Run: 2026-03-18-01KM0886CZTKGHWPJP9ZWGFKFQ

Molly crouched behind a potted fern, eyeing the glittering front door like it was a vault with frosting instead of steel. Bill nudged a toolbox with his boot, then froze as a wind chime clinked somewhere inside. “Okay,” he whispered, “tell me you hear that too.” Molly lifted a finger to her lips, then pointed at the doormat. The welcome mat read YOU ARE ENTERING A FUN ZONE in cheerful crayon, which felt like a threat disguised as a compliment. Bill leaned in, pretending not to tremble. “That sign is basically a security system,” he said. Molly snorted softly. “It’s security theater.” She slid a tiny lockpick set from her sleeve, careful as a surgeon, except her hands looked like they’d stolen their confidence from a circus. Bill examined the handle, noting a sticker shaped like a smiling dinosaur. “If that thing starts roaring, we’re doomed,” he murmured. Molly grinned. “Then we’ll distract it with our charm.” She tapped her earpiece; static answered like distant laughter. “We’re here for the presents,” Bill reminded her, as if the entire house hadn’t already screamed it in wrapping paper. Molly nodded toward the living room windows, where twinkling lights bobbed amid cardboard and bows. “Plan is simple,” she said. “We go in, we take everything, we leave a single toy behind.” Bill blinked. “Why?” Molly’s eyes glittered. “To keep the kids from calling the cops.”