Run: 2026-03-18-01KM08C638ZCCC2ARQ5QM5B3CG

Bill crouched behind the potted palm like it was going to offer legal advice. The house across the street glowed with cheerful string lights, the kind that said, We have cupcakes and we would like to gently ruin your day. Molly slid up beside him carrying a roll of duct tape and what looked suspiciously like a party favor bag. “You’re late,” Bill whispered. “I’m early,” Molly hissed back. “The universe is just slow at admitting it.” Bill squinted at the window. Inside, muffled voices laughed in short bursts, like popcorn refusing to be still. Somewhere a toy began to sing the same four notes on an endless loop. Bill adjusted his ski mask. “Do we have a plan?” “We have a vibe.” Molly held up a laminated diagram of the living room she’d acquired from, she insisted, “a very friendly homeowner’s overly optimistic recycling bin.” It showed the present pile, the snack table, and a location labeled DO NOT STEAL THE CAKE KNIFE BECAUSE IT’S FOR THE CAKE AND ALSO BECAUSE IT’S A KNIFE. Bill leaned closer. “Why does it have arrows?” “Because criminals are visual learners.” Molly grinned, then lowered her voice. “Okay. Step one: neutralize the security system.” Bill pointed at her hand. “That is duct tape.” “Duct tape is security,” she said. “Everything is security if you believe hard enough.” Bill swallowed. “We’re going to tape—what—door sensors?” “Shh. You’re going to say something that sounds like a question, and then I’ll have to answer, and then we’ll both be tired.” Molly reached into her bag and produced a small device with blinking lights. “Behold: The Jam-a-Rang.” Bill squinted at it. “That’s a toy.” “It was originally a toy,” Molly corrected. “Now it’s a tool.” She tapped it; it emitted a cheerful beep that sounded identical to a greeting card. Bill flinched. “That’s going to alert them.” Molly waved a hand. “No. It’s going to confuse them. People at children’s parties can be distracted by nonsense. It’s basically their second language.” From inside the house, someone shouted, “It’s time for games!” and then the squeak of a balloon being attacked by small hands. Bill exhaled through his nose. “What if there’s a dog?” Molly paused, then smiled like she’d just remembered a punchline. “Then we steal slower. Dogs hate urgency.” They listened. The front door clicked. Footsteps approached, then retreated, then approached again. Bill’s eyes flicked to the porch. “If someone comes outside…” “Then we hide,” Molly said. “Like professionals.” Bill stared at the potted palm. “This is professional hiding?” “This is advanced hiding,” Molly said. “The palm’s leaves can’t talk, which makes it a safer hiding partner.” Bill reached into his coat and pulled out a grappling hook. “I thought we agreed we’d sneak.” “We did,” Molly said. “This is sneaking with enthusiasm.” Bill’s jaw tightened. “Enthusiasm could also get us caught.” “Caught is just sneaking that went on vacation,” Molly replied. A laugh burst from inside, followed by the thump of someone setting down a gift bag. Bill listened to the rhythm and realized the person was dragging something heavy across the floor—probably a stack of presents being moved to the living room center for maximum awe. He nodded to Molly. “Now.” Molly unrolled a strip of tape and dabbed it gently over the seam of the window latch. “Careful,” she murmured. “I am careful,” Bill said. “I was born careful. My parents named me Careful.” “That’s not what your paperwork says.” “My paperwork was written by someone who didn’t understand my journey.” Bill pushed against the window. It gave with a soft sigh, like it had been waiting to join their mischief. The gap widened enough for them to slip inside. They climbed through in synchronized awkwardness. Bill landed on a fluffy rug and immediately sank a little, like he’d stepped on a cloud that had legal liability insurance. Molly landed next to him and pressed her finger to her lips. “Listen.” From the hallway, a child’s voice drifted closer. “Is the cake done yet?” An adult voice answered, “We’re just setting things up, sweetie!” Molly’s shoulders relaxed, as if the house itself had just promised not to scream. “Perfect. They’re occupied. Children ask questions. Adults respond to them. Everyone forgets the present pile is basically a treasure chest.” Bill peered toward the living room. The presents sat in a bright, chaotic heap, ribbons like tiny snakes. Some were big, some were small, some were shaped like things that had no business being gift-shaped. Bill pointed. “We only steal the ones with the loudest paper. Those will be the heaviest.” Molly nodded. “Correct. Also, no stealing from the fragile box marked ‘DO NOT DROP’ because that’s a trap and also because it sounds like the box is talking to me personally.” Bill crouched beside the pile, reaching for a medium package labeled with glittery stars. “This one feels promising.” Molly grabbed his wrist. “Not that one.” Bill blinked. “Why not?” “Because it says ‘For Jamie’ and Jamie is a small person who will cry like a fountain. We don’t need that energy.” Molly glanced around. “We steal the ones that are marked ‘To: Somebody Amazing’ because those are clearly adults and can handle emotional weather.” Bill opened his mouth, then shut it. “That’s… oddly considerate.” “It’s tactical,” Molly said. “People don’t retaliate against generosity. They retaliate against heartbreak.” A new sound echoed through the hallway: the squeaky toy again, now louder, closer, like it was searching for them. Bill stiffened. “The Jam-a-Rang—” Molly grimaced. “Oh no. I think it’s catching on.” From the doorway, a woman called, “Where did the noise come from? Did someone bring a new game?” Bill froze so hard he almost became furniture. Molly scooted backward behind a couch cushion, then whispered, “Say nothing. Say the silence is accidental.” Bill’s eyes darted to the corner. “What if she sees—” “Bill,” Molly said, “if she sees us, we will act normal.” Bill’s voice cracked. “How do you act normal while crouched in a children’s party like a guilty haunted snack?” Molly’s grin returned, sharp as a magician’s. “You wave. You apologize for existing. You offer to help. People love that. It’s like free babysitting.” Bill blinked. “You’ve done this before.” “I’ve planned it before,” Molly corrected. “There’s a difference.” The squeaky toy chirped again, and the woman’s footsteps drew nearer. Molly leaned close to Bill’s ear. “Ready?” she whispered. Bill swallowed. “Ready for what?” Molly’s smile widened. “Ready to steal Christmas, but make it… a team-building exercise.” They both raised their hands to wave, accidentally knocking a gift ribbon loose, which slithered across the floor with the audacity of a spotlight.