Run: 2026-03-18-01KM07WDDK1JQDJYDNWB6F4ERJ

Molly crouched behind a stack of delivery boxes as if cardboard could offer witness protection. Through the gap in the curtains, the neighborhood’s community center glowed with party lights—tiny stars pasted to the windows, a banner that said HAPPY BIRTHDAY, and the unmistakable sound of children laughing like wind chimes with glue on them. Bill checked the strap of his disguise for the third time. It was a pirate hat, a few sizes too big, and a shirt that still smelled faintly of laundry detergent and regret. “This is it,” Molly whispered, patting the pocket of her bag. “The Great Present Take. Phase One: look casual.” Bill leaned closer. “I’m born casual.” “You are born suspicious,” Molly said. “Casual people don’t say ‘born.’” Bill gave her a grin that could melt frosting. “Fine. Phase One: look like we belong.” Molly nodded toward the entrance where a balloon arch bobbed like it was trying to escape. “We’re going in dressed as… birthday helpers.” Bill raised a finger. “But are we helpers, or are we… celebratory opportunists?” Molly sighed. “Helpers. Opportunists are what the police call you when they’re bored.” Bill’s eyes flicked to the timer on the wall inside. “I brought a cake-flavored decoy.” “You brought a cake-flavored decoy?” Molly repeated. “It’s for misdirection,” Bill said proudly. “If someone notices us, we can offer the decoy cake and run away.” “That’s not misdirection,” Molly said. “That’s sugar bribery.” “It’s both,” Bill argued. A muffled cheer rose from inside. The sort of cheer that made grown-ups smile without knowing why. Molly tilted her head, listening. “I can hear the magician.” Bill groaned. “Of course there’s a magician. Last time we did a job there was a DJ who played thirty-seven minutes of ‘Baby Shark.’” “This time,” Molly said, “we’re stealing all the presents. Every last one.” Bill’s shoulders squared. “All the presents. Even the ones that look like they’re definitely from Aunt Linda.” Molly gave him a hard look. “Especially those. Aunt Linda brings the best bow.” Bill nodded solemnly, as if he were swearing an oath to ribbon. “Okay, boss. Plan.” Molly pulled a notepad from her coat and immediately frowned at the scribbles. “Your handwriting is terrible.” “It’s pirate handwriting,” Bill said. “It’s just… chaotic.” Molly cleared her throat and wrote her own notes on top of his. “We enter quietly. We blend. We don’t touch anything that jingles like it’s going to report us.” Bill pointed at his pocket. “My pocket jingles.” “It’s coins,” Molly said. “They’re not even ours.” Bill shrugged. “I like options.” Molly lowered her voice. “Remember: no heroics. We’re not stealing from children. We’re stealing for a higher purpose.” Bill blinked. “Higher purpose?” Molly met his eyes. “We’re redistributing joy.” Bill opened his mouth, then paused. “That sounds illegal.” “It’s metaphorical,” Molly said quickly. “Like… taxes, but funnier.” Bill seemed to consider this. “Do you think children know when you steal presents?” Molly leaned in. “Children know when you disappoint them. Adults know when you steal. We’ll avoid both.” Bill adjusted the pirate hat so it covered one eye comically. “I can do avoid. I’m extremely good at avoid.” A door clicked inside—someone repositioning the chairs for games. Molly and Bill held perfectly still, like two statues that had forgotten what they were made of. Bill whispered, “If we get caught, what do we say?” Molly didn’t hesitate. “We say we’re here for the… party supplies.” Bill nodded. “Party supplies. Like tape and—” “And cake,” Molly finished. Bill brightened. “I can carry cake.” Molly looked at his hands. “You can carry cake. You cannot carry cake quietly.” Bill’s smile faltered. “I can try.” Molly pulled him closer, their disguises brushing like mismatched book covers. “Bill. Tonight, we are ghosts of generosity. We swoop in, collect the boxes, and leave before anyone realizes the birthday magic has… temporarily relocated.” Bill whispered back, reverent, “Birthday magic relocated. That’s poetic.” “It’s not poetic,” Molly said. “It’s efficient.” From inside, a child shouted, “Where’s the loot bag?” and another voice—probably an adult—answered, “In a second, sweetheart!” Molly exhaled. “Second starts now.” Bill flexed his fingers. “Okay. Tell me we’re doing this.” Molly’s grin returned, sharp and delighted. “We’re doing this.” Bill’s eyes gleamed. “All presents.” “All presents,” Molly confirmed, and together they slid toward the door like misbehaving shadows—ready to steal every last bright box before the birthday party could finish being happy.