Run: 2026-03-18-01KM086D02ZTQ05PZCJ1YS806K

Bill knelt by the toy store window, listening to distant laughter. “Remember,” Molly whispered, “we’re professionals, not sugar-rushers.” Bill grinned, holding a rubber duck disguised as a lock pick. “Duck first, drama later. Kids can’t file fingerprints with birthday candles, right?” Molly slid a cart of balloons aside. “They can’t, but their parents can call security.” “Relax,” Bill said, “I brought the distraction: confetti and plausible deniability.” “Confetti doesn’t talk,” Molly replied, “but you do when you’re nervous.” Bill opened the vent cover. “Nervous? I’m artisanal.” The house smelled like cake and carpet cleaner. “Okay,” Molly breathed, “our target is the present pile, not the pinata.” “I’m aiming for the big ones,” Bill said, “the ones with bows that scream ‘steal me.’” Molly checked the guest list on her phone. “Last year you took a toy microscope.” “It was educational crime,” Bill insisted. The doorbell jingled somewhere inside, then stopped. “Time to move,” Molly said. They slid in like two bad ideas with good shoes. A clown horn blared, and they counted breaths as the hallway lights flickered toward the gift table quietly tonight. “Smile,” Molly mouthed, “then grab everything with ribbon. If you hear squeals, freeze and look innocent.”