Run: 2026-03-18-01KM09R0P0G11T791N2HHN19KY

Molly crouched behind a hedge and hissed, “Bill, if you step on that squeaky leaf again, I’m filing a complaint with your bones.” Bill adjusted his striped beanie. “It’s not squeaky. It’s… excited.” Molly narrowed her eyes. “Trees don’t get excited. Children do. And we are not here for the children.” Bill grinned. “Speak for yourself. I love kids. I just… also love presents. It’s called multi-reasoning.” Molly whispered, “We are breaking into a children’s party to steal all the presents.” Bill whispered back, “Correct. We’re the responsible ones. We’re preventing spoiled kids from receiving too many gift-related expectations.” Molly tugged his sleeve. “We are not putting on ‘reasonable criminal’ as a costume. Focus.” Bill leaned toward her. “Okay, focus. Step one: we blend in.” Molly blinked. “With what? Your beanie that screams ‘professional suspect’?” Bill pointed at his beanie like it was evidence. “It’s festive. It has confidence.” Molly stared. “It looks like you swallowed a traffic cone.” Bill shrugged. “A traffic cone can save lives.” Molly sighed. “It can also get run over. Listen. We approach the house, we do not startle anyone, and we do not—” Bill held up a finger. “Rule: no sudden moves. Rule: no fart-based distraction. Rule: if anyone offers us cake, we politely refuse and pretend our bodies are ‘busy.’” Molly’s mouth twitched. “Who are you? A haunted accountant?” Bill whispered, “I’m a haunted accountant with a plan.” Molly reached into her bag and produced two party masks. “I brought disguises.” Bill took one, examining it. “This one is… a unicorn.” “Yes,” Molly said. “Because it’s a children’s party. Unicorns are non-threatening.” Bill nodded solemnly. “Unicorns are basically magical. Nobody expects a unicorn to commit felonies.” Molly muttered, “They should. Unicorns always look smug.” Bill slid on his mask. “Smug is a professional trait.” Molly pulled her mask on as well. “Now, your unicorn is smug. My cat is charming.” Bill tilted his head. “Your cat looks like it’s judging my life choices.” Molly said, “That’s because it is.” From inside the house, music thumped—something chirpy and fast. Molly flinched. “If the music changes, we change our strategy.” Bill whispered, “Strategy is simple: we take the presents and leave a meaningful distraction.” Molly frowned. “Meaningful to whom?” Bill gestured vaguely upward. “The universe. The universe will understand.” Molly said, “The universe is not the client. The universe is not paying us. Also, what’s the distraction?” Bill’s grin returned, sharper than his beanie. “A decoy.” Molly leaned in. “Please tell me the decoy isn’t just more presents.” Bill sighed. “No, no. It’s… a present-shaped object with absolutely no value.” Molly paused. “That is, in fact, more presents.” Bill lifted his hands. “Listen. It’s a decoy. It’s like a decoy present. Like—like—” Molly interrupted, “Like a lie wearing wrapping paper.” Bill nodded. “Exactly. A lie with ribbon. People love ribbon. Ribbon makes them forget their own eyes.” Molly stared at him. “Why do you know this?” Bill whispered, “I have studied.” Molly patted his shoulder. “Studying is fine. Copying is not.” Bill scoffed. “I’m not copying. I’m enhancing.” Molly’s eyes swept the front window. “We wait until the host is distracted. Then we grab everything wrapped, bag it—” Bill cut in, “Bag it safely.” Molly blinked. “Safely?” Bill said, “Yes. If we crease the paper, the kids will feel betrayed. And I have a soft spot for emotional integrity.” Molly looked offended. “You? Soft spot?” Bill gestured at his mask. “I’m basically a teddy bear wearing crimes.” Molly whispered, “We steal. We don’t give speeches about feelings.” Bill nodded quickly. “Right. No speeches. Only swift, silent—” Molly hissed, “Silent? You are not silent.” Bill pointed at his own mouth like it was a malfunction. “I can be quiet. Watch.” He took a deep breath and added, “Breathe in… and out… and in…” Molly covered her ears. “Bill!” Bill stopped immediately. “Yes.” Molly leaned closer. “We do this together. If one of us panics, the other pretends it’s part of the plan.” Bill nodded. “Agreed. If you panic, I’ll say, ‘Oh good, Molly is doing the thing where she panics on purpose.’” Molly whispered, “If you panic, I’ll say, ‘Oh no, Bill has accidentally become a startled inflatable.’” Bill chuckled. “Deal.” The door opened inside. Molly and Bill froze. Bill whispered, “Is that the host?” Molly whispered, “It’s a child.” Bill mouthed, “Oh no.” Molly mouthed back, “Oh yes.” Bill whispered, “How do we look?” Molly whispered, “Like two criminals who definitely did not rehearse at all.” Bill swallowed. “Kids don’t notice suspicious adults.” Molly said, “They notice everything.” Bill nodded slowly. “Then we must be… normal suspicious.” Molly stared at him. “That sentence doesn’t help.” Bill stepped forward a half-inch. “I’m going to practice normal suspicious.” Molly yanked him back. “You are not practicing! You’re already suspicious!” Bill whispered, “But I’m committed.” Molly squeezed his arm. “Then commit quietly.” Bill whispered, “Quietly committing. Got it.” Molly took a breath. “On my count.” Bill grinned behind the unicorn mask. “Count away, Cap’n Cat.”