Run: 2026-03-18-01KM0848AHTQYGD1DJ571Z5C99

Bill squatted behind the palm outside the cul-de-sac, pretending it was a natural habitat for criminals. Inside, laughter bounced like ping-pong balls against the house siding. Molly checked the route on her phone, which insisted the front door was “right over there,” as if the burglars hadn’t noticed. She slid a thermal camera from her sleeve; it displayed warm footprints of parents migrating toward the buffet. “Game plan?” Bill asked, humming the alarm’s theme. Molly said, 'Remember, no screams—kids are fragile.' She winked at the motion sensor, then at Bill, then at the fact that their gloves were patterned with cartoon dinosaurs. Bill said, 'Relax, we’ll be in and out before the piñata.' He nudged the side window latch with a spoon borrowed from the neighborhood soup club. The spoon squeaked anyway, because comedy hates stealth. Molly whispered, 'Steal the toys, not the cupcakes.' They eased through the crack, leaving dust bunnies like calling cards. In the living room, presents sat in piles, each ribbon begging for attention. Bill pointed at a mountain labeled “AGE 7,” which felt personal. Molly sampled the air for cameras, finding only frosting and confidence. They grabbed presents fast, while the bounce house whirred like a metronome.