” “Go,” Molly said, pushing him gently toward the front. Bill pressed the doorbell. The bell rang, cheerful and suspicious. For a moment, the world held its breath—then Bill threw himself into acting mode. “Hello! We have an urgent package for the birthday celebration!” Molly melted into the shadows, already counting presents like they were numbers and numbers were harmless.